𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙷𝙴𝚁࿐ ྂ ᴊᴇꜰꜰ ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇʏ

ꜱɪx

APRIL 2nd, 1990
NYC .ೃ࿐

IT WAS HER BIRTHDAY,
and for Polly, the day was mostly associated with many bad memories, but now, as she sat at a bar (where the drinks were stupidly expensive,) she felt nothing but great, surrounded by the odd crowd which was her favorite people, and drinking a long island iced tea.

She was twenty-two, and now she thought of her past birthdays. Twenty-one was spent being practically carried home by an ex-boyfriend. She didn't remember twenty, but she knew it was spent in a shitty dorm room party, prior to deciding that two years of college was enough for her. Nineteen she had worked. Eighteen was her first birthday away from home, away from the Syracuse suburbs and her family.

Her family. She rarely called and hadn't visited in a year. In the beginning, her mother and father had called constantly, and her sister would take the phone and fire a million questions at once to her, giddy with excitement at her sister who lived in the big city now. Polly missed her sister the most. Slowly, Mads teenage years came and her life became much too busy for her daily phone calls.

She also terribly missed her father, but Polly knew he understood that she had to leave. Her mother was the one who did not. But, she hadn't always been one for understanding. Or loyalty, for that matter. Mabel Maureen was detached. Detached from the love she once felt for her husband, or for her eldest daughter.

A shot of whiskey burned down the back of Polly's throat as she pushed her family from her mind. She looked around for Jeff, knowing he was somewhere in the bar. Since the night they'd spent talking with the occasional kisses or embrace, she had seldom seen him, only once on the Saturday a few days before, where he had watched her play at Sin-è.

Polly walked down a hallway towards the bathrooms, searching for a phone. Finally she found it, and wracked her mind for her childhood homes number, and dialed the sticky numbers.

"Mads?" Polly asked her voice hoarse as the other end of the line cracked and the phone was picked up.

"Polly? You didn't answer at your apartment." Much to Polly's relief, her little sisters voice was the one that came through the receiver.

"I'm sorry, I'm out."

"Of course," Madelyn tsked at her older sister. Despite Mads silent understanding of most things, like Polly's high school years of sneaking out and smoking out the window, she was old enough now to understand Polly's die-hard habits.

"It's my birthday!" Polly reasoned.

"Your Twenty-second."

"Thanks for reminding me." Polly ran a hand over her dress, smoothing it out.

She talked to Mads until she had gone to bed, hearing about her high-school stories and daily whereabouts, and Polly made sure she paid attention to each one.

The bar now seemed stuffy and overwhelming with its bright lights and mass of people. Polly decided to step out the back, not minding if she wouldn't be let back in. She was exhausted from a sleepless night and an early morning at Cornelia's.

There she found the only person who would also step out from a bar such as that one.

"I feel like shit," Polly declared to Jeff.

He laughed slightly, "happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"Uh-huh." He replied, distracted with the matches in his hand, he was striking them then discarding them, and soon the air was filled with dark smoke.

"I hate being drunk sometimes." She said suddenly.

"I get that," he looked at her, expecting an elaboration.

"But sometimes I hate being sober." She admitted.

The two stood in the silence of the night, thinking to themselves. Polly shivered as she tug on the hem of her dress, and although the weather had gotten warmer in the past weeks, the nights were still chilling.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" She asked him, with a sudden urge to leave.

"Yeah, I've got to give you my gift anyways," Jeff told her and walked a few paces ahead, but turned to Polly and stuck his hand out for her to hold.

"Gift?" She asked and happily took his hand.

He nodded. "You're gonna love or hate it."

"I'll love it. Whatever it is!" She declared, the drunkenness in her voice prominent.

He grinned, "I hope so."

They walked hand in hand block after block, and finally, they arrived at Jeff's apartment building. He flipped the light on in his room, and there on his bed was an old brown case with a red bow. He picked up the case and sat, laying it across their laps.

As she flipped up the locks Jeff began to speak, "I found it at a thrift store, and I don't think they knew what they had. But I played it like shit so they thought it was shit." He paused his rambling. "But it's not shit." He confirmed as she opened the case, revealing a burgundy-colored Fender Jaguar.

The guitar was weathered and pieces of the paint had worn off, and the strings needed to be changed, but Polly thought it was the most beautiful guitar she'd ever seen. "Jeff," She thought as she took the guitar out of its case, "I know about two songs on guitar."

"Well now you can learn more, and I can teach you if you'd want."

She strummed a D chord, the only one she could remember, but the guitar was terribly out of tune and she cringed. She then plucked a few notes and looked at Jeff, "thank you."

"No problem, and see you're already learning!" He said smiling, she liked his gift.

Polly shifted the guitar to his lap, "Serenade me." She said and laid back on his bed, stretching out. He laid back next to her, piecing together a random song as he played.

"Happy birthday to you-"

"Shut up!" She laughed and hit his arm playfully, "you know, it's not my birthday anymore."

"I'll serenade you anyways."

"Good." She nudged the guitar back onto the bed and sidled closer to Jeff.

Polly wished that the pounding in her head would subside and the haze in her mind would clear so she would be straight enough to do what they both wanted without making a fool of herself.

It did not, so instead she settled on shrugging out of her slip, into an old flannel of his and sleeping in his bed once more.

The flannel smelled slightly like cigarettes and old spice, an odd but comforting pair. She soon had fallen asleep, hoping in the morning he'd be next to her still.

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