Night in the Ruts

Interesting Indeed - Steven

She's with him.  I know she is.  Why do you think she's avoiding me so much?

--

All I wanted to do was spend my weekend with Charlie.  For once we didn't have a gig and it would've been fun to be with her.  But no.  She's going to her mom and sister's house.  And she's hanging out with Nicky!

        Although I try to make it seen like I'm okay with all this, I'm really not.  It pisses me off and pains me to the deepest layer of my being.  And add on top of that the guys making fun of me because I totally struck out.  Naturally, I told Joe and Joe told everyone else, so it only makes sense that before we leave or go to bed or something, they all tell each other that they love them.  And I want to push their happy little asses off the couch and onto the floor.

        And, besides, it's not like it's even that big of problem that she doesn't feel the same way.  Okay, yes, it's a problem and yes it hurts, but it doesn't piss me off.  No, what pisses me off is that she's avoiding me.  She lied to get out of hanging out with me.  She pretended she was way sicker than what she really was.  I called and fuckin' apologized for saying it.  Apologized!  Who apologizes for saying they love someone–especially when they mean it to the darkest fibers of their being–when the other person just ran away?!  She... She... It's almost like she doesn't want to be with me.

        Regardless, I'm now on a mission to get the truth.

--

Buttoning the final button to my shirt, I stormed out of the bedroom and through the living room where my bandmates were getting stoned.

        "Where you goin'?" Joe asks.  It kind of seems to be a signature question around this place, doesn't it?

        "Out," I reply shortly, grabbing the car keys off the counter.

        A few of my trusty band members chuckled manically.  Here it comes... "Okay, bye Steven," Joe said.  "Love you."

        I ignore him and head for the door.  "Don't you love him too?" Joey called.

        "No, don't run away, Steven," Joe yelled after me, "I lo–"  But I slammed the door shut and marched with purpose down to my car.

        From there I went to Charlie's dad's house.  All the while I was trying to think of something to say to her; what I would say when I saw her; but I couldn't come up with squat.  Looks like I'll be winging it, then.

        I drove around the light blue Volkswagen beetle parked in the street and onto the blacktop driveway, right behind the yellow Corvette.  Charlie's yellow fucking Corvette.  I ripped my key out of the ignition, slamming my door shut when I got out, and stomped the dreaded walk to her front porch.  I jammed my finger to the doorbell.

        It was a rather gorgeous day in Boston.  The door to Charlie's house was open, leaving the clear glass door shut and perfectly not soundproof and not opaque.

        The thing about old, tiny houses is that sound travels through them really well.  I could tell you that someone in Charlie's dad's house was playing a Beatles record.  There was also more than one person because I heard laughter of multiple people.

        I rang the doorbell again.  The laughter stopped, as did the music.  I ring again.  Then my line of vision slowly reveals from upstairs, a pair of black boots, then black jeans–not quite as tight as mine are, but close–next a purple shirt, which is kind of buttoned and kind of not (much like my shirt today), and finally the angular, possibly sunburned, face of no other than Charlie's fake boyfriend she had claimed to have stopped talking to.  There was a Popsicle stick in his mouth.