Jade Awakening

Beck's RV

A night's sleep has a miraculous way of making yesterday's problems seem more distant than they actually are. I felt better in the morning and, after taking a very long and thorough shower, was rejuvenated enough to get my day going.

I tried to not overthink what to wear before I left for Beck's house, though I made a mental note to myself to make sure I didn't wear a skirt. Instead, I went for a solid, black shirt and some blue jeans. I stuffed my Spring Awakening script and my new scissors into my messenger bag and made haste to get out the door. I let Mom know on my way out where I was going and gave me no trouble as I left.

In broad daylight, I figured there would be no real need to have these scissors on hand, but I felt much more secure having them with me anyway. After walking for a few minutes, I cursed at myself for not having brought a light jacket. October in LA usually had pleasant temperatures, but today was a little colder than I had expected it to be. I turned my walk into a jog to get some blood pumping through my veins and heat myself up a little bit.

Once I passed the intersection where Beck and I parted last night, I slowed my pace and carefully counted the houses on the street. Eighth house on the right is what he had said.

I rang the doorbell and was soon met with a kind looking, middle aged woman with dark hair.

"Um, hi, is Beck here?"

"Yes, are you a friend of his?" she asked.

"Yeah, we were going to practice some lines for the show."

"Oh right! He mentioned that. He's right around back, dear."

She motioned for me to walk around the house which I thought was odd – I could have just as easily waited for him inside the house, too. When I got to his backyard, I saw that there was a chromatic RV sitting there with some lawn furniture and plants around it. I didn't see Beck anywhere, but heard music playing from inside the vehicle. I knocked on the door, hoping that I guessed it right.

Thankfully, it was Beck in there after all.

"Hey Jade! Come on in."

"What is this place?" I asked as I stepped in.

"My humble abode," he says with some pride. "My dad bought this for me just over the summer."

"You live in here?"

"Yup. This is a place that is entirely my own."

I looked around and dozens of things that must have felt very personal to him. Countless vintage posters, a couple neon signs, random license plates, and various knick knacks.

Gesturing to the whole space, I ask, "So, this is all yours? That's pretty cool."

"Uh-huh. It's my favorite place to be," he smiled.

I could almost picture him living his daily routine in here. Waking up from the bed that was next to the front door, choosing his clothes from the tiny closet next to it, lounging on the futon while listening to music from the tiny Jukebox that stood on a shelf on the back wall. There must be some serenity in living by yourself in an environment that is entirely your own.

His bed was closest to me, but I opted to sit down on his futon instead. Something about the very piece of furniture was too suggestive for me and possibly too personal to him.

He closed the door behind him and asked, "You want to go ahead and get started?"

My heart thumped a little harder being in an enclosed environment that I couldn't easily escape. I felt guilty for doubting his good will, but it would put my mind at ease if I had an escape route.