Sharp, But Softened Heart: Anya MajorA Story by Lindsay Anya is a cynical, bitchy, & egotistical 25-year-old who drinks scotch & raps to a crowd at a local NYC club on Thursday nights. But deep down, she has a heart. And somebody's bound to find it. Right?
Sharp, But
Softened Heart Snapshot of Anya Major Chapter 1- Thursday
11:55 pm “We don’t fall in
love. No, we don’t fall in love with another person.” Anya waited through the confused reaction of
the crowd. She paused with the microphone at her lips. “We fall in love with the way that we feel when that person is around. We fall
in love with the person that we
become, as a part of that ‘us’ that we create. We like the soft glow of our
skin over a candle-lit dinner as we catch a glimpse of our reflection in the
silverware. We are smitten with our own flirtatious
side. We adore our fingers intertwined with another’s as we walk through the
mall, parading them around to make our bitchy friends jealous. So, don’t you
see? In that way, no…We don’t fall in love with that person. No. We fall in love with ourselves.” The crowd
collectively shifted back further in their seats, each person’s eyes gazing
just above the stage. Not at Anya but at that mysterious place on the ceiling
where we are wired to expect the answers to lie. “A better version
of ourselves. Or at least for that given space in time.” She added. Anya took a sip of
her drink, scotch and water on the rocks. She barely winced as it hit the space
behind her teeth and above her tongue. It tasted like licking a stiff piece of
leather. She relished the reality of its firmness. She replaced the
clear glass on the wooden stool that stood at arms length. She brought the cold
metal mic back up to touch her lips. She liked the reality of that too. “If only we could
come to grips with the fact that we don’t need that other person to be happy.
If some scientist in some laboratory in any-college-town, USA could simply bottle
that feeling of being warm and supported and appreciating yourself, in that
moment, confident in your abilities, and sexually satisfied to the point where
we don’t need to be picking up every a*****e who shouts ‘nice a*s’ in the local
bar,” Her voice went up. It was at this
point in the night that her tone always got a little preachy. “If that were the case, then no. No, we wouldn’t need
anyone at all.” She took another
sip, to the sounds of 3 people clapping by the bar and a few women at the
front, exhaling sharply, obviously offended. She smiled. “Bring it home,
girl!” Julius, her best friend, called from behind the bar. She took another
sip of her drink. “At this point if
you could….just rap with me for a second.” A few people
cheered from the far right corner. She couldn’t see. Her voice took on
a serious tone with a heavy hip-hop quality. She raised her hand in emphasis. “In the basement
of the skies Refuted, coupled
romance dies Taken with
self-evidence Dark patterns should
arise” “Every time,
again, again. See the pale moon
sighs Neglected, far to
touch, to grasp Avert those inward
eyes.” “Who to see and
who to tell? Your secret
lullabies? Hug yourself with
blindest arms, A heavy head to
rise.” “Look outward, never
hearing More than your own
cries Attach yourself to
“him,” you lie. Yourself and you
you’ve tied.” “Don’t hide.” She lowered her
voice as she looked out at the crowd. She wasn’t
prepared for the amount of clapping that actually erupted across the dimly lit
bar. She simply knocked back her drink and slammed the glass down. An ice cube
popped out of the top and landed on the stage. She kicked it with her boot and
chuckled to herself as she realized it came dangerously close to grazing one of
the women who audibly dissed her remarks not 4 minutes before. “Thank you.” Anya
spoke into the mic as she placed it back onto the stand. “Now let’s get drunk.” ************************************** Julius slapped
another scotch and water onto the damp wooden counter in front of a
tired-looking blonde in a white shirt and a brown leather jacket with the
sleeves cut off. “I would say it’s
on me, but you haven’t paid me for the last 4.” Anya sipped loudly
and smacked her lips. “Tastes better that way.” Julius pretended
to be put-off. “What, when it’s free?” “Gee, is it your
scotch or your ‘service with a smile’ that just makes me feel all warm inside?”
Her eyes widened in mock-amazement. “Neither. It’s the
conveyer-belt of men parading in and out of your apartment every night that
makes you all warm inside, honey!”
Julius exploded in a fit of laughter. “B***h.” Anya
replied. “Yes, but I’m your b***h, honey, so you’ve got to deal
with me.” He said as he batted his eyelashes. “And can I just take the
opportunity to say that your performance was particularly cynical this
evening?” “You can say it
and I’ll believe it, but I’m sure as hell not apologizing for it. I says what I
says cuz I means what I means, honey.”
“Mmm…speak on it
girl.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, what is it about you that just makes me
want to pour you another drink?” He feigned exasperation. “My classic
good-looks.” A voice spoke from
behind her. “Took the words
right out of my mouth.” Anya didn’t turn
around, but rolled her eyes. “Listen, the only thing I’ll be taking out of your
mouth will be my…” She spun around. “Mmm. Scratch that.” She inhaled sharply at
the sight of this stranger. “I haven’t seen you at one of my performances
before, now have I?” The stranger
smiled, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth, behind an array of stubble
across his cheeks, a pointed nose, and inky black eyes. “No, ma’am I’ve never
been. And you are just the most sinful little vixen I have ever seen.” “I’ll bet. Where
y’from?” “Alabama.” Anya grabbed her
drink and felt a sense of friendly resolve. She breathed deeply. “Okay. ‘Nuff
small talk. Let’s get out of here.” She winked. “Well alright
then.” She heard Julius
call from behind her. “You know you can’t take that drink out of here!” Anya laughed. Chapter 2- Friday 8:30 am The
cold wind whipped Anya’s blonde hair about her face as she strode down the busy
street. “I’d
know that a*s anywhere.” A voice called from behind her. “And
I’d recognize that bitchy tone. I’ve heard nails on a rusty chalkboard that
sound better than you do.” She smiled. “Why
would the chalkboard be rusty?” “Shut
up.” Anya laughed again as she spun on a heel. “What are you doing out this
early, Julius?” “I
could ask you the same thing. Or are you just out very late?” He asked, pretending to fan himself with his outstretched
right hand. “I do declare, Miss Anya Major, you are but a scandal, aren’t you?”
“For
your information, I had a great time last night. Will I call him again? No. But
I will look on the memory of last night with fond emotion.” “Emotion,
you? Blasphemy!” “Again,
shut up.” “Let’s
get some breakfast. I was on my way to the club to pick up my tips from last
night, but I decided I’ll let you buy me a double macchiato.” “Hmmm.
Alright, I’ll cave.” She twirled the long strands of her hair as she turned
back around. Julius caught up with her. When
they were sitting at the coffee shop, busy picking apart all of the
unsuspecting customers, Julius suddenly dropped a bomb on Anya. “Anya,
I have to tell you something. I’ve met someone.” “Get
the hell out of here. You mean here in New York? You’ve met someone? Well, it’s
about time! There are only 1.6 million people.” “No,
I mean I’ve met someone who could potentially steal me away…you know…from ‘the
game.’” He clarified. “Oh,
the game. You mean, wait ‘til last
call and bat your eyelashes at the man who most successfully stuffed his
crotch?” “Yes,
like I said, the game.” “Fair
enough. Who is he?” “His
name is Colton. I met him a week ago at Tom Johnson’s, the new gay club that
opened on Friday. We’ve actually hung out four times since then and last night
he told me he thinks he’s falling for me.” “After
only 5 days. Wow, gay love works in timely ways, doesn’t it?” “Yes.
Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I won’t be able to come to your next gig
at the club because Colton bought tickets to ‘War Horse.’” “Seen
it. It has puppets but surprisingly, a tear-jerker.” “You
don’t cry.” “You’re
right.” “Anyway,
I was saying: I won’t be able to be there. But you’re good without me right?
You’ll find someone else to pretend to be interested in your raps?” “S**t,
I be killin’ it shawty.” “Don’t
do that.” “Right.
Well, yes. Yes, I’ll be fine. I don’t need your girly cheerleading from the
back of the club, anyway. Go see horse puppets. Have fun. And take a photo of
this guy. I want to see what he looks like.” “I
don’t need your approval.” “Correction:
You don’t THINK you need my approval.” “No,
I really don’t.” Julius sipped his coffee. He raised his left eyebrow. “You
know, there’s a guy over by the milk and sugar that’s been eyeing you up since
we sat down. Turn around and see if you’re interested.” “Gee…milk
and sugar? I’m good. That s**t just goes right to your hips.” “No,
the guy, you b***h. He’s cute. Thin, muscular, blue eyes…great hair.” Anya
rolled her eyes but slowly turned around. ************************************** The
clack of boots announced her gentleman caller. “Excuse
me, miss?” She heard his voice like a confident whisper at the back of her
neck. Subtly
she shivered before turning nonchalantly. “Yes?”
She took care to toss her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she cocked her
head to the side. He
was wearing dark jeans and a pair of expensive-looking shoes. The sleeves of
his black button-down shirt were rolled just enough to reveal the hint of a
diamond watch. She knew instantly what she was dealing with. But man, was the
business world making them pretty these days. She
stared past the purposeful second-day stubble and into his clear blue eyes. “Something
you wanted?” He
allowed his eyes to travel down her long legs and back up to her face. “Yeah.
Actually, I was sitting here earlier and I think I may have left my phone.” Julius
snorted from across the table. Anya
felt her cheeks begin to blush. She couldn’t remember the last time that had
happened. Suddenly, a jarring vibration shook the hard plastic beneath her as
the phone announced itself. She
jumped and reached underneath the table, still attempting to meet the gaze of
this stranger’s blue eyes. He seemed more interested in regaining his phone. “Looks
like this is it.” She offered. “Yeah…”
He raised his eyebrows as he took the phone from her grasp. He was more intent
on checking his most recent message. “Anyway,
thanks.” He turned to go. Anya
turned back to Julius, unsure of what was taking place. He
nodded to her fervently. “Hey,
um…wait.” She called out. The
stranger turned and instantly, the thoughts ran from her head. She felt like an
empty vessel. What
was it she was supposed to say? D****t, she had never had to work this hard in
her life. “I was thinking of looking at
some new phones later. Maybe you could help me?” Loser says what? She thought. She
waited for 17 minutes while he considered an answer. Or at least it felt that
way. “I’m
busy later. Maybe tomorrow. 5:00?” He offered, narrowing his eyes. He was
suspicious of her. He smelled her obvious bullshit, she was sure of it. “Right.
Meet me here, we’ll walk over.” She flipped her hair again. She wasn’t sure
why. She had never had to go for the second hair-flip. He
looked confused. “Sure.” And with that he turned and left the building. Immediately,
Julius burst into a fit of laughter. “Okay,
I have to go meet Colton. We’re supposed to look
at phones later.” He laughed again. “I’ll
have you know that looking at phones is the new first base.” “Right…well,
coming from someone who normally has no problem going from the dugout to the
major leagues, I’m not so sure what all of that
was about.” Anya
bit her lip and paused to consider. She still wasn’t sure she had full control
of her mental faculties. Was she getting rusty? Oh, right. So “rusty” wasn’t quite the right
word then. “Yeah.
I mean…but that was easy. This was…I’m not sure.” She thought about his dark
sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms and the glint of that watch on his
olive skin. “Don’t
think that hard, you’ll get wrinkles.” “I
will. I’m leaving, anyway. Colton sends his love.” “I’ve
never met him.” “Oh,
I’ve told him all he needs to know.” “Hmm.” “How
beautiful, talented, and s****y you are.” “Mmhmm.” “For
real, stop. Stop thinking that hard. It doesn’t suit you.” Anya
exhaled deeply. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Oh,
right. I don’t even know what I’m doing yet.” “Another
rap?” “It’s
slam poetry…and I only break that out when I’m feeling inspired. I’m not
feeling very soap-boxy right now. Probably just sing a few Alanis Morrissette
songs.” “Okay.
Well good luck. And seriously, relax your face. You look awkward and
vulnerable. I almost don’t recognize you.” Chapter 3- Saturday 5:25pm Anya
walked alongside the stranger with the nice blue eyes. His name was Drew and she
was struck by how little he spoke during their first outing together. On the
way, at least. “So,
anything you would recommend?” She asked, unsure of why she had to work so
hard. “What
do you mean?” He turned to her. His face lit up with a playful curiousity. She
stared before breaking her gaze to answer. “A phone. I told you I was looking
at phones. I…we’re going to look at phones, right?” “Yes.
Phones.” “Well
okay then. Now that that’s cleared up,” She furrowed her brow. She was
extremely unsure of herself. If there was one word to characterize this
experience, it was the feeling of ‘unsure.’ “So
what do you do for a living, Anya?” He asked, stroking the angle of his chin as
he steered them along the busy sidewalk. He wore a fedora that was cocked to
the side just enough to reveal his thick head of jet-black hair. “What
do I do? Good question.” She laughed as she dodged a hotdog vendor. ******************************************** She
sat with her fingers intertwined with this stranger’s. Twenty
minutes after leaving the cell phone store, they sat on a park bench on the
corner of dump truck and 20th. They sat, not knowing exactly what to
say. “Do
you feel like a hot dog?” He asked, looking deeply into her eyes. A
moment passed. “Anya?” “No.
Sorry. What?” She asked. “A
hot dog.” “If
you do.” She answered. “No, never mind. I…I’m actually not hungry at all. I’m
not sure why I said that.” Why did she
say that? He
smiled. It was crooked, probably purposely and for her benefit, but she didn’t
care. She had forgotten where she was. He
spoke. “My apartment is 4 blocks from here. You feel like a glass of wine?” She
smiled, breaking the gaze she had concentrated on his clear blue eyes. “Now
that I could go for.” She
tossed her hair in an attempt to flirt, not knowing why she had to remind
herself to flaunt her best stuff, and followed close behind as he strode down
the crowded street. Every quarter-block, he glanced back at her and, after 2
blocks, he reached for her hand. It was that point that she’d remember as the
beginning of the end. Chapter 4- Monday, 11:02 pm. Anya
took a long pull from a Marlboro Red, which was held prostrate through her
tightly formed lips. She exhaled sharply and winced at the harsh feeling of the
smoke. She
took a sip from her glass and thought about Drew. She started to remember his
smile, but instead thought about his naked body. “Why
is it so attractive to be with another person anyway?” she asked the
dozen-or-so individuals before her. They were hipsters but it was dark and she
could imagine they were different. Like her. “And
why must discussion always travel from the small-minded, vanilla talk of weather, news, economy…mundane s**t no one really
cares about…to hopes, dreams, wants, and fears…and as time goes by and silences
become fewer, inevitably, spiral into feelings, emotions, and that dark place where
we keep our…gargoyles?” She breathed
this last word closely into the mic, in a loud whisper. “That
s**t you know you don’t want to talk about. That s**t that you stuff down
inside, you lock down beneath a pile of carefully laid bricks and most of the
time forget is there because otherwise you’d be walking around with a s**t ton
of pain and concrete over your heart. You know? That s**t that makes you you.” A
glass clinked off to the far right. Someone was suddenly nervous. Anya
paused to consider this and smiled. “Whose got a ‘for instance’?” Silence.
10 seconds more. “What’s
something you would never tell another person?” A
gruff voice spoke from right in the front of the room. “I beat up my old man
once.” Anya
took a sizeable sip from her quickly vanishing glass of whiskey. She waved it
at the bartender in the back as a kind of signal. He hated that. “You
beat up your father. Why’d you do that?” The
voice answered back, “He was beating up on my mom and one day I just snapped. I
couldn’t watch it no more. I slugged him one and told him to get the hell out
of there. Told him to grow a pair. Best and worst thing I ever done. But I
wouldn’t go tellin’ anyone that. Fact, I haven’t
told anyone that. It’s just for me, you know?” Her
smile widened. “I don’t know, sir, you just opened up for the whole bar, and
all I had to do was ask. In fact, I didn’t even ask you directly. You could
have sat there with your brick wall unscathed and your secret buried down
underneath, untouched. You could have finished your Miller Lite and gone home.” “I
suppose.” “So
why didn’t you?” She
heard him shift through the darkness. “I don’t know.” “I’ll
tell you why not, sir, and I thank you for speaking up. I’m sure your old man
f*****g deserved it. It’s because secretly, even if we can’t admit it, we want
to share those parts of ourselves. We want to open the door and let the ugly
mutated, broken-a*s-looking gargoyles out
just to show someone that they’re there. We feel good afterward, but the truth
is, we’re scared shitless while they’re out of their cage, roaming around,
giving that other person the chance to hurt us even further than we’ve already
been hurt. Because that’s where we are truly vulnerable. But you know what else
I think?” She
took a pull from her cigarette, which was nearly out at this point. “Secretly,
we have another desire, as well. And do you know what that is?” She paused.
“For help. Help. We want someone to
help us. We want them to see through our problem to the part where it might
make sense. Every once in a while, an outsider can get an objective look at
what has caused us so much subjective pain and can literally cut right through
the bullshit and enlighten us as to what the hell we might do about it. We see
through their eyes instead of our own, during these instances, and suddenly our
perspectives are permanently changed. ‘You’re
right, he did deserve it’ ….’Wow, so I’m really not the biggest loser on the
planet’… ‘Maybe it wasn’t my fault she died’…. And so on.” More shifting of seats. “Hmm,”
she paused again to consider. “Recently I’ve come into contact with a person
who saw it fit to unveil his deepest and darkest…and after a very short period
of time and…shall we say energy.” Someone
snickered from the left corner. “I
believe his intentions were good and wholly subliminal in nature. I don’t
believe he consciously intended to
seek acceptance or to ask for help. Nevertheless, this one is for him…” A
slow tempo kicked up from the machine opposite her on the tiny stage and she
took a breath. She
thought back to her earlier conversation with Drew. She paused for probably 8
seconds, tops. But in that space in time, she remembered every nuance. “So what exactly do you do, Drew?” She had asked. Her index finger
traced the outline of his stomach as they lay in a pool of sunlight, pouring
from the open window. He smiled. “I survive.” She laughed. “What does that mean?” “Well, it’s more than I can say for
a lot of people out there. To survive is a valuable thing these days. The
survivor is a dying breed.” “I guess you’re right,” She
answered. She had felt her brow furrow as she contemplated the weight of his
words. They were weighted, to be sure, but, at the time, she hadn’t been sure
with what that was. “So, how long have you been in the
business of survival?” “Since my life began.” “You can remember back that far?”
She teased, grabbing his bare arm. “March 21st, 2003.” She frowned, unsure of how to
proceed. “So…that would make you 9 years old?” He chuckled softly. His crooked
smile returned. “I guess it would. But that’s when my life began. That’s the
point in time when I dropped everything, just dropped it all…and started
living.” “What was so terrible, that you
decided to make such a drastic change?” She had asked. “You name it. Abuse, poverty,
violence, theft, ridicule…and the worst part was: I did nothing about it. I never
fought back. And no one evey fought for me. Until March 21st, 2003.
That was when I turned things around.” She had shivered. Anya was suddenly aware of the
cold mic pressed to her lips. She inhaled sharply and spoke the words she’d
written down after their conversation. Thought
is defeating. Why
keep on beating? This
child, This
adolescent, Only
just teething. Who
gives instructions? For
another’s destructions? Wanting
to go…Stopped. By
human obstructions. Regret,
poison. The
diet of youth. Verbal,
emotional, Recall
his abuse… His
heart wants its justice, It’s
gavel of hate. Weighs
on his soul, A
heart palpitates. Fear,
the response. To
his unexpectations. Dis-recreations. Incarcerations. Get
off. This
merry-go-round of dysfunction. Descend
to the dungeon, Darkly
lit luncheon. All
he knows. Yes,
what he’s come to know, rightly. Prays
for it nightly, His
eyes are unsightly. Fault
him, Accept him? Pure,
unabashed? Unrecognizable, Soothed,
unharrassed? A
difference. Damn,
what a difference a day makes. High
stakes, Cease fakes, Late
morning tide wakes. New
perspective. Reaching,
extending a hand, A
plan, To stand. Alone
in the clan, A
hand, a fan, A
likeminded man. And
breathe. Consider. Thoughts
are unmined. Heart
is a blur, Too
soft and too blind, Unbidden
by time The
sign. Of
a good human being, A
good lock and keying A
good way of seeing. The
truer experience. To
shutting your eyes. And
exercise. That
muscle, that instinct, That
internal eye wink. Quicker
than minds think, Brighter
than hearts pink. Recognize
your fellow life, Sans
misdeed, without the strife. For
he is not the first to wander, Shouldn’t
you know? Ripe
with memories in tow. Close
your eyes and bear his blows, And
feel. Strengthen, Lengthen, Stretched
for, Yanked
thin. That
instinct, that muscle. Decipher
the puzzle, Bite
through the muzzle, Go
ahead. Learn
you his lessons, Eternal, As
part of the struggle. She dropped the
mic audibly onto the seat beside her and stood. Her breathing was quick.
Twenty-three people clapped enthusiastically and one whistled loudly through
his teeth. Anya felt her heart rate quicken. She had felt
inspired for the past 36 hours. She thought again of Drew and his nakedness, both
physical and emotional. A red-hot heat crept into her cheeks that had nothing
to do with the stage lights. She stepped off
the stage and over to a bar stool with an awaiting glass of scotch. She sipped
thankfully. “Interesting one,
coming from you.” Grunted the bartender. “What do you
mean?” “Thought you took advantage of the wounded, not tried to
understand them better.” “Go to hell,” She
swiveled her chair to face the tables. The place was already getting ready to
face a new act. “I just say what I
feel.” “You’ve changed.” “I haven’t
changed.” Chapter 5- Thursday 12:47 am “So,
what do you sing about, at these clubs?” Drew asked her, as they sat at the bar
in his apartment. They were wrapped in silk sheets and sipping Manhattans. “Whatever
I want to sing about. I create my own format.” “What
does that mean? Whatever’s in your heart?”
He smiled devilishly. “So if you were to leave here now, in the state you’re
in, you’d be singing ‘Sexual Healing’?” “No.”
She hit him in the arm. She took a deep sip of her drink and smiled, too. “Sometimes
I do slam poetry.” “Slam
poetry? About what?” He sat up straighter. “My
experiences, the people I meet, things I hate.” “You
shouldn’t dwell on things like that.” “On
what?” “Hate.
It’s not worth it.” “It
is in New York.” He
placed his drink on the marble bar beside him. “You know, Lord Byron once said
‘He who surpasses or subdues mankind must look down on the hate of those
below.’” “So
now you’re above mankind?” She teased. “Hate
is a weak emotion. That’s what that means. It’s a weaker person’s emotion.” She
nodded, unsure of what to say. “Where
did you hear that?” He
smiled and traced the inside of her arm with his index finger. “I read it in a
book...ironically one lying on my father’s dresser.” She
surprised him. “What did he do to you?” “My
father?” He asked, letting his hand drop to his lap. “Yes.” “Everything.” She
grasped his hand and pulled him toward the bed once more. “Tell me. I want to
know.” Chapter 6 " Saturday 10:47 pm Anya rushed across
the street toward the bar. Once inside, her eyes had to adjust from the bright
lights to the inky darkness inside. The diligent new bouncer asked for her ID. “Please,” she uttered as she pushed
past him. From behind the bar, Julius waved him off. She slapped her
purse onto the bar and grabbed a mint from the jar in front of her. “Make it a
double.” Julius surveyed
her with prying eyes. “Rough night?” “No. Actually, do
you have any wine? How’s it come? Red or white?” Julius replaced
the glass he had been drying with a towel. “Are you alright? You look thinner.
Have you been eating?” “Not really.” “Hmm. And you want
a glass of wine?” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know.
Maybe. Whatever you have.” “How come you’re
not up there tonight?” Julius asked, gesturing toward the dimly lit stage. “I never called
Pete back the other night, so he probably found someone else.” “Yeah,” Julius
spat. “Dan Maroney, you remember him? Beautiful boy, but in the talent
department: a whole lotta nothing.” She heard him
warming up his strings as they spoke. “I don’t know. He’s alright.” “He’s alright? What was it you said the last
time he was here? Right, he looks like Hugh Jackman, but with Woody Allen’s
social skills and Chad Kroeger’s vocal finesse. Yeah, that was you, was it
not?” He teased. “I was probably
having a bad day.” “You’re always having a bad day! It’s who you
are. It’s part of your charm.” “Well, jeez, nice
compliment.” “What’s up with
you, my darling? You’re different.” “I’m not
different.” “And what is with
all of this?” He placed a glass of
deep red wine on the bar in front of her and gestured up and down her body. Anya gave him a
sour look and grabbed at her plain white t-shirt and skinny jeans. Julius leant over
and rested his head on his hands. “Were you robbed? Did some hooligans steal
all your leather and chains?” “Shut up. I don’t
wear chains. And anyway, I just felt a little different today. All that s**t
makes me feel a little weighed down at times.” “Which times?” “What?” “When have you
ever….Never mind. So where is this boy I’ve heard nothing about over the past
week?” “Don’t even…I told
you my new phone hasn’t been working. And he’s good. He’s really good.” “Are you…Anya
Maria Major…are you blushing?” “That’s not my
middle name.” “What the f**k
ever…You’re blushing.” “I’ll bet it’s the
wine.” She shook her head
and smoothed her long blonde hair. “Anyway, he’s good. We’ve been together
almost every night this week. He’s different. He’s nice. He treats me well.” “And you’re not
freaked out?” “How so?” “He talks to me.” “Honey, in
relationships, you’re not usually the talking
type.” “I know. And thank
you, I appreciate that, a*****e.” Julius smirked. “But, I don’t
know…we talk, well…he talks…and I
listen. I find myself just wanting to listen
to him. He’s insightful.” “What does that
mean, he’s read a lot of books?” “Can you say that
again, but slower? I think I need a glass of wine, myself.” “Shut up.” She
laughed. “I’m serious. He makes me feel like I’ve been wasting so much time.” “Doing what?
Spending your days with me and your nights with randoms?” “Being cynical!” “Again, though,
that’s you.” “What’s you?” A gruff
voice spoke from behind Anya’s left shoulder. “Oh,” She breathed. Julius rolled his
eyes, “Well, look who we have here: none other than the man of the hour.” Anya felt large,
warm hands grab her by both shoulders and spin her chair 180 degrees. The
strands of her hair rippled in front of her eyes, but through them she saw his
smooth, tanned face and dark hair. “That’s better.
Hello, beautiful.” He said softly. “I didn’t know you
were coming.” “You don’t want me
to see where you work?” “This isn’t where
I ‘work’ exactly.” “It is. It’s where
you lay-it-all-on-the-line, right?” He winked, nodding toward the small stage
behind him. “Shut up,” She
nudged him in the ribs. She stared at his piercing, laughing blue eyes and
forgot the dim, industrial look of her surroundings. It wasn’t until Julius
cleared his throat that she returned to her position on the worn wooden bar
stool. “Uh, Drew...this
is my…friend…Julius.” She introduced. “That’s what we are…friends, right?” She
asked behind her shoulder. “Yes, b***h, we’re
friends.” “Okay. It’s just…”
She started. “Anyway, Julius this is Drew. My…Drew.” He chuckled and
raised his left hand. “I’m her Drew. Nice to meet you.” Julius
sub-vocalized, “Mmm hmm.” “Listen, Julius,
she isn’t performing tonight right? Mind if I steal her away for a few hours?” “Oh, a few hours,
is that right?” Julius asked. Anya shot him a menacing
glare. “Yeah, take her.
Do what you want with her. She’s no use to me, not tonight anyway.” Anya smiled and
downed the rest of her wine in one sip. “Later.” ************************************ Anya
and Drew walked the dark, yet perpetually bright and unnatural streets of
Manhattan, dodging puddles and drunken homeless men. They had been walking for
a few minutes without sound. In the distance, a cab was honking loudly, though
that had been banned for some time now. Drew
broke the silence. “So, do you speak everything that you write?” “As
in, do I use it all for the stage? No, not at all. Why?” She furrowed her brow. “Do
you have a lot of material written down?” “Not
material, per se…I mean I have…yeah, I have a lot. Under my bed there are at
least 5 notebooks filled.” “Of
what? Slam poetry?” “Yes...and
no. There’s some…I don’t know…poetry poetry…some
short stories…songs.” “What
are you going to do with them? They’ve just been sitting there?” “Yeah,
for the most part. Just sitting there. I mean, what do you even do with stuff
like that? I mean, I write constantly. I’ve just never done anything with any
of it.” “You
have to.” “What
do you mean I have to?” “I
mean, you have to get your stuff out there. You’re talented. You have a voice.
That’s your ‘thing.’ You know, Bruce Lee once said ‘The function and duty of a
quality human being is the sincere and honest development of his potential.’” “Yeah,
well I’m a woman.” “I’m
serious.” “Yeah,
well you’ve never even heard me…never read my writing. How do you know I have
potential?” “I
just know. I can tell.” “And
what makes you such an expert on quotes, and potential, and talent, and of
‘living life to the fullest’?” Drew
stopped walking altogether. “Because when I was growing up, I vowed to live
every day as a direct reaction to how my father raised us…I vowed to get my
revenge. And then, at the age of 18, I almost died.” “What?
Are you serious.” “Yes.
You don’t know….you just don’t know what your life is all about until you have
to look back on everything you’ve done as if you’ve left it. Perspective is a
hell of a f*****g thing, let me tell you.” They
started walking once again. Anya asked, “What happened?” “I
was wandering the streets at night. I didn’t really have a home to go to, at
least not one that I felt like returning to, and I was jumped by a bunch of
guys who thought I looked tough. I was tough…I just wasn’t walking around
looking for a fight. But they followed me, backed me into a corner, pulled out
a few pipes and beat me with them. The one guy had brass knuckles and another
one had a gun. They used every weapon they had on me.” “You
were shot?” “In
the arm. I got free of the guy pinning me to the ground just in time to avoid
being shot in the chest. If there weren’t so many of them, I’d have been able
to get away. I was used to having to defend myself. But they fought dirty.” He
smirked. His blue eyes looked sad. “So
what happened then?” “Then,
they left me there. No one found me for almost an hour, they said. I had nearly
bled out. But they got me to the hospital and after a while, I was okay. My
life had been changed forever, but I was okay.” Anya
found his hand and squeezed it tight. “I’m surprised you’re able to walk around
the streets at night after that.” He
dropped her hand, “No, see that’s exactly what I’m talking about…or…I don’t
know…what I learned through the years is that you have to live your life
without those barriers. That stuff…like telling yourself that all streets
aren’t safe anymore, telling yourself you have to be the opposite of your
father, or just like your father, or that you aren’t a good enough writer to
get published….that s**t just doesn’t matter. That’s what I learned: It doesn’t
matter. Do you get what I’m saying?” “I…yes.”
Anya stammered. She looked for the sadness or the laughter in his eyes but
neither were there. There was only fire. “Do
you want to know what I believe, seriously?” He asked, “The object of life is
to live as boldly and as fiercely as possible, without reservation, and
unconditionally…to just live.” He looked down at the wet ground. Anya
smiled. “Your own quote.” “Not
as good as you could write, obviously.” He smiled back. She
breathed a heavy breath, laden with emotion. “You know, you’re bad for my
image.” Drew
looked up from the ground to meet her eyes. “Why is that?” “I’ve
always been anti- everything…. No I’m serious…like literally anti-everything. I built somewhat of a career
on cynicism. You know that right? Don’t laugh at me! Seriously…I am the most
cynical person I’ve ever known.” “You
are not.” “See
there you go again. Making me doubt who I think I am.” “What
does it matter?” He reached for her lower back and pulled her close, until she
could feel his breath on her lips. Anya
closed her eyes, “Because you might change me.” “Why?”
He breathed. “Because
I think I love you.” Chapter 7 " Sunday 9:30 pm Anya twirled the
ends of her hair with her fingers as she strode up and down 8th
street. Her boots clacked against the damp pavement as she walked. The night
was warm, but there was a cool breeze whipping through the space between the
high-rises. Drew was running
late. She didn’t mind, though. She simply strode up and back, past her
building, as her mind cycled through the events of the day. What they had done
and what they had not done. How they had gone to lunch and for a walk, only to
wind up back at his apartment. The things they had said and the things that
they did not have to say. She flipped open
her phone. The screen said 9:37. She dialed his number and let it ring twice
before flipping it shut. She didn’t want to seem desperate, though truth be
told, things like that hardly mattered to her these days. She stopped
walking upon realizing that she was humming. She recognized the tune, but
couldn’t place it. Probably something Julius had requested at the club. Just then, her
phone buzzed and came to life. Julius. Ironic. “What’s up?” She
asked. “B***h, come over.
I’m bored and I recorded Desperate Housewives. That psycho-a*s-hoe is going to
hang herself and I have to see how it ends. I’ll wait for you.” “Yeah, well you’ve
already been waiting a long freaking time, doll. The s**t you’re talking about
happened like 2 seasons ago.” She laughed. “What the f**k
ever. I gots a life, don’ts I?” He sassed. “I don’t know, do
you?” “Well if you came
around more often and stopped schlepping around with your new sex-tracurricular
activity, maybe you’d know the answer to that question.” “Don’t say
‘schlep.’ And I can’t watch stone-age TV tonight. I’m waiting for Drew as we
speak.” “Oh here we go
again. Second-class f*****g citizen, once again. It’s the Amistad all over
again.” “Why does there
have to be something wrong with him?” “There isn’t!
That’s what I’m saying.” “No, maybe it’s
about what I’m saying this time.
You’d better be careful, Anya Martina. Don’t let that beautiful boy change
you.” Anya sighed in
exasperation. “You know what, Julius? Maybe he already has. I’m serious, maybe
he has. And you know what else? I’m okay with that. I’m sick of being so….I
don’t know…I’m just sick of myself and how I’ve been. I’m sick of everything.
But you know what I’m not sick of? I’m not sick of him and I’m not sick of who
I am when I’m with him. I’m open minded, I’m active, I’m f*****g…happy. And I
think I love him.” Julius sighed
audibly. Ten seconds passed. “Well, good for you, I guess. No, I mean it. I
think. Good for you.” She waited for him
to finish. Apparently, he didn’t have anything else to say. “Thank you, I
think. Are you being serious?” “Yes.” “Because we don’t
usually do this.” Anya laughed. “I
love you. Let me call you tomorrow.” “He’s still not
there?” “No. Probably just
lost track of time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” “Okay. Love you
too, girl. Take care.” Anya slipped her
phone into her back pocket, but not before noting that, at that point, it was
9:44. A rolling thunder
growled from a distance and Anya felt a few menacing drops begin to
pitter-patter all around her. She sighed and trudged up the steps to her
building. She let herself in and tossed her purse on the bed. She stretched and
lounged across her computer chair. She stared at the screen, feeling much more
tired than she had realized. She closed her eyes for a few moments. Two minutes
later, she was asleep with her left hand over her phone. ********************************** Sunlight bathed
her face and Anya’s eyes fluttered gently open. Instinctively, she grabbed her
phone and checked her messages. There weren’t any. The old feelings
of rejection began to spread over her from someplace deep within. Her heart
began to race. See, she thought to herself, this is why I don’t get involved! This is
why I avoid s**t like this! She paced the
room. Her mind was screaming at her now. I can’t believe I let myself be fooled by
someone again. I just can’t believe this. She couldn’t stop
it. Her mind careened toward the ancient memories of college and of Bobby
Santangelo. She had sworn she wouldn’t let it happen again. She had found
another Bobby Santangelo. Except she hadn’t.
She stopped pacing
altogether and grabbed her phone from the desk. She knew she wasn’t being played.
She just knew it. She thought of Drew’s face. Rugged, yet angelic. The eyes
that saw right through her. Saw her for more than what she saw herself. This time, she
called his apartment. It rang three
times before an answer. “Hello?” Anya stopped dead
in her tracks. A woman’s voice. “Who the hell is
this, may I ask?” She snapped. “Ronni. I…who is
this? Are you a friend of Drew’s? Or I should say…” “Ronni as in
‘Veronica?’” “I’m Drew’s
sister.” “Yeah, he
mentioned you. Hi. Is he around?” “I…no, he’s…” “He was supposed
to meet me last night. I’m actually kind of pissed at him. Is he there? He
didn’t answer last night.” “What was your
name?” “Anya.” Ronni sighed.
“Anya, listen…Drew was in an accident last night. He…was at the market on the
corner.” “Braca’s.” “Braca’s. He was
there and…while he was there, someone tried to hold the place up. The guy
pulled out a gun and pointed it at the clerk. Drew should have just ducked
down. He should have just tried to sneak out.” Her voice was wavering at that
point. Anya felt sick to
her stomach. “But he didn’t. He
didn’t sneak out. He talked to the guy and tried to get him to see reason.
Apparently the guy actually started lowering his gun after a while, but the
clerk started cursing at him and the guy just took aim. But Drew, for God knows
what reason,” She paused. “He dove at him. He was shot.” Anya was sitting
on the wooden floor of the apartment now, hugging her knees. “Where was he
shot?” “In the chest. He
was gone before the ambulance could get there.” Anya felt her
slick phone slip from her grasp. Everything was white. The entire room was
white. Her world was blotted out and existed only in 2-dimensional shapes.
Tears stung her eyes. She felt them with her index finger. She couldn’t
remember the last time she’d cried. Chapter 8- Wednesday 8:42 pm Tears stained the folds of her pillows, her blankets, her
clothes. Anya didn’t know how much water a person possessed, but she remembered
hearing it was something like 97% of his or her body mass. Cognitively, that
couldn’t be right. In all actuality, though, she was testing that theory. It was clichéd, but she felt as though she no longer knew how to
be whole. She was feeling nothing…and yet everything. Drew had helped her to
open herself up and she had been eternally grateful for that. But she had never
installed a fail-safe. She had never planned just what to do now that the
floodgates were opened to just about every god-forsaken emotion. She sprawled across her bed and felt the breeze, ushered in
through the gauzy curtains. They billowed with a carefree ease she wished she
shared. A notebook perched on a pillow beside her upturned face, but when she
slid the blue pen out from between the spiral of the notebook, it felt
peculiar. She couldn’t, at that moment, remember how she had always held a
writing implement between her fingers. She barely recognized her own hands at
all. She was in pain. She wanted so much to return to her life…and
yet she was terrified that she would return unchanged. She felt a tear graze
her cheek and took inventory of her feelings. She had gone through something,
with someone so pure, that she knew, at that moment, would mark her forever. She took a breath and wrote the first thing she’d ever written
in her life. My hair is blonde, It’s breezy riding. Through bumps and prods, Of rough hands guiding. Front stoop standing, Caressing the grooves, But turn, wide-eyed, The sounding of hooves. A stampede of queens, And nowhere a bee. The sidewalks twitch I’m thrown to the sea. My wings were clipped from
lack of use, I test them, ending the
guise. When those returned, I promised
myself, I’d venture as far as the
skies. But gaze outright and bared
are stingers, Comparing the size of the
blade. Likened to a once-feared
storm, Through clouds of lightning
rays. My place was deserted My word compromised. But notice the fragments, The scars on my sides? She
paused to brush a tear from her eye with one balled up fist. Don’t pretend you don’t
recall, The bite that I once showed. And don’t condone a stand-still
life, That threatens to forebode. Don’t look at me, just let me in, This shady race, light-blind. And let me break the mass of
clouds, You all but hid behind. Retain the parts I’ve gained
‘til now. And wiser, share my art. So hold your daggers in, but
proud. Sharp, but softened heart. © 2012 LindsayAuthor's Note
|
Stats
3386 Views
2 Reviews  Last Updated on May 3, 2012 Tags: cynicism, teen, young adult, romance, slam poetry, poetry, rap, new york, bohemian, urban, inspirational, art, literary Previous Versions Author
LindsayLaurel springs, NJAboutI love music, traveling, reading, writing, psychology, dancing, and photos. more..Writing
|
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
