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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�����������������������������"Reflections: Part Two"��������������
��������������Distribution��Issue Sixteen��������������������������������������
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Writing - It's a Disease - Writing - It's a Disease - Writing - It's a Disease
_6_
She was right about to head out the school doors when
she saw the rain pouring down outside. Annoyed, she thought
about perhaps finding a friend to drive her home, but decided
to hurry up and get it over with.
She opened the door and walked outside quickly. In
moments she was drenched. It was a very cold rain, and in
seconds she began to shiver.
She cursed the sky for throwing all this water at
her. She cursed herself for not finding a ride. She cursed a
car that splashed water all over her. She cursed anything and
everything until she realized she didn't feel that cold anymore.
The rain began to remind her of the summers she would
spend at her grandfather's cabin, and the lake the cabin was
next to. She would go swimming in that lake every day of the
summer. She loved the cooless of the water, the feeling of
lightness it gave her as she drifted through it, and how it
would wake her up early in the morning. She didn't go last
summer. She couldn't remember why not.
Close to her house, she saw a large puddle in front of
her. She couldn't resist the temptation. She leaped into the
puddle, without thought of her clothes from The Gap, without
throught of getting sick, and without thought of how she was
not acting grown-up. After she had finished, her jeans were
totally soaked through up to the theighs.
By the time she got home, she knew she had a fever.
She pressed her hands against her face and felt the warmth
from her forehead. A wave of relaxation overcame her. She
wanted to lay down in the wet grass and sleep, but she
didn't. For the first time in a long while, she felt real.
She felt in tune to every part of herself. Her ankles and
feet were beginning to feel sore because of her soaked socks.
Her legs felt every movement that she made, rubbing up against
the wet denim.
Before she went into her house, she took a deep breath
of the humid air, and scanned the wet, beautiful
surroundings. The only thing she missed while she looked was
the smiling boy leaning up against the streetlamp.
_7_
She hadn't seen Chris for an entire week because of
his trip to California. He might move there to go to a
musical school. She didn't know how she would cope with him
not being there.
She was very anxious to see him; she had purchased
tickets for them to see his favorite band as a "welcome home"
type of present. She was wondering what he had gotten her.
The doorbell rang. Her mother answered, and sent
Chris up to her room where she was waiting for him. As he
entered the room, she saw the smile on his face as he looked
at her.
He sat down next to her. He put his arms around her
and kissed her hard, so hard her lips went numb for a moment.
He kissed her again, moving his hands along the form of her
body. He roughly combed her hair out of her face. He began
to lower her onto the bed.
Her body was performing small acts of protest against
his onslaught of lust. She would slowly guide his hands away
from her body, but he was moving like a machine now, not
paying any attention to any responses by her.
Stop, she barely murmured. He paused, then proceeded
to thrust his tongue into her ear. Stop, she said again, to
which she felt him shift his weight all over her body. Stop,
she growled, and almost threw him off the bed.
He sat up, annoyed, and muddled out a what's wrong or
two. After a while, he asked her what she thought of the
shirt he was wearing, he had bought it for his best friend,
Will.
And for the rest of the night, she stared at the
ceiling as he flipped a guitar pick up in the air. He
finally said he would talk to her some other time, and
hurried out of the house.
_8_
Smoke was drifting into their booth, even though they
were in the non-smoking area. A man with a large cigar was
sitting a few seats behind them.
She had ordered a piece of cheesecake that had a
strange aftertaste, as if it had been lying around
unrefrigerated for too long. It also had bread crumbs all
over it that tasted weird. She wasn't used to anything
besides Eli's Cheezecakes.
She watched him stir around the Clam Chowder he had
ordered. When the Clam Chowder came, he stared at it, and
asked the waitress if she had brought the wrong kind of soup.
He had only had New England Clam Chowder, and this soup he
had in front of him was very strange to him.
She wanted to talk to him, to really tell him what was
going through her mind, but she couldn't. She sat there,
making little efforts to say something, but ended up
commenting on how stupid things are. He agreed.
Sometimes she would just listen to what he was
saying. She didn't stare into his face because she was afraid
to. But she would listen and wonder how he came up with some
of the beliefs he had about the world. He once explained to
her how he believed that most people he hated in life he hated
because they reminded him of the things he hates most about
himself. And that this is the case with most people in the
world, they hate the people who remind them of the things they
hate most about themselves. She felt she couldn't have ever
come up with something like that.
They paid their bill, but left no tip for the
waitress. They left the restaurant, and got into her car. She
didn't like driving the car as much as the van, but she had to
do with whatever her parents let her borrow at the time.
"So, where should we go?", She asked him.
"I don't know", he answered. She was a little annoyed
by this. He never had anywhere he wanted to go.
"Well, figure out somewhere, or I'll drop you off
at home." she impatiently commanded.
"Turn Left." She did.
She parked parallel to the curve, and got out of the
car. He followed. She looked around, and saw a wide open
park, and in front of them a set of swings.
"My old junior high."
"I know. I have been here before. I played soccer
in my junior high days, and I remember playing here.... we won."
"I'm Glad."
The darkness of the sky was a great contrast to
the illuminated factory on their right. She stared up at the
sky while she walked over to the swing set and sat down. She
let her legs kick in the wind as she sat there, taking in the
cool night air.
"What is on your mind?" She looked over at
him and smiled. Chris never asked what was on her mind.
She sighed. "nothing", and smiled back at him.
She got up and walked away a few feet from the swings.
She stared at the open soccer field. It was their only win of the
season. They won 1-0. She suddenly felt foolish. That was
junior high, she thought to herself. She had changed a lot
since then, she kept telling herself.
"I used to write a journal when I was in junior high,
and when I looks back at it now I laugh at how silly I was back
then.
He smiled again. "you'll feel silly in a few years if you
read what you write now, too."
She smiled. He was right. It's all relative. She
looked back at him, and walked up to him. He just sat there
staring up at her.
She took the chains of the swing into her hand and
shook him around. He was so surprized he almost fell out of
the swing. They both laughed. They both smiled.
She was feeling very weird. Very free. She didn't
like it.
"I have to go soon."
"All right."
They looked at each other for a while, then she walked
over to the car and got in. He followed slowly behind.
She stopped outside of his house. They looked at each
other for a while.
"I really have to go."
He said OK, and got out of the car. She drove off quickly.
_9_
Chris called her that night. He also came over while
she was not home. She was glad she didn't have to deal with
him.
The phone rang. It was Chris. He was sorry, he
said. He had been stupid, he said. He missed her, he said.
He'd make it up to her somehow, he said. He missed her, he
said. They had only been apart for a day, she said. He
didn't care, he said, he still missed her. She wanted to call
him a jerk, but she didn't. She said she had to go because
her mother was calling her. Bye, he said.
She always felt bad after she talked to Chris. She
thoguth about the way things were. She had liked Chris for a
year before he even noticed her. She went to a friends party,
and he talked with her the whole night. A week later, she
went to a concert he was singing in. She felt everything he
sang was directed at her.
Where was Chris hiding now. She wanted to know.
Was she being too hard on him. Was she not looking at who he
was. Was she letting her own fears get in the way of seeing
who he really was. She did not know. All she knew was that
she loved him. Whatever that meant.
The phone rang. It was Chris again. He was sorry, he
said, just listen to me please. She said ok.
_10_
They had both been hanging out with a few of their
friends that day, and he asked her for a ride home. She said
sure.
It had been almost a week since she had seen him
last. One thing she knew she could count on was him being the
same. She felt very happy to have him as a friend.
She looked over at him. He seemed not himself today.
He wasn't very hyper like he usually was. In fact, if she
didn't know better she'd even say he was depressed. He let
his hair fall into his face and he wouldn't bother to brush it
back. His hands constantly remained in his pockets. His
Counting Crows T-Shirt was very wrinkled, it looked as if he
slept in it.
She asked him if he'd like to go get some coffee, or
something. He stared at her. "To stay or to go, it amounts
to the same thing", he said. Great, she said, I've got a lot
of homework to do anyway.
She took a detour to see if he would change his mind
on the way. She was in too good of a mood to go home anyway.
She could not stop thinking about how wonderful last night was
for her. She couldn't think of any time she felt close to
someone as she did Chris. She was at a party with him, and had
spent the entire time snuggled up in his arms.
She looked over at him again, all slouched over in his
seat. She told him to cheer up. Life may not be a bowl of
cherries, but it's not the pits either, she said. She
remembered how he would say stupid metaphors like that to
cheer her up when she was down. He smiled faintly.
She drove up to his house, and said the bus stops
here. He looked at her. He stared at her. I'll talk to you
later, she said. He kept staring at her. This is the part
where you say goodbye and get out of the car, she reminded
him. He stared at her. She brought up her hand and he shook
it slowly. Bubbye, she said.
He brought his hand up to her cheek and caressed it
gently. Oh god, she thought. Her head jerked downwards so he
could only see the top of her head. Don't she thought wildly,
Please don't. Oh God, please don't.
All she could think about was Chris. The days, the
nights, the winters. The T-Shirt he had bought for Will.
The birthday party Chris had pre-planned all for her surprize.
The guitar pick he tossed. How wonderfully he could sing.
He looked at her for a moment. He got out of the
car. He walked a few feet and turned around. He stared at
her. She looked at him, and drove off.
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[���������13059 bytes�����������������������������������������������������]
[�����������������Reflections: Part Two�����������������������������������]
[�����������������������������������������By James Hetfield���������������]
[���������������������������������������������������������������05/06/95��]
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