by Kit Harlow
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People stood outside waiting in line to enter the concert hall. Each one seemed intent on the entrance, but the buzz of conversation was almost deafening. I wasn't sure why James had given me this assignment as my first...It seemed too large for a newbie to cover. Then again, maybe I just wasn't used to the Boston scene. Maybe all concerts were this busy. For all I knew, this could be a slow one.
I glanced up at the sky half expecting to see stars. All I saw was darkness, atmosphere reflecting the city lights back down to us. The stars were invisible. I sighed. It was definitely going to take some getting used to. What can I say? I was more of a country bumpkin than anything else. I was just playing at being a city girl.
I bypassed the line, walking straight up to the bouncer. He was a scrawny guy, maybe 20 years old. I guessed he was stronger than he looked. He'd have to be. He looked like a wimpy hipster, like a kid that belonged on a fixie bike rather than monitoring the masses, preventing fights, and breaking up drug deals. All the same, he stared at my ID, twisting it, scanning it with a black light. Paranoid...I liked that. No underage obnoxious kids! He finally let me in and I emerged into a dimly lit room. Stage lights were being tested, flashing colors against a blank stage backdrop. The instruments were lined up, but the band was elsewhere.
The floor was already packed. I slowly made my way up towards the stage, interrupting people talking amongst themselves only momentarily. I waited patiently for the concert to begin, hoping that tall people would take pity on a short person and not stand in front of me. Absently, I scanned the crowd for Katie, half expecting to see her staring at me. She was nowhere to be seen.
The band came out, finally, after what felt like well over an hour. I hadn't brought my watch, so I wasn't really sure. Their music was good, but not my cup of tea...too much punk and not enough grunge. But hey, it wasn't bad. And the lead singer was, well, gorgeous, if I was being honest. She was spunky and captivated everyone’s attention. Short red spikes hearkened back to the ‘90s era grunge that I'd grown up on. Her vocals were both strong and delicate at the same time and I discovered, much to my own surprise, that I was unable to take my eyes off her. She was the show and I, like everyone else in the venue, was raptly, voraciously devouring her appearance with a hungry jealousy.
I found myself enjoying the concert and when the time came to meet with the band, I was excited. I was ushered to the greenroom by a security guard who chatted with me while I waited outside their door. Turned out he was the drummer's boyfriend and he absolutely hated punk music. He knocked, shave and a haircut style, and opened the door for me.
The women were all relaxing, sipping on water or Gatorade depending on personal preference. I introduced myself and proceeded asking questions: what their favorite food was, what drove their music, and so on.
Then, Katie walked in, camera in hand, wanting to thank them for the chance to take some shots for their website. Out of all the photographers in the city, it had to be Katie. I wondered if she came back to the dressing room intentionally just to piss me off.
She noticed me and paused, almost startled that I was there. Maybe she'd forgotten. The lead singer smiled and made small talk, then introduced me. It was a sweet gesture and I politely introduced myself to Katie, playing up the idea that we had only just met and tried to hide my anger. I wasn't sure if it worked. By the time we wrapped up the interview, I was about ready to curl up and hide in a cave. If I never saw Katie again, it would be too soon, I told myself.
I thanked the girls and beat a hasty retreat out the door just wanting to go back to my apartment, my sofa, and a glass of wine. It had been a hard week and all I wanted was for my life to go back to the way it was. Just the way it was last week would have been acceptable.
In my rush to get out, I walked right into Katie, who, it seemed, was waiting for me. She was pacing, hair pulled back into a sloppy bun in an attempt to keep it out of her eyes.
She looked up from the floor ready to apologize, clearly expecting someone else. I glared at her. She smiled that infuriating smile that could light up a room. She was just as beautiful as I remembered. And I really didn't want to remember.
"Hey," she said happily, pushing her glasses back up.
I refused to smile back. Instead, I glared. "What do you want?" I snapped back.
"Well, I was going to offer you a ride, but..." she stared clearly uncomfortable with the situation, weight shifting from foot to foot. She never could sit still.
I scoffed, rolled my eyes, and tried to walk away. I made it five steps away before I turned around and faced Katie. "No, you know what?" I pointed my finger at her chest. She was still smiling, one eyebrow raised.
"We're not doing this," I stated, trying not to shout.
"Doing what?" she asked simply. Her voice had that schooled monotone that told me she was trying to keep from laughing.
"This." I gestured back and forth between us. "This friends thing." I felt my cheeks turning red. Katie was biting her lip, probably to keep from smiling. "I'm not your friend. I'm not going to be your friend."
She just stared at me, clearly not believing me. "So, I guess that's a no?" her car keys jingled in her hand while she tossed them lightly.
I closed my eyes, breathed deep, and tried not to yell. "Yes," I replied around clenched teeth.
Katie shrugged and moved past me. She turned to look back, glancing over her shoulder at me. It brought back too many memories of her leaving and for a second, I thought I'd lose it right there. I ached for her in that moment, but it was fleeting and I came back to myself. Still, some of the turmoil must have shown in my face. For a split second, I watched her falter, eyes soften. Then, almost as soon as it had happened, she collected herself, haughty mask firmly in place. This was the bitch of the office everyone dreaded. Katie looked amused, like she found it funny that I was still jarred by her presence.
"You know," she whispered in that empty hall. "It doesn't have to be like this," she said gently. "We could at least pretend to be civil to each other," she said with a grin playing at the edge of her lips.
I stepped towards her, angry. "You want civility? Fine. I can do that. But don't act like you know me. I've changed. I'm not the woman I was." My fists were clenched at my side as I repeated the exact same thing I’d told her yesterday afternoon. If I said it enough, maybe I would start to believe it.
Katie nodded. "No, you're straight now," she said with sarcastic yet absolute certainty and walked away. Even then, she was unable to keep the ire from her eyes. She may wear a mask of indifference, but I knew her better than that. As she walked away, I felt my fists clench harder, nails biting into my palm. I was left alone in the hallway, fuming.
My eyes followed her as she walked calmly out the double doors of the backstage exit like she owned the place. Once I knew I was alone, I leaned against the wall and wrapped my arms around my stomach. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Boston was my big break, but now, it was all I could do to barely function in front of my ex. With a groan, I called an Uber and waited by the curb to be picked up.
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I passed the rest of the night with my phone pressed against my ear, curled up on the couch snuggling with a pillow. I didn't want to talk about work. It was a rough day and all I wanted to do was pretend it hadn't happened. David’s voice was warm, a welcoming presence in my suddenly topsy-turvy world.
Hours passed in seemingly meaningless conversation, but I was afraid to hang up—to be alone.
"I'm going to call it a night," he said while yawning. "You staying up?"
I turned and stared at the ceiling, wishing he was there with me. "I'm still pretty wired," I said truthfully. He clucked at me, but still bade me goodnight.
"Don't stay up all night," he’d said gently. “I know how you get when you have a deadline.”
"I won't," I whispered, still smiling. "I love you.” The line was dead in my hand before I got the words out.
With a groan, I moved t
o my desk. I needed to have that article done and I wasn't going to be able to sleep anyway. I always seemed to do my best work at night, alone, while the rest of the world was asleep. I never used to work that way. I used to thrive in louder situations with background noise, people bustling around me. When I'd stopped seeing Katie, things had changed. It was as though a switch had been flipped and in my desperation to become someone she wouldn't recognize, I had withdrawn into myself and discovered or forced myself into new habits.
The blinking cursor stared at me on the digital page and I stared it down. With a deep breath, I plunged in. Once the first word was on the screen, the rest flowed. I put my emotions on the back burner and refused to think about my encounter with Katie while I wrote. I was done in an hour, proofed, edited, and ready to submit. I still wasn't tired. So, I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine, staring out the kitchen window at the city below. I wondered absently if Katie was awake, if she was as shaken by seeing me as I was by seeing her. Knowing we would be working together made me cringe, but it also made me confront my memories, times I thought I'd forgotten, a love I thought I'd moved past.
It was years ago and I’d done my best to push those memories out of my mind. When she'd left, it was weeks before I was able to leave my apartment without seeing her on every street corner. And the pain of the memory, even now, was too much. But it all started to change when I met David. Everything else seemed to fall into place. I'd fallen in love with him. We'd gotten married. I moved on. Still, a part of me wondered if Katie had moved on too.
Shaking my head, I went back to the living room and sat in my desk chair, staring at the desktop. On impulse, I opened my Pictures folder and found the group from college. Scrolling through, I smiled at all the hijinks captured on digital film. Most of them were of the rugby team, various matches, parties, and road trips. I'd lost touch with most of those women, unfortunately, and I resolved to see if any lived in Boston now. It could be fun to have a reunion--to meet their husbands or wives. I couldn't be the only one that had gotten married.
The further I scrolled, the more memories of my college days surfaced. Then I paused at a folder named SCANNED. I cringed, but opened it anyway. I was feeling masochistic. The first photo that greeted me was a black and white art shot I'd used for one of my photography classes. It was a silhouette of a woman sitting in a window seat. I'd been fascinated by playing with lighting and had caught the shot in the common room of a friend’s dorm. The girl hadn't known I was taking the picture which made it that much more perfect. If I remembered correctly, I'd gotten an A on the piece. I didn't think much of the girl until our fall semester art show. This was one of the pieces I'd chosen and the girl turned up. She stared at it for a good five minutes before I'd had the nerve to approach her. I remembered our first encounter vividly.
The girl stood not three inches from the picture, glasses shoved to the top of her head, doubling as a headband. It was clear that she was studying every inch of my picture, taking in the flaws and perfections as quickly and methodically as possible. I watched her for a few minutes and waited for her to move on. When she didn't, I felt my heart drop. Surely, I'd done something absolutely atrocious. Gathering my courage, I made my way through the small crowd.
"It's not terrible, is it?" I said with a grin, desperation and trepidation coloring my voice, making it shake.
The girl shook her head, eyes still focused on the image. "Not at all, but I'm curious how you managed to get such perfect sharpness here. It would take hours and techniques I wouldn't expect in a beginner's class," she said, finally chancing a look at me.
"It did take hours and lots of trial and error. I ended up having to work almost pixel by pixel. Kinda similar to burning an image with an enlarger."
She smiled. "So, you know both mediums?"
"Sort of. I worked with film when I was in high school, but had to break my film habit here. Too expensive. One SD card takes the place of almost 40 rolls, so..."
We fell into an awkward silence, both of us staring at the woman in my image who was also the woman standing next to me.
"I'm Katie," she said warmly, extending her hand.
"Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Lizzie," I said with a smile. "Thanks for being my model, by the way."
She smirked. "You know, traditionally, photographers ask a person before taking the picture." I felt my cheeks go red. And her smirk turned into a full smile. "Make it up to me some time," she added mischievously.
"What are you doing now?" I asked, my usual self-assurance coming to the forefront.
"Nothing," she said brightly.
"Then let me buy you coffee," I ignored the way my stomach flipped at her smile and waited for her response.
This tim, she was the one to blush. "Okay," she said softly and followed me out of the gallery. We headed into town, taking up two comfortable chairs at my favorite coffee shop. I watched as she focused intently on her coffee mug and put her full attention to the task of mixing the perfect amount of sugar into the dark liquid.
"So, tell me about yourself!"
She was an art major focusing on print making which was why I never saw her in the finishing lab. While she was a photographer, she preferred to work with the tangible medium of film. She expected me to go on the defensive, which I didn't, but I blushed fully when she told me that my work was just as good as some of the photography majors she knew.
She was from a small farming town in Ohio and her parents strongly disapproved of her decision to come to Smith, let alone be an art major. She was supposed to be an attorney and already engaged to some older man with an established career. No thank you, she said. Her parents disapproved of everything she did and refused to pay for a single cent of her education. Just as well, she said. “They would've disowned me anyway once they learned that I was gay.”
We wrapped up our coffee date and as we were heading back to campus, I asked her out to dinner. The smile she gave me still made my heart race just remembering it. We went that night and the rest was history.
I don't think I'd said more than two words about myself the entire time, soaking up everything about her. She was beautiful and had an easy smile with the darkest green eyes you've ever seen. Her glasses, while dorky on anyone else, inexplicably suited her perfectly. I was completely enthralled. Over the course of a few weeks, our casual friendship turned to something more serious and before I knew it, we were in love, though I daresay I'd fallen in love with her the first time I'd seen her sitting in the window.
I continued to flip through the pictures, watching our relationship gradually changing from that tenuous newness to a comfortable familiarity, pausing on one of us just laughing. She held me, arms wrapped around my middle. We looked so comfortable, so happy. It was difficult to see knowing not long after, everything had fallen apart. Seeing her tonight had dredged up all those emotions and feelings I had so carefully buried. I wanted nothing more than to forget. To not remember how happy we had been. I didn't need her back in my life in any way. I needed to not see her. But like a train wreck, I knew I'd never be able to look away anytime she was in the room. There was too much left unsaid, too much unfinished business. She'd left and I had let her. This was my fault entirely. And it hadn't bothered me until now.
I closed my eyes and shut down the computer and finished my wine in the dark.
Chapter 3
The week passed slowly and by the time Friday rolled around, I still had at least three days’ worth of work to complete. I settled in to stay late, ready to burn the midnight oil, so to speak. The office was deserted save for one or two other masochists with no life.
I’d been at The Wire for a full month and a half and still felt every inch of the newness of my career. I barely understood what I was doing and each article felt like a struggle just to finish. Still, as long as James was happy with my work, I supposed I was doing something right.
I stared at my computer screen watching the cursor blink its persistent reminder that m
y virtual page was blank. I had been struggling for the past hour, wanting to write something, but finding absolutely no inspiration in my current surroundings. My desk was littered with notes and ideas, slips of paper with false starts or important parts to touch on, but all of it seemed disjointed and impossible to connect into a cohesive whole. Nothing but the looming deadline of 9 a.m. Saturday morning entered my thoughts. I felt utterly useless, wondering what I had gotten myself into by becoming a staff writer. At least freelancing gave me a touch more freedom.
I checked my watch. It was 9:00 p.m. On a Friday. Ugh. I considered throwing in the towel and heading home, knowing that sometimes slamming things out under intense pressure made them a higher quality, but this was my first attempt at a serious analytical critique of a play and I wanted to do it justice. I felt that I owed it to the players.
“Still here, huh?”
I jumped and turned around fast enough to nearly tip my chair. Katie laughed, hoisting her camera bag higher on her shoulder. Her eyes glittered behind her oh-so-trendy glasses.
“I thought I was the only one with no life!” she said, the laughter still tinging her voice. It sounded different than I remembered. More forced. She used to be wild, reckless even. Now she seemed reserved. I guess that's the price of getting older. More responsibility, less fun.
I shook my head. “I'm stuck. Writers block. And the deadline's tomorrow morning. I'm fucked.” I tossed the pen I'd been playing with onto the desk. I hadn't even realized it was in my hands. All the same, it provided a nice dramatic flair.
Katie scoffed. “Please. You don't get writers block.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Well, my Liz doesn't.” I watched her face tense up. I don't think she'd meant to say that. To call me her Liz. “Didn't,” she corrected herself.
