Ecstasy, Misery

2 | she's worthless

i want something else

to get me through this life

semi-charmed life - third eye blind (1997)

May 4th, 1998

By the time I'd gotten back to the main auditorium, things were settling down and almost ready to get started again. I was grateful to see my purse was still sitting in the corner where I'd left it and I picked it back up before returning to my seat.

Father didn't seem to have noticed my absence. The corner that I was ordered to was out of view from the main stage, so I assume he thought I was exactly where I was supposed to be the entire time.

I didn't feel very relieved at that, though; more so guilty and I vowed to pray for God's understanding over my rash decision making and secret-keeping from Father that night before bed.

I sat up stick straight throughout the monotone rally, not wanting my little belly rolls to fold over the number written across my stomach or cause sweat to wipe any of the numbers askew.

That afternoon, when we'd gotten back home, I immediately went up to my room and checked for the number in the mirror, equal excitement and anxiety jolting through me when I saw that it was still intact. I wrote it down right away on a slip of my favorite pink notebook paper and hid it at the bottom of my far nightstand drawer.

I knew I couldn't call the number from the house phone or my Nokia, because Father would probably see the records of the call and ask who I was contacting.

So, if I wanted to call Briella, I'd have to do it from a payphone, which is fine enough, but I feel so uncomfortable being so sneaky.

I guess if my stomach twists at the thought of doing this, I should know better and just listen to my gut and throw the number away.

But...it would be so cool to have a girl friend. I've never really had one before. My only real friend is Dylan who works up at The Wall at Infinity Square. We've been friends for a couple years now, since I was 18 years old, but I've found that there are some things that I just can't talk about even with him; some things that I wish I could talk about with a girl.

And a girl like Briella is just the coolest kind of girl there is with her style and her dominance and her loud, unwavering opinions; the kind of girl I turn myself into when my eyes glaze over in an impossible daydream.

It's just kind of insane to me that the fates aligned the way that they did on May 2nd, 1998. It felt like I'd be throwing away so much more than a slip of paper if I crumpled that phone number into the trash.

And so, instead of shoving the number into the garbage can on my way out of the house on Monday, I shoved it down into my bra. I could feel it weigh against my chest heavily all morning and into the early afternoon through my classes up at Berkeley.

Instead of going straight back home after class, I drove to The Wall to stop in and visit with Dylan while he worked, a common part of my weekly routine.

I walk up to the familiar store front with 'The Wall' spelled out in big block, white letters; the words 'Records. Tapes. Compact Discs.', trailing down the main window in red paint.

Dylan's eyes are on me already when I spot him behind the register as soon as I enter, a warm smile stretching across his face the closer and closer I get to him.

"Nova DeVille, I have a bone to pick with you." He says in a menacing tone, but the smile on his face says otherwise. 

I walk straight behind the register desk and plop down on the extra stool that he always has there for me, dropping my backpack softly to the floor.