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Writing - It's a Disease - Writing - It's a Disease - Writing - It's a Disease
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Strictly������������������������������������������������������By James Hetfield
���������Text���������������������������������"Reflection: Part One"�����������
��������������Distribution��Issue Thirteen�������������������������������������
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Writing - It's a Disease - Writing - It's a Disease - Writing - It's a Disease
_1_
He had never been one to like malls, and this day was
no different. He found himself walking around aimlessly,
looking for the professional office he was told to wait by.
All the people he passed seemed to be in a hurry, knowing
what they were looking for. A man and woman crossed his path,
hand in hand. A smell of mexican food came from their mouths as
their breath drifted into his direction.
He asked another man what time it was - 3:25. He
thanked him and continued looking around hopelessly. He had
just gotten out of school, he had no play rehearsal today, and
he was in a very anxious mood.
Finally, he found himself outside of the Professional
Buildings, and sat himself down next to the doors of the
building and began to read the book he had brought along. A
Farewell to Arms. A little easy reading to get him in a
wonderfully solemn mood.
The wind was beginning to bother him, the professional
Buildings' entrance were located inside of a enclosed walkway
that became a wind tunnel when the weather was acting like it
was. He buttoned up his satin Bulls' jacket, but that did
little good. The wind drove his spirit deep within him,
making it even harder to concentrate on his book.
He looked up, and kept watching anyone who entered the
building. He already knew she was going to be blonde haired,
and obviously female and a teenager, but he wasn't sure of
much more. He was only able to get through a sentance or two
before another person went through the doors and made him look
up. After about fifteen minutes of driving himself insane by
watching each person, he finally settled himself on focusing on
the book and not the mall shoppers moving around him.
He took a deep breath of air. He could not concentrate
on the novel. Catherine Barkely was going to have to wait until
later. He had enough of learning of all the different types of
Italian alcohol products anyway. A woman across from him looked
in the window of a shoppe at her reflection and lightly touched
up her hair and make-up. Her ragged brown coat and clashing
bright blue purse brought a vague smile to his lips.
James? he heard a voice ask. He looked over to see a
long black wool coat standing before him, with somewhere
inside of it a blonde-haired girl. He quickly stood up and
muddled out a hi or two. She lifted up her hand, and he
shook it lightly and quickly. Her hand was very cold, with
a damp feel to it, yet soft, and not that much smaller than
his own hand.
Their conversation lasted five minutes, with little
said that wasn't already known between them. The bulk of the
time was spent nerviously standing there, making facial
gestures to attempt to relieve the uneasiness, yet failing
miserably. They would look at each other, then look away.
She finally said she had to go inside for her appointment,
and that she would talk to him later that night. They shook
hands once again, and she entered the building.
He followed a way into the parking areas, where he
would soon meet a friend to go eat dinner with. His hand
still felt a little damp from hers. The wind picked up,
and he hoped he would not have to wait very long.
How plain she was, he thought to himself.
_2_
He had a lot of friends around where she lived. It
would simply be time before they talked to each other, and
that time was a few months before they actually met.
Being part of the post-generation X culture,
they both had fetishes for computers. Their entertainment,
instead of television, was interacting with others through
bulletin board systems. It wasn't the most exciting way to
spend Friday nights, but it beat "Family Matters" anyday.
They would both pass the time rotting away in front of
eminating cathode rays, while listening to Tori Amos. He
had her first CD; she had her latest. They both considered
her to be the greatest artist to have ever lived.
She sang; he acted. They both liked history and
english. Neither of them could stand people who bragged about
their ability to consume liquor at high speeds. But their most
obvious resemblance to each other was fruit.
They both were orange fanatics. Eating oranges to
them could make or break the mood of a day. The citrus taste
was considered more appealing than any physical sensation
they had experienced. Plums were also a high favorite of
theirs. Bananas were prized, but were not thought of as
highly because of their quick spoiling rate.
Conversations about fruit and grocery shopping kept
them talking for hours. Simple things everyone saw strange
and unimportant in life were very treasured by both of them.
She would eat bread; plain, white slices. In the microwave
for 15 seconds to warm them.
As they got to know each other better, they soon
began to talk to each other over the phone. Conversations
would start out comprehendable, but would soon end up revolving
around strange noises one or the other made. Whenever she had
nothing to say, or was preoccupied, she would make a "pshew pshew"
sound, the sound lasers in _Star Wars_ made. The noises he made
usually were mockings of hers, only overdramatic.
All the structure for a friendship seemed to be there;
except for the fact that they never saw each other, simply
talked over the phone. They would meet sometime, but now just
wasn't it, he kept telling himself. His rehearsals for the
upcoming play kept him busy most every day, until he went home
and (every once in a while) did homework. Meanwhile She had
met someone she could love, his name was Chris, and she spent
every moment she could talking and being with him.
These were parts of his life. He had lost touch with
most of his old friends as of late, he only talked to his
friends that were into computers or theatre. This change of
surrounding for him bothered him a little, but it was a little
refreshing to be away from the "jock" atmosphere he had put
himself in his earlier years of high school. There were
different problems associated with his new friends, but he
felt they were not nearly as bothersome. And now he had
someone new that he could come home and talk to after school.
_3_
The rain was falling heavily, but not hard. The water
did not crash against the ground as it did when hard rain
fell; the water floated to the ground, making a light patter
when hitting it. The continuous sound of rainfall had kept
his mind somewhat at ease.
She stepped out of the building, with a light smile on
her face. She always was made a little happier when she
thought about how her braces would be off in less than a
year. Her wool coat was weighing down on her, having soaked
up the rain that fell on her.
They walked over to a restaurant, where she ordered a
bowl of cream of broccoli soup that came in a hollowed sourdough
bread roll. He was broke and watched her eat. He wasn't very
hungry anyway; his stomach was a little knotted up at the
moment.
They talked a little, but mostly stared out the window
at the rain. Men and women, the few outside in a day like
this, were rushing from shelter to shelter, trying to keep
themselves as dry as possible. Some of them had umbrellas,
but not many. One man held over his head a large plastic bag
from Marshall Fields, but the water was still trickling off
onto his shoulders and his white dress shirt.
After she finished her soup, they left the restaurant
and quickly walked out to her van. He did not mind being wet,
but he noticed how bothered it was making her, as she kept
combing her fingers through her hair to move it out of her
face. If he knew it would bother her so much to be out in the
rain, he would have made sure to bring his father's umbrella,
a black one with a wooden shaft and handle.
The sky was getting darker as the clouds thickened.
The sun was probably setting, though the light from it could
hardly be seen through the clouds. A light purple shade was
where the sun was leaving the sky.
Hurrying out to the van, she hastily jumped in the
driver's seat, and unlocked the passenger side. He opened the
door, and removed his jacket before entering; so he wouldn't
get her seat all wet. Like she had just done. She sat there
a moment, just looking out past her windshield. Then she
looked back at him for a moment. After a pause, she told him
she had to make a quick phone call, and started to dial on her
cellular phone. He relaxed a little in his seat, and began to
let his mind wander. She was talking to a friend that was
hosting a party she was going to that night, someone he did
not know, someone he was not too particularly interested in
knowing either.
He was listening to the music in his head when she
hung up the phone and turned on the ignition, which woke him
from his daze. As she backed out, she asked him where he wanted
to go. He did not know. She started to drive through the rain,
being the overly cautious driver she was.
After three shrieks from the fear she was getting
them into an accident, she stopped the van outside of a
house. She asked him to guess who lived there; he had no
idea. It was her old house, she told him. Where she used to
live when she lived in Skokie. She called a girl on the phone,
Nancy, and told Nancy she was right outside of Nancy's house, and
Nancy ran out to the van. After they talked for a while, Nancy
went back inside, and she drove off.
She drove him back to his house, with only a minimal
amount of conversation between them. As he exited the van, he
thanked her for spending the day with him, and went inside.
_4_
As he shut his front door, he let out a blissful
sigh. He hated his job. His parents told him he had to go
find a job for over the summer. They told him he should apply
at the fast food restaurant down the street. So he did.
She had a nickname for it; "The Cheezy Grill". Every
once in a while, she would go to Cheezy Grill to see if he was
working; and leave unnoticed if he was.
At work the other employees called her one of his
'rent-a-friends'. He could never get a girl like her to take
him seriously, they said.
As he removed his work clothes and put on his favorite
T-shirt and jeans, he thought about how they weren't
very nice to him at work. He had always been made fun of
for his hair, but they even laughed at his pants. Black
polyester pants he got on sale at Marshall Field's. They
all wore black jeans, even though the dress code said not to.
He hit the reply button on his answering machine. She
had called. She had attempted to make a witty comment about
his answering machine message (which said he had been
cryrogenically frozen and would call back when thawed), but
she failed miserably. She said she would be at church that
morning. He didn't understand why she did that, she wasn't
big on Jesus or anything. After that, she said she had a
family get together to attend. He didn't understand that
either, it wasn't a major holiday or anything.
After the message finished, he grabbed himself a Pepsi
from the kitchen, and sat next to his computer. The Pepsi
didn't seem as sweet as it usually did. It had more of a
rougher texture on his tongue than normal. He finished
it off and flopped onto his bed to fall asleep soon after.
_5_
The phone woke him from his dreams. He picked it up
and spoke an almost uncomprehendable "hello".
It was her. She was on a car phone. She asked if she
had woke him up; He said yes. She asked if he wanted to go
back to sleep; He said no, it was OK. She said she was going
to her family get together now, but that she might be home
early, and if she was she wanted to stop by his house. He
said that would be great. She said she's not sure how late it
would be, and that it might be too late and maybe she might not
be able to show up at all. He said that was OK, he understood.
After hanging up the phone, he went into the kitchen
and nabbed himself a Pepsi. The rough carbonation on his
tongue woke him up quickly. He went over to his window and
stared out at the afternoon. Three boys were racing each other
down the street on roller blades. A mother was pushing her
baby carrage. Birds were chirping away.
He downed the remains of the Pepsi and called a few of
his friends. None of them were home. He then turned on his
computer and looked for anything to do. Nothing. He got a
granola bar from the kitchen and ate it while listening to
some music.
Feeling covered with grease from working that
morning, he took a shower. The water felt heavy, but it was
warm and calmed him. He was out of shampoo, which bothered
him very much, because he hated having oily hair.
It was still very early, and showers always made him
feel tired, so he laid back down again. When he woke up, it
was already 10pm.
He went over to the window, and stared up at the night
sky. It had been a clear day, but now clouds must have been
covering up the stars. He could only see two in the entire
sky. One was very faint and weak; the other was bright and
powerful. He stared at the bright one for a while, wondering
how far away the star was, wondering how large it really was,
and wondering if anyone else was staring at the same star.
The streetlamp at the corner always illuminated the
part of the street he lived on, and he could see an old woman
cautiously walking down the street. Her steps were short and
swift; she obviously wanted to get home quickly. She looked
in back of her, then continued her movement forward, only
even faster.
A small alley cat was following her home. It was a
tortishell, with long scraggly hair. It caught up with the
old woman, and kept rubbing itself on her legs. The old woman
started yelling at the cat to get away, to "shoo! shoo!", but
the cat just stared up at her. The woman continued walking
and the cat kept following until they were both out of his
sight.
Light flooded into the room. His mother had opened
the door and asked him what he was doing. He said nothing.
She asked him why he was staring out the window. He said
because he had nothing better to do. She told him she could
find plenty of things for him to do. He said that's OK, he
was waiting for someone. She closed the door with a worried
look on her face.
It took his eyes a little while to adjust to the
darkness again, but when they did he saw a police car pull
up to the intersection that the streetlamp was at. It
pulled over to the curve, the policeman got out, and
moved toward two boys who were walking down the street.
The two boys stopped in front of the policeman and started
to be questioned by him. After a short amount of time, the
boys headed back the way they came, and the policeman got
back in his car and drove off.
He knew her curfew was midnight, and it was now
11:15 pm. He wondered if she was coming home from the family
thing yet. Or if she was already home. He called her house.
She had her own line in her bedroom, and he let it ring.
Nobody answered.
A car passed outside with purple neon lights
underneath it. The car was blaring loud techno music. The
boy on the passanger's side threw a cigarette out of the
window that landed on the front lawn of his house. He
didn't care though. His father always threw his cigarettes
on the lawn too.
He thought about getting some dinner, but he wasn't
really that hungry. He tried again to call a few of his
friends, but still none of them were home. He laid down on
his bed and stared at his ceiling. He counted the cracks he
could see in the dark - 15. Most of them were curved cracks,
but one of them was long and straight.
It was 11:45pm when he fell asleep. He thought when
she showed up, he would be woken up by the doorbell. He
didn't wake up until 7am the next morning.
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[���������17648 bytes�����������������������������������������������������]
[���������������������Reflections: Part One�������������������������������]
[��������������������������������������������By James Hetfield������������]
[���������������������������������������������������������������04/20/95��]
[�������������������������������������������������������������������������]