FicWad

Chpt 3: It didn't fix anything.

In my car on the way home The Ataris "So Long, Astoria" plays on repeat. Scary how much Kris captures my feelings. I'm glad I met him on my warped visit this year. I wish I could kick Nan and her fifty pounds of hair and make-up supplies that are crowding our bathroom out the second story window.

I wonder if Patrick is still mad about last night. I walk into the house singing "The Hero Dies In This One" at the top of my lungs, not caring who or what is sleeping. I go straight to my room ignoring the activities going on in the living room, I slam the door for effect and blast Taking Back Sunday's "You're So Last Summer." I'm probably being childish. Thing is, I don't care.

I can hear Patrick knocking on my door above the lyrics as I scream along with them. I slowly make my way over and open it a crack not bothering to turn down the music he won't be here long.

"Can I help you?" I ask with the same fake politeness from work. He stares at me blankly with annoyed eyes and pushes past the door and me. He goes straight to the stereo turning it off then turns back to me.

"What the hell Ane?" He asks impatiently, a hand on his hip.

"Why, whatever do you mean Pat?" the spite evident in my voice, but I don't care.

He stares at me as if I had two heads, "The music. You walk in screaming like a banshee, slam your door and blast this. There are others in this house you know."

I look at him incredulously, "you never minded before." I say and push him out the door. I am not in the mood for him defending her. I walk back to the stereo and turn it up louder and continue my screaming. Who the hell is he to talk to me like that? Like a guilty little child. Fuck him. God, knows I would given the chance. Off subject. I am angry. Not horny. Ok. Maybe both.

He comes to knock again, but I ignore him this time and eventually he gets tired and leaves. The more I piss him off the louder I scream. Satisfaction. Frustration. Who cares. Not me. I just want scream a few more hours away. Thank god for a minifridge of Mt. Dew. But eventually I will need to eat. I wander out of my room around 1am, not bothering to turn the music off or down. Patrick is sitting alone in the kitchen with a fruit cup staring at the wall opposite of the table that we had covered in snap shots over the last two years in the apartment.

"What happening to us Ane?" He asked, not looking at me. I grabbed a pudding cup and took a seat next to him to face the wall too. Looked at him as I lick the top of my pudding, and shrug. I don't think he sees, but he knows.

" I miss you, you know. But you're right there in the next room."

I nod at him again and lick my spoon before opening my mouth to speak, "Its been like this for a while. Do you remember that?" I ask pointing a snap shot on the wall. One of he and I three years ago. Sitting on the edge of a stage, I can't remember where. We looked so happy. Arms around one another. Happy smiles. I miss that.

"Vancouver." He says out of the blue, "It was Vancouver. In January 2003. You had just turned 18. Didn't even have a license."

I smiled remembering what had happened. Patrick had taken a month to persuade my mother to allow me to take winter break on the road with the band.

Sitting there on the edge of the Y7 stage waiting for their turn to play . It was so cold. But Patrick insisted on shorts. His legs were covered in goose bumps and I laughed at him for it. Little known to us, Pete was lurking around the corner camera in hand. Just as Billy leaned over to kiss the top of my head he jumped out and yelled "Boo!" catching us by surprise and snapping a quick shot before Patrick fell from the stage taking me with him. We landed in a heap of giggles and pushed one another away before jumping up to avenge our fall.

"I still have a scar from that fall." I said looking at the faint white line on my forearm.

" I know." He reached over the trace it, and I gulped. This was too close. He was too close. I just want to hold his hand. I doubt he'd let me. But I try anyway and he grabs it firmly brining it to his lips.

We don't say much else before leaving the kitchen and our memories behind for bed. I climb in wearing a t shirt I stole from his closet. When I was here alone one night, I missed him too much, and this smelled like him. I doubt he knows its missing. But I know my Joy Division shirt is missing. So, he misses me too.

The next morning I wake up, pretty sure I'm the only one awake and head to the bathroom for a shower. I love Saturdays. I can wake up early and have to TV to myself and make green waffles. Patrick always insists on blue. I miss Saturdays with him. I hate this.

After cleaning up my waffle mess I settle in front of the TV and grab the cassette of Warped that Pete had made me. I have one of every tour they've ever done.

There is fuzz and then a sheet of white paper with the words "Warped 2005" written in Pete's messy handwriting. I smiled to myself.

The camera spins and I'm greeted by a close up of his face, "Hi Ane! Welcome to Warped 05'!"

I smiled again as he panned the view around him, the bus, a few other bands, scattered fans, and Patrick. This was pre-Nan mind you. He looked happy, but alone. I wasn't able to tag along this year. I was promoted at work, and school was just ending. Pete commanded everyone to wave and yell "hi" to the camera, mentioning that it was the annual Ane video.

Andy sat across the room from the camera and pelted Pete with skittles asking him if it hurt yet. I laughed to myself. Patrick walks into view and notices the camera, he stops and looks at it, "I miss you." he says and walks away. His voice sounds hollow.

I watched for at least an hour before I noticed Patrick had gotten up. He poured his cereal and sat down beside me on the couch. I glanced at him through the corner of my left eye, he was in a trance between the screen and his Cap'n'Crunch. I'm not sure he would notice an earthquake. He stops slurping and abruptly drops his spoon into the bowl, before setting it on the wicker coffee table. He turns to me and I look down at my unfinished green waffles. He takes them from me and sets them next to his abandoned bowl. I stare at him, locking eyes for a moment. He closes his and leans into me, our lips meet, and that it is all that matters in the world. These few seconds. The warmth of his lips, his hand in my hair, my hand on his shoulder, the bedroom door swinging open and the scream she let out when she saw us.