by Kilby Blades
8 Lovesong
Whenever I'm alone with you,
you make me feel like I am home again.
Whenever I'm alone with you,
you make me feel like I am whole again.
Whenever I'm alone with you,
you make me feel like I am young again.
Whenever I'm alone with you,
you make me feel like I am fun again.
-The Cure, Lovesong
* * *
Roxy (Early December)
“Is a blindfold really necessary?”
In my mind’s eye, I could see Jag smirk. Since my senses were restricted, the only tangible thing I had to latch on to was his shifting of gears. It was an odd sensation—his Tiguan was automatic, but the car we were in now had manual transmission. Wherever we were going, it was a special-enough occasion to take his dad’s Mercedes.
It wasn’t our official anniversary—not the one we’d said we’d count, at least. We’d decided that our real anniversary would be the one that marked the date after we’d both come clean. The Instagram friend request debacle had led to two months of topsy-turvy—some of it spent in halcyon bliss, some of it spent fighting, and the rest spent somewhere in between. We’d gotten together for real after we’d worked past our bullshit, and come in free and clear and in good faith. But that was another story.
Still, I’d wracked my brain for other possibilities. I’d scoured the internet for the tour dates of all of my favorite bands. Most likely, Jag was taking me to a show. Going to shows was kind of our thing. And the other big thing was finally over: last week, we’d both turned in the last of our applications.
“If you knew where we were going, it would ruin my surprise.”
I may have protested, but the truth was, I got a thrill from the mystery of it all and I was giddy to have a long night alone with Jag. I could spend forever with all my other senses deprived, just listening to the sound of his voice.
I hadn’t dated that many boys in my short life, but every date Jag had ever taken me on rivaled scenes I’d seen in romance movies. Jag’s boyfriend game was strong.
“At least tell me which way we’re going,” I implored.
He laughed, and I loved the sound. “What, like, north, south, east or west? Can you really not wait another half hour to find out?”
“Hmmm,” I mused. “Another half an hour…we could be all the way to Red Bluff—that is, unless we’re still in Rye and you’ve just been driving me in circles.”
What indeed felt like thirty minutes later, we’d gone from driving on a forest road to the stop-and-go feel of a town. By the time Jag parked, I was itching to stretch my legs and became preoccupied with that once he let me out. It surprised me when he pulled the black satin sleep blinders up from over my eyes. We’d just driven two-plus hours to eat at…
“A pizza place?” I blurted. And not one of those fancy pizza restaurants with table cloths and pizza they had the nerve to charge twice the price for and call flatbread. But I recognized it.
“Wait a minute…” I began, a smile spreading on my face as I swung my gaze to Jag.
“Look familiar?” he asked, with a smile that matched mine. Because this wasn’t just any pizza place. It was the pizza place where we’d gone on our first date, when he’d taken me to see the Foo Fighters in Ft. Bragg. This was what required an all-afternoon date and a long drive. Jag was taking us back to this place—back to this night—when we’d had our first kiss.
“Who’s playing tonight?” I wanted to know, my mind skipping ahead already, surmising that my suspicions about Jag taking me to a concert had been right.
“You have got to learn how to enjoy a good surprise,” he came back playfully.
There was something delightful and precious about this trip down memory lane—about recalling how tentative we’d been with one another back then. Jag shocked the hell out of me when he told me that he’d quietly nursed an intense crush on me. He had a good laugh when I revealed that, when we went to the concert together, I hadn’t known whether it was a date.
But when we finished our pizza and began the short walk toward the club where we’d seen the Foo Fighters play, there was a suspicious lack of activity around the space. Last time we’d been there, we’d stood in line for a while, so long that Jag had rubbed my shoulders to keep me warm. But tonight—on a Saturday night—there was no line.
“Who did you say was playing again?” I asked, knowing full well that he hadn’t. His next words were an obvious dodge.
“I don’t think you’ve heard of the band.”
I raised an eyebrow, giving him a look as we were feet away from the door. It wasn’t until we were upon it that I saw the sign.
Closed for a private event.
My eyes were wide by the time I looked back at Jag. An expression I couldn’t measure had taken over his face. All playfulness was gone from his demeanor.
“Let’s see what’s inside,” he coaxed.
Entering the venue this time was nothing like going in the first, though walking in brought back memories—the old supper-club style seating and the red hues of the decor that were true to the space’s name. I remembered the stage and the bandstand, the carpeted stairs, the hard wood parquet dance floor, and the raised booths that fanned out amphitheater style. What was different this time was that the overhead lights were off and the ceiling above the dance floor had been strung with tiny white lights—the most magnificently-arranged white lights I had ever seen.
The tables were illuminated, too, with votives in squat, stained-glass candle holders that diffused the light. All except for one table—the one where Jag and I had sat that night. Our table glowed with the light of what looked like at least twenty small pillar candles on a tiered, modern candelabra.
The craziest thought occurred to me then: was Jag going to propose? We were only eighteen, but I honestly couldn’t think of what else would merit a gesture so grand. He’d rented out a popular venue on a Saturday night and it looked like a professional had designed the space. I didn’t want to think about how much something like this had cost.
“Jag…” I looked up at him. Suddenly, my favorite leather jacket and my favorite skinny jeans didn’t seem like enough for whatever this was. I’d noticed that Jag looked a little more dapper than usual when he picked me up. He’d worn his darker-wash jeans, his pea coat, and—if I wasn’t mistaken—he’d used some sort of product in his hair.
“Dance with me?” he asked, regarding me a bit nervously, but extending a steady hand.
I found my voice. “As if I would say no.”
An usher who I hadn’t seen before came out of nowhere with a flashlight to light our way. We took the steps on the left, which led us to our table. Instead of sitting, we paused there. Jag walked around me to take my jacket. Then he took off his, revealing a fitted black henley I’d never seen him wear.
Time warped a bit then, and my mind played tricks, giving me the strangest sense of déjà vu, only in the wrong direction, where I wasn’t seeing the past—I was seeing the future. It didn’t feel like I was looking at my teenage boyfriend anymore. It felt like I was standing next to Jagger Monroe, the prodigious, young composer. Jagger Monroe, the man.
God, he’s hot.
Even as I was utterly swept away, I couldn’t help but to think it—to think about how ensorcelled I still was by him, even after a year. It wasn’t the kind of passive admiration all teenage girls had for the finer examples of the male species. There was something specifically and intensely magnetic between me and Jag.
I didn’t consciously remember the music go up. Maybe it had been on all along. The downtempo instrumental arrangement of Times Like These by the Foo Fighters was the perfect opener. It was a great rendition—mellow and unplugged—just like it had been at the show. Also similar to that night was the fact that Jag had opened with it. It had been the first song of their set when they’d taken the stage a year before.
“Was it exactly a year ago today
?” I asked softly as he walked me to the very middle of the space. When we reached our destination, he turned and collected me into his arms, then nodded and smiled as he looked down at me.
“To the day.”
I relaxed then, putting my head on his chest and melting into him as we swayed. We were as close as close could be, and still I melted more. It cleansed me and healed me in ways I’d been too scared to admit how badly I needed. I’d been too tightly-wound—too overstressed—for too long a time.
We danced for four songs straight: through Ain't It the Life, and February Stars, and the best instrumental version of Hero I’d ever heard. I basked in the sublime luxury of not having to think. All there was at that moment was me and Jag and the music and not a single thing between us. It was exactly how things were supposed to be.
When Everlong came on, I exhaled deeply once again, shedding more emotion than even I realized I’d been carrying. It was the song that had played as we’d shared our first kiss. Apart from this right here—whatever it was—which was easily the best thing that had happened to me all year, that kiss had ranked as the very best moment of my life.
But something was building in Jag—something I could feel thrumming through his body—something that told me again we weren’t just here for a walk down memory lane. The past two months had been brutal for both of us. I’d felt for weeks that it had taken a toll on Jag. But I still didn’t know what all of this meant.
“There’s something I need to say to you…” Jag said finally, a few songs later. He pulled back to look down at me, with more determination than I ever thought I’d seen in his eyes. “There’s something I need to show you. Only, it would be wrong—maybe even cruel—to do it more than once. So I’m not gonna harp on it. I’m gonna put it all out there, right now. And the only thing I need from you is a promise that you’ll never, ever, ever forget this night.”
I nodded, not knowing what he would say, but suddenly back on edge. There was something desperate in his voice. I knew instinctively that it had to do with the very foundations of us.
“I don’t know where we’ll be a year from now, Rox…” I could see it pained him to say it. He paused to let the confession sink in. It was the big, pink elephant in the room—the one who loomed closer the deeper we got into the college thing.
“All I know is, I’m sick of fighting. Even though the whole reason we’re coming off as mad at one another is that neither one of us can stand the thought of holding the other one back.”
He paused and I swallowed thickly. We’d never used those words to describe the tension between us these past months. Maybe we should have. His hands slid from where they still held me around my waist and reached to grasp my hands.
“I’m not mad at you, Rox,” he breathed, his voice cracking a little.
“Me neither,” I whispered.
He bent his forehead until it touched mine. Even though we weren’t dancing anymore, we swayed a little together.
“And I’m not naïve,” he continued. “I know that—if it comes to what I hope it doesn’t, we can’t have things both ways. I know what being apart from one another probably means.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. This was the conversation that we hadn’t had. The one we’d needed to. The one it had felt like we couldn’t. Of course it had taken something like this—the applications being in and both of us being disarmed in the one place that would cause us to drop our weapons—that found us letting our defenses down.
“But no matter what happens to us in the short-term, and no matter how things seem, I will find my way back to you. And I know how crazy that sounds. I know it sounds like a promise I can’t possibly keep. And I don’t even need you to believe me. I just need you not to forget how good what we really have is. ‘Cause what it’s been like lately? That isn’t even us.”
By then, my first tear had fallen, but Jagger’s eyes held only resolve—as if everything hinged on this. It only made me love him more.
“So, promise me, Rox—no matter how things ever look or ever seem—promise me you’ll never forget.”
9 Landslide
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you.
But time makes you bolder.
Even children get older.
And I'm gettin' older, too.
-Fleetwood Mac, Landslide
* * *
Roxy (Early March)
Having given up on the illusion that any of us would show up to school, Principal Wyatt had given seniors the day off. It was March 10th—better known as "Decision Day”—the day when colleges that didn’t accept on a rolling basis issued undergrad admissions offers.
It was all very high-tech. Beginning at exactly 12PM Eastern Standard Time, students could log onto each school’s application portal to learn where and whether they’d gotten in. And so I sat, alone at my kitchen table, phone next to me and laptop open wide, thankful that my dad had acquiesced to my insistence that he go to work. If he were home, it would have only made me more nervous.
My browser was open and I’d launched separate tabs where I’d navigated to each school login screen. Tab by tab, I would go through and learn my fate.
8:49AM PST
With eleven minutes left, I thought back to December, when my dad and I had taken our first father-daughter trip out of state. We’d road tripped on the East Coast looking at schools from the Mid-Atlantic and New England. To my utter terror, I had fallen in love with the top-ranked program: Brown.
There were great schools elsewhere, too. Williams was well-ranked but Williamstown was smaller than Rye—still, it was Massachusetts and a two-hour-away option if Jag ended up in Boston at Berklee. Wellesley was only thirty minutes outside of Boston, and my dad loved the idea of me going to an all-women’s school. I’d outright hated Middlebury and had been intimidated by the schools I'd secretly hoped I would adore: Columbia and NYU. I'd applied to all of them anyway. Just in case, I thought sardonically. Just in case…I didn't know what.
Just in case I'm too weak not to compromise what's right for me just because I'm in love with a guy who's moving to New York.
I was weak and I knew it, though Jagger did not. I deserved an Oscar for the months of performances I’d put on for him, even after we’d had our heart-to-heart. It was a total mind fuck—loving him too much to let him make the mistake of giving up Juilliard for me and barely loving myself enough not to be on the fence about making the same choice.
8:51
The past few months had been excruciating. Even with Jag and I trying to put the dark days of the fall behind us, our parents' unsolicited advice on the matter had never stopped. Jack and Elsie had tried to appear impartial when they spoke about it, but I could tell they were in favor of Jag going east. My parents had not-at-all tried to appear impartial. As my mother had so tactlessly repeated in recent months, “Don’t confuse Mr. Right for Mr. Right Now.”
8:54
It didn't help that our friends were still so well-decided on staying together. I’d probed for signs of difficulty, but they still appeared to be sailing through. Declan and Annika had been through some serious shit together, but Zoë and Gunther? Really? She'd once talked about moving to New York to become a fashion designer. But ever since she’d gotten together with Gunther, all she could say was that she'd known since their first kiss that they'd be together forever. I'd kill for her brand of confidence. Sometimes it felt like that with Jagger, but I had to admit: I just didn't know.
8:57
Jagger. I wondered what he was doing at that moment—wondered whether he was alone or flanked by his parents as he waited to learn where he got in. We'd briefly entertained the idea of being together when we found out but decided it might be too much. Suddenly, I wished he was w
ith me right then, no matter what happened.
8:58
The moment of knowing was upon me and I didn't know which outcome I feared most: getting in to Brown, not getting into Brown…each would taste equally bitter. I knew how thankful I should be for the fact that I even had these kinds of choices. Still, it would have been so much simpler if my only options had been one of the UC schools.
8:59
…And, speaking of UC schools, those would be my first stop. It took me a few minutes to get through, no doubt because high school seniors across the country were all logging in at the same time. UCLA had twice the acceptance rate of some of the east coast programs where I’d applied, but it was still hard to get in. Irvine’s and UCSB’s acceptance rates were twice that of UCLA. Those two would be my safety schools.
I felt eerily detached from myself as I methodically went through and read my results. I’d been most confident about UCSB and Irvine, but when I saw good news from UCLA, I felt a twinge of pride. For someone who’d thought this was the ultimate goal six months before, it didn’t feel as good as I knew it should. None of this did. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jag.
9:08
Just because I was a glutton for punishment, I chose NYU next, one of the schools I’d liked the least of all. New York just didn’t feel like my kind of place. "Congratulations!" the letter began, going on to offer me a spot in the fall class. It felt like a punch in the gut.
9:14
I went to the Columbia web site next. This letter started differently. "We regret to inform you," it began. I trudged on to Williams, then to Wellesley, rejected from the former but not the latter.
9:25
So, New York, L.A. or Boston. Those were my three options so far. If I didn't get into Brown, my choice was still unclear. And I probably wouldn't, I realized. I'd been rejected by the two more prestigious of the schools I’d read the answers to so far and accepted by the ones that were ranked lower.
My heart rate reached unprecedented levels as my phone sounded the familiar chime that rang out any time I received a new text. It sat face down on my table and I was terrified to pick it up. What if it was Jagger? And what would be his news? With a shaking hand, I turned it over. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding when I saw it wasn’t him. Still, every part of my body tingled with anticipation.
