Breakdown - Tom Petty

Mary Jane's Last Dance

He hated to do it. He knew there was no reason in it, that she would not pick up, but Tom called the number he had memorized.

Jane is in the past, he thought. Like I am in the past for Ayla.

The other line picked up: "Hello?"

"Hello, Jane. How are you?" It would be best, he thought, if he started casual then drifted into chaos.

"Well, and you?"

"I guess everything's alright enough."

"Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but why the hell are you calling me?"

"Jane," Tom pursed his lips, thinking. "I just wanted to hear your voice again."

"Oh." He could practically see her fingers twirling around the cord, passing in and out through the kinks of the phone's cord. "Do you miss me or something?"

"I - you know, I could never lie to you. Could you come over to my old place? Please?"

A possibility hit him: this could be a mistake. Jane could be in a relationship of her own, married even. But Jane said, "I'll be right over, Tom."

"Thank you. Goodbye," Tom said, and Jane echoed the word before hanging up.

Tom was sitting still on the couch, feet leaning casually against the tabletop. It had been a habit of his Ayla hated, and Tom found himself halfway to lowering his feet to the floor. He stopped and placed his feet back. Jane didn't give a damn about it. Unlike Ayla. Tom's mind was distracted from Ayla when an outsider knocked upon his front door. He stood up and let Jane in, smiling warmly.

"Hey."

"Hey, Tom." She returned the smile. Jane was wearing a beige sweater over white pants. Her darker beige boots clicked against the floor. She was lovely to look at, Tom thought.

Tom walked her over to the sofa, arm outstretched with Jane's hand on his forearm. Her touch was familiar to him, but it was simple and friendly. Not like what he remembered. But it was nice, nevertheless, and that was what he knew he would find when he had first picked up the phone to call her.

He sat beside her and looked at Jane. "You haven't changed."

"Neither have you." Jane touched his blonde hair, brushed his bangs away from his eyes.

Tom took the opportunity to glance over at her left hand. No ring of any type was present. She was his for a moment. The thought hit him and he found it difficult to breathe. He caught his breathe quickly and looked at her dark eyes.

"It's nice to be with you again," Tom said.

Jane smiled. "As it is to be with you." She leaned against the back of the couch, shoulder brushing against Tom's. Tom put his arm around her shoulders, and thought, It is almost like we never fell apart.

Jane rested her head on Tom's chest. It was familiar and full of nostalgia, of the short nights she had spent with Tom at the drive-in or after one of his shows. A thought she knew was true entered her brain. I still love him. Oh, I know I do. She looked at Tom's face and smiled.

Tom smiled back and brought his lips to hers, gently. She kissed him, too. Gentle met sweet. Jane twisted until she was facing him completely. He kissed her consistently. His fingertips touched her arms. She could feel Tom's hands shaking. Jane's hands rested easily on his shoulders. Tom's hands were still shaky when they touched her waist. He pulled his face away from hers.

"Gimme a moment, I've got to get a cigarette." Tom took her hand in his and brought her outside. Seated on the edge of the porch, he pulled out a pack of matches and lit a cigarette for himself. His breathing had eased. He really had been in need of a cigarette, but he knew, too, that Jane hated the taste. A distraction from kissing if there had ever been one. Tom smiled around his cigarette.

"I've missed you," he heard Jane tell him in the dark. The orange-red ember end of the cigarette was simply a dot of light beneath the full moon. Tom felt Jane's arms go around his waist as she returned her head to his chest.

"I've missed you, too," Tom told her, surprised it was this simple to tell the truth to one woman and lie to another. It was a terrible thought he regretted immediately, but it was the truth. He was surprised, and taken aback by his own decisions of the past week. And at the end of it, he had found himself with his former girlfriend's arms around him as she kissed his cheeks. Ayla was gone, truly gone, he knew. But he did not need her, and he knew he did not exactly need Jane, either. He let her stay, in spite. The few moments he had spent with Jane were better than the past few days with Ayla. He actually felt happy, glad she was gone. His eyes welled with tears at the thought. It was in that moment, he was unsure if they were of joy or sorrow or just plain love.

"Tom," Jane said, "I heard there's supposed to be an airing of Elvis Presley on television tonight. We can go in and see it if you'd like."

"Alright. That'll be fine, dear."

Dear. The word brought him back to Ayla and her disagreements when he had asked her to go out with him.

I'm sorry, Tom, but I already had plans, dear.

As did I, dead Ayla, Tom thought.

"Are you coming or not Tom?"

"Coming." Tom put out his cigarette and followed Jane into his home.

There was, indeed, a televised concert of Elvis. Tom found Jane standing on the rug, her boots left at the door. Tom walked up to her and smiled. His hands touched her waist again. Jane's hands returned to his shoulders. Then, they were dancing, slowly walking from one side to the other in beat to Elvis' lyrics proclaiming love. It was lovely, and reminded Tom a bit of when Ayla and him had danced to 'Can't Help Falling in Love.' Tom could not help it if he felt something for his former girlfriend; he could not help it if Ayla felt something for him. And he certainly could not help if he found himself enjoying the moment he spent with Jane, in each others' arms. It was peaceful and Tom realized he hadn't had much of that in his life lately. Peace with Jane, peace without Ayla, he thought. He could become used to that thought, used to looking into her eyes and seeing his own emotions reflected there. He could be used to being loved when he truly wanted to be. And he could be used to life without Ayla, too.

~

Jane left a few hours before the sun came up. Tom walked her to her car, and kissed her again. He stood there when he watched her drive away.

Tom returned to the porch. He sat on the wooden edge, away from the steps, elbows resting lightly on his thighs. He was thinking again about Ayla.

It is a crazy thing to love someone only after they're gone. He shook his head and got out another cigarette. Breathing out, he thought, It is a stupid thing, too. Petty, I'd suppose. Tom laughed without humor.

And yet, I miss her. He wasn't sure who 'her' was exactly. She was beautiful and wonderful and nice and out of my life in a moment. Damn. It's amazing, really. And I miss her. Yes, I do. I miss her I miss her I miss her.

The strangest thing was, Tom had no idea who he was missing, though he did have an idea in mind. He smiled and went back inside to think some more about it and sleep a little. Just some more peace in his life he needed at the moment. Peace was nice, unfamiliar but nice, and Tom found himself liking it as he smiled his third cigarette. He stubbed it out and went into his room, thinking about Ayla and how quiet life was without her. The thought was replaced with, I don't need her. Then, sometime after, Tom fell asleep at peace at last.