Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Reprise of an Untitled Story
She lived in a really, really pretty house. Gerard didn’t know where her head was at when she bought it, but it was weirding him out. It was a plantation style, old and worn in but gorgeous nonetheless. Green shutters and a matching door against a white washed backing. The porch looked like it wrapped all the way around. A hunter green truck that was old enough to have bench seats was parked on the driveway. It was very…suburban with a twist. But much like Egan, the exterior did not belie the true form within. While things were serene and fairly neat on the outside, the inside was madness.
Three steps in and his foot landed on a xylophone/piano contraption that had wheels and a string to pull it along with. Next, he kicked a rattle that thankfully sounded like chimes, not that dread bead-on-plastic sound most made. There was a life size nylon teepee with cutouts in what looked to be the den, and an entire shelf was devoted to DVDs and Beanie Babies. He didn’t know those were even made anymore. All of these tiny toddler toys made the most amazing juxtaposition with the décor. The den was rich claret with metallic gold in the trimmings. Everywhere were crosses and statues of the Blessed Virgin, and beneath these, candles and rosettes. The ceiling of what looked to be the entire house was painted an indigo black-blue with more metallic gold, this time taking the form of stars. Darting between these were sprigs of comet tails.
“Whose old truck was that outside?” he called after her when she disappeared through a door into what he guessed to be the kithchen.
“Husband’s.”
“I didn’t see a ring, did I?” he asked her, following her path into the bright kitchen. The walls were pale yellow and for a moment he thought she was making a rude gesture at him, but as it turned out, she was only holding up her left ring finger. There, wound around her tiny finger, was the most delicate filigree of a tattoo he’d ever seen.
“Can’t lose it, you see.” She explained, offering him a mason jar of lemonade.
“A tattoo though? It’s just very…permanent.”
“That’s the general idea, yeah.” She murmured quietly, sipping her own lemonade.
“Whatever happened to that ‘Never getting married’ war cry? You used to be really adamant about that as I remember.”
“That was a long time ago—“
“Not that long.”
“And I guess your views on things like that change, when the right person comes along.” She added, glaring hard at him. “I don’t like being interrupted, you know.”
“My sincerest apologies.” He looked away from her face, around the kitchen. The wood of the counters was pale, almost white. Lined up along the window ledge above the sink were miniscule renderings of saints. “Didn’t you grow up here?”
She nodded, though he wasn’t looking at her. “Yeah. Not in this house though. Or even this neighborhood. But Nashville is my home.” He turned to face her once more.
“Why’d you come back?”
“I didn’t mean to.” She could see from the set of his face, the way he was holding his hands that Gerard wanted to know more, and that he would continue to pry until he did. “It’s not a happy story,” she explained, but he stilled looked at her in that odd, hungry way. She resigned herself to the telling the story.
“I met a man in South Carolina. That was where I first went, after I left your house. I told you, do you remember, about the beaches in North Carolina I used to visit with my mother? I told you a long, long time ago. I wanted to go to those beaches, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t right for them and they weren’t where I was supposed to be. So I stopped at the next best place. I lived near the water in South Carolina for maybe six months, but I got tired of it. There were tourists and people everywhere, there was no peace, and I couldn’t find my mom there anyway. I stayed through the winter, when the least amount of people were there and when it got warm again I moved inland, to a place called Easley. That’s where I met the guy.
“I got a job in an architect’s office doing filing, office management, secretarial work. If it hadn’t been for the fact that this was a ‘cool’, eco-friendly firm run by a bunch or relatively young people who were all quite free-thinking, my appearance would have kept me unemployed. But they didn’t care about the tattoos, and I was hired.
“I kept my head down. I wasn’t really in a place where I wanted to be making friends. I didn’t even notice, but there was this one architect dude watching me. The only reason I even know is because he told me later. Anyway, he saw me reading a book about Shah Jahan, and so to introduce himself, he built me a miniature replica of the Taj Mahal and brought it to me. It was singularly the most caring, sweet thing anyone had ever done for me. I can’t imagine how painstaking it must have been to make a palace that intricate to a scale so small. He even did the interior, you could lift off the central minaret and look at the rooms inside. He asked me to go out for coffee. We did. I didn’t stand a chance.”
“What was his name?”
“James Weaver. I married him seven months later in City Hall. Around a month later, we packed up and headed to Nashville. The firm was opening another office down in Tennessee and James was going to be one of those starting it up. We found this house, and it was perfect. Everything fell into place. It freaked me out.” She shook her head quickly, a nervous tic. “We’ve been here ever since.” And that was the end.
“That’s not a sad story.” Gerard observed.
“No,” Egan looked down, “I guess it’s not.”
“Why did you tell me this?”
“Because you wouldn’t have let it drop.” She smiled at him and he could see laugh lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there five years ago. “And because even though I may not owe you answers, you’re enough a part of my past that I think you should know what happened after…us.”
“Thank you for letting me in.” he said, with all earnestness in his voice. “I never would have chosen this if someone asked me to say what your life was like now. But it suits you well I think. I’m glad you’re happy.”
“Yeah,” she smiled again, and it looked almost sorrowful in it’s beauty. “I’m happy.”
Author's Note: Read and review. It's all I want. Really.
Three steps in and his foot landed on a xylophone/piano contraption that had wheels and a string to pull it along with. Next, he kicked a rattle that thankfully sounded like chimes, not that dread bead-on-plastic sound most made. There was a life size nylon teepee with cutouts in what looked to be the den, and an entire shelf was devoted to DVDs and Beanie Babies. He didn’t know those were even made anymore. All of these tiny toddler toys made the most amazing juxtaposition with the décor. The den was rich claret with metallic gold in the trimmings. Everywhere were crosses and statues of the Blessed Virgin, and beneath these, candles and rosettes. The ceiling of what looked to be the entire house was painted an indigo black-blue with more metallic gold, this time taking the form of stars. Darting between these were sprigs of comet tails.
“Whose old truck was that outside?” he called after her when she disappeared through a door into what he guessed to be the kithchen.
“Husband’s.”
“I didn’t see a ring, did I?” he asked her, following her path into the bright kitchen. The walls were pale yellow and for a moment he thought she was making a rude gesture at him, but as it turned out, she was only holding up her left ring finger. There, wound around her tiny finger, was the most delicate filigree of a tattoo he’d ever seen.
“Can’t lose it, you see.” She explained, offering him a mason jar of lemonade.
“A tattoo though? It’s just very…permanent.”
“That’s the general idea, yeah.” She murmured quietly, sipping her own lemonade.
“Whatever happened to that ‘Never getting married’ war cry? You used to be really adamant about that as I remember.”
“That was a long time ago—“
“Not that long.”
“And I guess your views on things like that change, when the right person comes along.” She added, glaring hard at him. “I don’t like being interrupted, you know.”
“My sincerest apologies.” He looked away from her face, around the kitchen. The wood of the counters was pale, almost white. Lined up along the window ledge above the sink were miniscule renderings of saints. “Didn’t you grow up here?”
She nodded, though he wasn’t looking at her. “Yeah. Not in this house though. Or even this neighborhood. But Nashville is my home.” He turned to face her once more.
“Why’d you come back?”
“I didn’t mean to.” She could see from the set of his face, the way he was holding his hands that Gerard wanted to know more, and that he would continue to pry until he did. “It’s not a happy story,” she explained, but he stilled looked at her in that odd, hungry way. She resigned herself to the telling the story.
“I met a man in South Carolina. That was where I first went, after I left your house. I told you, do you remember, about the beaches in North Carolina I used to visit with my mother? I told you a long, long time ago. I wanted to go to those beaches, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t right for them and they weren’t where I was supposed to be. So I stopped at the next best place. I lived near the water in South Carolina for maybe six months, but I got tired of it. There were tourists and people everywhere, there was no peace, and I couldn’t find my mom there anyway. I stayed through the winter, when the least amount of people were there and when it got warm again I moved inland, to a place called Easley. That’s where I met the guy.
“I got a job in an architect’s office doing filing, office management, secretarial work. If it hadn’t been for the fact that this was a ‘cool’, eco-friendly firm run by a bunch or relatively young people who were all quite free-thinking, my appearance would have kept me unemployed. But they didn’t care about the tattoos, and I was hired.
“I kept my head down. I wasn’t really in a place where I wanted to be making friends. I didn’t even notice, but there was this one architect dude watching me. The only reason I even know is because he told me later. Anyway, he saw me reading a book about Shah Jahan, and so to introduce himself, he built me a miniature replica of the Taj Mahal and brought it to me. It was singularly the most caring, sweet thing anyone had ever done for me. I can’t imagine how painstaking it must have been to make a palace that intricate to a scale so small. He even did the interior, you could lift off the central minaret and look at the rooms inside. He asked me to go out for coffee. We did. I didn’t stand a chance.”
“What was his name?”
“James Weaver. I married him seven months later in City Hall. Around a month later, we packed up and headed to Nashville. The firm was opening another office down in Tennessee and James was going to be one of those starting it up. We found this house, and it was perfect. Everything fell into place. It freaked me out.” She shook her head quickly, a nervous tic. “We’ve been here ever since.” And that was the end.
“That’s not a sad story.” Gerard observed.
“No,” Egan looked down, “I guess it’s not.”
“Why did you tell me this?”
“Because you wouldn’t have let it drop.” She smiled at him and he could see laugh lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there five years ago. “And because even though I may not owe you answers, you’re enough a part of my past that I think you should know what happened after…us.”
“Thank you for letting me in.” he said, with all earnestness in his voice. “I never would have chosen this if someone asked me to say what your life was like now. But it suits you well I think. I’m glad you’re happy.”
“Yeah,” she smiled again, and it looked almost sorrowful in it’s beauty. “I’m happy.”
Author's Note: Read and review. It's all I want. Really.
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