How perfect, how pristine, to be so plastic.
Her hair looked messy, dirty, oily. That of course always happened when she worked the late shift at the bars. She looked like shit, she felt like shit, and, she probably tasted of shit, too.
Just in case any one was wondering if she was dead, she checked her phone calls, although she didnt really think she'd be recieving any. She was right to think so, too. Her parents wanted nothing to do with her, and her 'boyfriend' only came around maybe once or twice a month.
Hayley reflected on the days when this, this was exactly what she wanted. How perfect, how pristine, to be so plastic. She would of been the first one to sign up when Andy Warhol metioned Plastic. How favourable, how easy, how enjoyable....She never imagined the hardships of it. The suffering, the pain, emotionally and physically, everything took a toll on her body, namely for the worse.
But, when she was young, this was, the best. The best you could get. Fool them with a fake smile, a short smile, a simple smile, a grin, flash it, show them your teeth, look sassy smile, look sad smile, look silly smile, look good smile, look secret smile, but never, never did the rulebooks show her how to do a truly, happy smile.
When she cant' smile, she pretty much can't do anything. So therefore, she doesn't really do anything, at all. But maybe she liked it that way.
The Queen of Hearts--He'd often pondered why Pete chose the queen of hearts as the card to display death, life. Destruction is a form of creation--therefore death was a form of life. A small simple smile had played through his lips, as Pete said all this, excited, but, Patrick wasn't reallly listening.
"You Can Be the main guy, 'Trick, and, like, we'll have you as a detective, and i can be two people--like personality disorder, but the thing people won't know till the end is, is, is that, we're the same person!! it'll be awesome...'
Pete prattled on endlessley, the same old lines, and Patrick was just so goddamn sick of it.
Patrick felt a stab shock through his body, one for being annoyed with Pete, then he felt two more, for being such a bad friend.
This is the life Patrick had wanted. Playing shows, touring, writing music. It was what he loved doing--he had the best job in the world. He missed Anna a lot during shows, during tours, lots and lots. He felt so homesick, so homesick that he almost threw up every night, so homesick that he refused to even eat, and that he didn't even talk to anyone, anyone one but Pete, because Pete reminded him of home.
But lately, that effect had started to wear off. Patrick had gotten more nostalgic, more homesick, and Pete wouldn't, couldn't be the substitue for Patricks feelings. But, how wonderful, how happy, how awesome, how great, it would be, to tour the world, playing music and hanging out with your three best friends.
But, how quickly had that diminished? Too fast, for Patrick's liking. It was a relief when Patrick finally got home and through the door, running into Anna's welcome arms. But it didn't feel right. Patrick didn't feel the way he was supposed to, he didn't feel estatic or even happy to see her. He felt the same as always, distant and increasingly loosing his confidence. So when Anna asked Him to smile for Her, He smiled a sweet, short smile.
Anna smiled a radiant, bright one, and normally, that would be contagious, but it wasn't now. Pete hadn't taught Patrick how to smile a genuine happy smile.
"OhMyFuckingGod,We'regettingsigned" were the first words out of Brendon's mouth, the day after Pete had left.
"It's great, isn't it?" Ryan joined in excitedly, looking at all three of them, a smile plastered on his lips. The three boys nodded, but Spencer couldn't shake that feeling off.
That feeling where, you think everything's fine, and then it's not, not at all. It was kind of a superstitious album, and Spencer didn't like it, not at all.
He thought about getting big--he never thought of actually making it. Sure, he loved his drums, and he loved to play--but they were just four small town guys, playing a band, having fun. He didn't actually want to go somewhere in this lifestyle.
Spencer wanted a family, wanted kids. That was his deepest, darkest, secret. He wanted a normal life. He wished the band would go down in fucking burning flames, screaming their heads off, in the most horrible and tragic way. But Spencer felt a pang of guilt flush trhough him as he thought this. This was Ryan's dream, and he didn't want to take that away from Ryan.
This was the reason Spencer had been so miserable. Brent, Ryan, Brendon, they all put so much effort into this, and Spencer only thought of it as the fun, everything was fun, fun, fun. Sure, they'd talked about getting signed..but...they ddin't think it would actually happen.
The more texts Ryan got from Pete, the phonecalls, the shows they'd play, the tours they'd go on, the months, the more information, the more nervous Spencer got. He wished he'd never met Ryan, wished he could back out of it. He hadn't known what he was signing up for when he'd met Ryan, those so many years ago. When he'd gotten the drum kit, and Ryan the guitar.
Spencer wasn't sure why he felt so bad. It's not like having kids wasn't possible. He could still have them, still have a wife--but fuck, he and Mary were talking about getting married next year, when they were both nineteen. They even planned their whole careers--Spencer would do something in carpentry, while Mary would study to be a teacher. They'd found a nice block of apartments, and were waiting to put their name on it.
Spencer called Mary to tell her the news, blurting it out in one breath, feeling like crying after he did so "mybandsgettingsigned". Mary had been thrilled to bits, screaming and squealing on the phone, while Spencer merely pressed his head in against the wall, trying hard to not let the tears stream down his face.
Pete came to help them pack, before the tour, convinced they needed someone who had the experiecence of packing, but Spencer thought he'd really just come to perve on Ryan. He hadn't actually, he'd just come to talk to every one of the guys. He knew they'd be feeling nervous, but three of them were very optimistic.
When Pete came to Spencer's house, he asked him how he thought the tour would be. Spencer replied a hesitated "Okay," and Pete told him that it'd all go fine. He told him it was fine to be pessimistic about your first time touring, but you should have fun, because you get to see lots of places, so if the shows aren't going great for you, just look out for the scenery. Spencer had a smiled a fake sweet smile, the fake sweet smile he now smiled in every interview. Spencer had long since forgotten how to really, truly, smile.
When William called him, Adam had been a little hesitant at first. "Seriously?" He'd repeated so many times, that the words lost all meaning. William had repeated "yes, yes, yes, yes, yes' again and again till that had lost all meaning, too. And, when Adam thought about it, music had seemed to loose all meaning, too.
They talked to Pete, on their first tour, asking for tips. Pete said the music industry was a cold place, and Adam was definately feeling the glaciers. Pete went on to say that this was only the tip of the ice burg. William was not phased by his speech. William declared that if anything was to do with music, it was awesome, therefore Pete was wrong.
So William left, and Adam stayed. Pete continued to tell Adam tales that he'd rather not here--how some musicians got so fed up with touring and never being home, not living a normal lifestyle, that they resorted to drugs, or they started cutting, or they commited suicide. That, it was a lot of pressure, when everyone knew your name, of course, with the advantages, come the disadvantages.
It was a package deal, being in a band. Adam would of up and left a long time ago if he'd realized that the pressure would be so strong, like this. He really misses he's girlfriend, and he doesn't really know what to do or how to say it. He's only twenty now, for fuck sake. Barely twenty, and he's not even legal yet. He can't drink, can't get into bars. So, while all the guys go and loose themselves, he sits alone on the bus, feeling upset and worried.
He's grown into this habit, where he's constantly worried about something, stressing , chewing on his hangnail on his thumb, or his lip, or sometimes just jumping, moving. It's like he's had three cups of coffee to jet-start his day everymorning, and he hates it.
He hates the fact that, no matter how hard he tries, he can really enjoy his time. He misses her so much, and it fucking hurts him. Sometimes, he fights hard not to cry himself to sleep, and each day those needles and blades and cliffs and building tops seem more and more appealing.
One day, he sits there alone, crying in his bunk. He doesn't make a sound, but he's body racks when he sobs, and he feels a gentle hand on his back. He lifts his head up, and gives William a small, sad smile. William smiles back at him, the same fake, sad, smile that Adam puts on. It's scary that they don't know how to smile properly anymore, but, at least, Adam's not the only one who's feeling this way.
He just wishes Pete metioned some way on how to cut the nostalgia out of his life.