Coming Clean, chapter 4
Did I really love Jaime? I mean, sure I loved her. She had been one of my best friends since we were seven. But was I in love with her?
I called Mike.
"Hey, Bill. Doing better?"
"Not really. Mike, how do you know if you're in love?" I asked.
I really wasn't sure how I felt about Jaime.
"I don't know. Why? Are you in love with someone?"
"Maybe. Jaime loves me."
"Well, yeah, Billie. Everyone knew that," Mike said, laughing.
"Everyone but me," I said sadly.
"Do you love her?"
"I don't know. I don't think I'm in love with her, no. But I really want her to come back," I told him.
"She'll come back. She promised she would visit," Mike said.
"She lied. She isn't planning on coming back."
"How do you know?"
"I just do," I said, using the same words he had used earlier.
Jaime didn't call me back. She didn't return my calls, all thirty-four of them, the first few weeks she was gone.
I kept the letters on my bedside table and would pick one up and read it over and over. It seemed like she hadn't even left at first.
I woke up in the middle of the night a few days after she left, and without thinking dialled her apartment number. It wasn't until I heard the automated voice on the other end telling me that this number was no longer in service that I remembered that Jaime was gone. Really gone. She wasn't answering her cell phone; she didn't have any other number. She was just gone.
It hit me hard. I missed her so much, and it just seemed so weird that I couldn't just walk the few blocks from my apartment to hers to talk and hang out. Now it was just Mike and I.
I wrote so many sappy songs about her leaving; they filled almost an entire notebook. Not that I would ever add music to them, or ever show them to Mike. I couldn't really explain where they came from. It was a lot easier just to write down what I was feeling with her gone.
Once, while I was trying to practice on my old acoustic guitar, I decided to try to put one of the songs I wrote about Jaime to music. My throat began to close up, and I knew I was going to cry. Tears were pouring down my face, and before I knew it, I was pounding on the guitar so hard, singing in a watery voice. And then one of the strings snapped. One of my strings snapped . I got so angry, and I realized just how lost I was without Jaime here. I was just like this stupid guitar string. I snapped.
I began tearing my room apart. I yanked the covers off the bed, threw them on the floor. Pulled out all my drawers and tossed my clothes out into the hallway. Punched the mirror. Got millions of pieces of glass stuck in my knuckles.
"Fuck!" I shouted.
I knelt in the middle of the mess I had created, watching the blood ooze out of thousands of tiny cuts.
"Billie!"
I ignored the voice calling out my name, my gaze fixated on the red sticky stuff running down my knuckles. Outside of my room, I could hear Mike muttering, wondering why the hell my clothes were all in the hallway. He stepped into the room.
"What's with the clothes?" he asked. I looked up at him, clutching my bleeding hand. "Oh, Bill, what did you do?"
I could feel the tears running down my cheeks.
"Mike, my guitar broke," I said pitifully.
Mike was looking at me funny.
"Your hand is bleeding pretty bad there, Bill. Don't you think we should fix that first?" he asked softly.
I shook my head, "No, I've got to fix my guitar. I've got to finish her song. Jaime won't come back if it's not finished. When she hears it, she'll know how much she's hurt me by leaving, and she'll come back because she loves me," I said, grinning slightly.
I was babbling like a madman.
Mike tried to get me to let him clean up my hand, but I refused, repeating that my guitar had to be fixed first. So he found an extra guitar string in one of my drawers and began to fix my guitar. I watched, pleased. When he finished, I let him look at my hand. I didn't even mind when he had to use tweezers to get the glass out. I was happy because now I could finish this song, and play it, and Jaime would come back to me because, she would never want to hurt me.
"Billie, can I see that song?" Mike asked.
I picked up my notebook and handed it to Mike. He flipped through it and looked carefully at each song before he reached the last one, which was the one I was working on now.
"These are great. Are they all for her?" he asked.
I nodded, imagining how Jaime would hear that song, realize her mistake, and come right back.
"So what did you do to your room? And your hand?"
I blushed, "I guess I got a little angry."
"Because your guitar string broke?"
"No. Because she left me. She left me, Mike, even though she loved me. And now I'm lost. I don't know what to think anymore. I want her back, because she's always been there, and now she's not, and I don't know what to do. Sometimes, I think I hate her because she left."
Mike stared at me with a look that was a mixture of pity and sympathy. "Ok," was all he said.
He left a little while later, making sure that I wouldn't have another little mental breakdown. I picked up my fixed guitar, and as best as I could with my bandaged hand, I began to work on the song.
Another Turning Point
A Fork Stuck In The Road
Time Grabs You By The Wrist
Directs You Where To Do
So Make The Best Of This Test
And Don't Ask Why
It's Not A Question
But A Lesson Learned In Time
It's Something Unpredictable
But In The End Is Right
I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life
So Take The Photographs
And Still Frames In Your Mind
Hang It On A Shelf
Of Good Health And Good Time
Tattoos Of Memories
And Dead Skin On Trial
For What It's Worth
It Was Worth All The While
It's Something Unpredictable
But In The End Is Right
I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life
It's Something Unpredictable
But In The End Is Right
I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life
It's Something Unpredictable
But In The End Is Right
I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life
I called Mike.
"Hey, Bill. Doing better?"
"Not really. Mike, how do you know if you're in love?" I asked.
I really wasn't sure how I felt about Jaime.
"I don't know. Why? Are you in love with someone?"
"Maybe. Jaime loves me."
"Well, yeah, Billie. Everyone knew that," Mike said, laughing.
"Everyone but me," I said sadly.
"Do you love her?"
"I don't know. I don't think I'm in love with her, no. But I really want her to come back," I told him.
"She'll come back. She promised she would visit," Mike said.
"She lied. She isn't planning on coming back."
"How do you know?"
"I just do," I said, using the same words he had used earlier.
Jaime didn't call me back. She didn't return my calls, all thirty-four of them, the first few weeks she was gone.
I kept the letters on my bedside table and would pick one up and read it over and over. It seemed like she hadn't even left at first.
I woke up in the middle of the night a few days after she left, and without thinking dialled her apartment number. It wasn't until I heard the automated voice on the other end telling me that this number was no longer in service that I remembered that Jaime was gone. Really gone. She wasn't answering her cell phone; she didn't have any other number. She was just gone.
It hit me hard. I missed her so much, and it just seemed so weird that I couldn't just walk the few blocks from my apartment to hers to talk and hang out. Now it was just Mike and I.
I wrote so many sappy songs about her leaving; they filled almost an entire notebook. Not that I would ever add music to them, or ever show them to Mike. I couldn't really explain where they came from. It was a lot easier just to write down what I was feeling with her gone.
Once, while I was trying to practice on my old acoustic guitar, I decided to try to put one of the songs I wrote about Jaime to music. My throat began to close up, and I knew I was going to cry. Tears were pouring down my face, and before I knew it, I was pounding on the guitar so hard, singing in a watery voice. And then one of the strings snapped. One of my strings snapped . I got so angry, and I realized just how lost I was without Jaime here. I was just like this stupid guitar string. I snapped.
I began tearing my room apart. I yanked the covers off the bed, threw them on the floor. Pulled out all my drawers and tossed my clothes out into the hallway. Punched the mirror. Got millions of pieces of glass stuck in my knuckles.
"Fuck!" I shouted.
I knelt in the middle of the mess I had created, watching the blood ooze out of thousands of tiny cuts.
"Billie!"
I ignored the voice calling out my name, my gaze fixated on the red sticky stuff running down my knuckles. Outside of my room, I could hear Mike muttering, wondering why the hell my clothes were all in the hallway. He stepped into the room.
"What's with the clothes?" he asked. I looked up at him, clutching my bleeding hand. "Oh, Bill, what did you do?"
I could feel the tears running down my cheeks.
"Mike, my guitar broke," I said pitifully.
Mike was looking at me funny.
"Your hand is bleeding pretty bad there, Bill. Don't you think we should fix that first?" he asked softly.
I shook my head, "No, I've got to fix my guitar. I've got to finish her song. Jaime won't come back if it's not finished. When she hears it, she'll know how much she's hurt me by leaving, and she'll come back because she loves me," I said, grinning slightly.
I was babbling like a madman.
Mike tried to get me to let him clean up my hand, but I refused, repeating that my guitar had to be fixed first. So he found an extra guitar string in one of my drawers and began to fix my guitar. I watched, pleased. When he finished, I let him look at my hand. I didn't even mind when he had to use tweezers to get the glass out. I was happy because now I could finish this song, and play it, and Jaime would come back to me because, she would never want to hurt me.
"Billie, can I see that song?" Mike asked.
I picked up my notebook and handed it to Mike. He flipped through it and looked carefully at each song before he reached the last one, which was the one I was working on now.
"These are great. Are they all for her?" he asked.
I nodded, imagining how Jaime would hear that song, realize her mistake, and come right back.
"So what did you do to your room? And your hand?"
I blushed, "I guess I got a little angry."
"Because your guitar string broke?"
"No. Because she left me. She left me, Mike, even though she loved me. And now I'm lost. I don't know what to think anymore. I want her back, because she's always been there, and now she's not, and I don't know what to do. Sometimes, I think I hate her because she left."
Mike stared at me with a look that was a mixture of pity and sympathy. "Ok," was all he said.
He left a little while later, making sure that I wouldn't have another little mental breakdown. I picked up my fixed guitar, and as best as I could with my bandaged hand, I began to work on the song.
Another Turning Point
A Fork Stuck In The Road
Time Grabs You By The Wrist
Directs You Where To Do
So Make The Best Of This Test
And Don't Ask Why
It's Not A Question
But A Lesson Learned In Time
It's Something Unpredictable
But In The End Is Right
I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life
So Take The Photographs
And Still Frames In Your Mind
Hang It On A Shelf
Of Good Health And Good Time
Tattoos Of Memories
And Dead Skin On Trial
For What It's Worth
It Was Worth All The While
It's Something Unpredictable
But In The End Is Right
I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life
It's Something Unpredictable
But In The End Is Right
I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life
It's Something Unpredictable
But In The End Is Right
I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life
