Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > The Bass Files
Confessions of a suffering guitar man
4 reviewsWhat do toilet seats and Ernest Hemingway have in common? What can a boy expect when he manages to unhook the bra of a girl in the back of a car parked on a hill that serves as a highschool love ne...
2Original
12. Confessions of a suffering guitar man
Patrick and I finished our drinks and were homebound.
"You know, you don´t have to walk me home. I´ll be fine."
Patrick shook his head slightly, "That´s no biggie. Your place is kind of on the route to mine anyway."
We walked in silence for a bit.
"Can I ask you something personal?"
"Fire away," I told him.
"Ah, do you," he pulled his cap down slightly, so it covered more of is face, "do you happen to like Andy maybe?"
I surely hadn´t seen that coming. Was it that obvious? Has Andy sensed anything yet? And what was I supposed to answer Patrick?
I emitted a grunting noise.
"Sorry if that question embarrassed you..."
"No, not at all," I lied. "It´s just..."
Suddenly a smile emerged on his face, "You just didn´t think that it was that obvious, huh?"
I smiled back, somewhat fakely, "Kinda."
"Ah, well, I know exactly how you feel."
Silence again.
"Oh damn!" He seemed in thought. "I apologize if that comment of mine about him wanting to date you, blah, made you feel awkward. Sometimes I just don´t pick up on things that easily... In fact, I only felt that maybe you had a thing for him when I looked at you after I made that comment. Kinda looked as if your heart had just sunken."
There was no chance of escaping this unpleasant conversation. Not even the slightest sight of a plastic skull and bones that could knock me unconscious this time. What were the odds of a toilet seat from a spacecraft falling from the sky, striking me dead and me turning into a grim reaper? Probably the same as me actually starring in ´Dead like me´.
"And don´t worry I don´t think Andy noticed anything," Patrick assured me. I glanced at him and he smiled is coy smile again. "Don´t worry I won´t tell him."
"Thanks," I sighed. After a short pause I asked him, "Do you think Joyce knows?"
"Oh, she knows. No doubt about it." His features turned sad.
I was happy to change the direction our little talk, "Care to elaborate on that?"
"It´s a long story. At least I´ve liked her for a really long time now. If you consider how far it´s gotten me over the years, then in fact, it´s a pretty short story. Something like Hemingway´s ´A very short story´." His smile looked forced.
Well, I sure hope it´s a bit more exciting than Hemingway´s story at least.
"And mind you," he added. "It´s not even half exciting as that lame story of his."*
I chuckled and the look on his face said something like "I wish I could make Joyce laugh like that."
Alright, alright. I totally made that up now. But it does sound sweet, doesn´t it?
"Did you ever tell her or anything? Make allusions to it?" I was curious.
"No need, really. She´s known it from the start. If she wanted something to happen she would have just suggested it." Boys. Sitting out dances on the wall, waiting to be asked for a dance. He was probably right though. How could Joyce not have noticed it? I noticed it after having observed his reations to her for only half an hour.
"I mean, one time, we went to the movies together."
"Well, that is something. A date," I paid him a small smile.
"Yeah, only it was not really a date. It just so happened because Andy didn´t show up and we had bought the tickets already."
"Oh," I stunned myself with my conversational skills.
"About one year later, to the day, we kissed."
"Hey, hey, hey," I nudged him encouragingly. I sort of felt like one of his ´homeboys´, paying him respect for having been able to unclasp some girl´s bra in the back of his car at some highschool love nest on a hill. In other terms, I felt pretty dumb about that.
"It was nothing. She was just carrying out a dare when it happened.... Obviously Joe deemed it fun to torture me."
I was close to grabbing and shaking him. Why did he have to make it sound as if something meaningful happened and then he puts in some promising pause until he adds that it was all just a coincidence or some emotional retard´s expression of sadism. Come to think of it, maybe Hemingway´s writing would be more exciting if he had used rhetorical/ literary devices like that.**
In the meantime we had arrived at my apartment building, standing in front of the door.
"So you´re just gonna wait until she finds herself attracted to you or what?" The second the question escaped my lips I whished I could take it back.
Patrick shuffled his feet and pulled his cap up a bit, "Something like that. What else could I do?"
I really didn´t know. "Maybe go try to find someone else? Someone who requites your feelings." Once again, my lips had moved faster than my brain could operate.
He sighed and smiled sadly, "Once you figure out how to control your feelings you let me know, ok?"
Riiiiight.
All of a sudden the the guy´s face lit up, "The real question is: What are YOU gonna do about Andy?"
"Hoping that he doesn´t find out that I like him?"
"My, you dare-devil."
Right again.
I fluttered my hand to emphasize how minimal my interest in Andy was, "Well, it´s not like I wanna have his babies or anything. I don´t really know him that well. So I don´t want to rush anything, you know."
"Sua, sua," he teased me.
In order to get over the awkward silence that started to spread I told Patrick about the night I had spent on Andy´s couch. I didn´t mention my dream though because that´s private. And some people pay good money for pornography so why should I give it away for free?
"Oh, well... Just because he didn´t make a move on you doesn´t mean he´s not interested. Andy´s just..." he paused "not like Joe."
Both of us laughed. Then Patrick said that he should be getting home so he would be able to get up tomorrow morning for work.
"Thanks again for walking me home. Also, thanks for the pleasant conversation." That was, in fact, not even sarcastic.
"My pleasure," he said. Then he gave me a short wave and walked away.
*
______________
* Please forgive me if you like Hemingway. Please forgive me if you pretend to like Hemingway because Peter Wentz is obsessed with him. I happen to think he´s an ok writer myself.
** Ever so sorry. Just Sheena making a point here.
* What DO toilet seats and Ernest Hemingway have in common? Both are mentioned in this chapter. Duh.
Patrick and I finished our drinks and were homebound.
"You know, you don´t have to walk me home. I´ll be fine."
Patrick shook his head slightly, "That´s no biggie. Your place is kind of on the route to mine anyway."
We walked in silence for a bit.
"Can I ask you something personal?"
"Fire away," I told him.
"Ah, do you," he pulled his cap down slightly, so it covered more of is face, "do you happen to like Andy maybe?"
I surely hadn´t seen that coming. Was it that obvious? Has Andy sensed anything yet? And what was I supposed to answer Patrick?
I emitted a grunting noise.
"Sorry if that question embarrassed you..."
"No, not at all," I lied. "It´s just..."
Suddenly a smile emerged on his face, "You just didn´t think that it was that obvious, huh?"
I smiled back, somewhat fakely, "Kinda."
"Ah, well, I know exactly how you feel."
Silence again.
"Oh damn!" He seemed in thought. "I apologize if that comment of mine about him wanting to date you, blah, made you feel awkward. Sometimes I just don´t pick up on things that easily... In fact, I only felt that maybe you had a thing for him when I looked at you after I made that comment. Kinda looked as if your heart had just sunken."
There was no chance of escaping this unpleasant conversation. Not even the slightest sight of a plastic skull and bones that could knock me unconscious this time. What were the odds of a toilet seat from a spacecraft falling from the sky, striking me dead and me turning into a grim reaper? Probably the same as me actually starring in ´Dead like me´.
"And don´t worry I don´t think Andy noticed anything," Patrick assured me. I glanced at him and he smiled is coy smile again. "Don´t worry I won´t tell him."
"Thanks," I sighed. After a short pause I asked him, "Do you think Joyce knows?"
"Oh, she knows. No doubt about it." His features turned sad.
I was happy to change the direction our little talk, "Care to elaborate on that?"
"It´s a long story. At least I´ve liked her for a really long time now. If you consider how far it´s gotten me over the years, then in fact, it´s a pretty short story. Something like Hemingway´s ´A very short story´." His smile looked forced.
Well, I sure hope it´s a bit more exciting than Hemingway´s story at least.
"And mind you," he added. "It´s not even half exciting as that lame story of his."*
I chuckled and the look on his face said something like "I wish I could make Joyce laugh like that."
Alright, alright. I totally made that up now. But it does sound sweet, doesn´t it?
"Did you ever tell her or anything? Make allusions to it?" I was curious.
"No need, really. She´s known it from the start. If she wanted something to happen she would have just suggested it." Boys. Sitting out dances on the wall, waiting to be asked for a dance. He was probably right though. How could Joyce not have noticed it? I noticed it after having observed his reations to her for only half an hour.
"I mean, one time, we went to the movies together."
"Well, that is something. A date," I paid him a small smile.
"Yeah, only it was not really a date. It just so happened because Andy didn´t show up and we had bought the tickets already."
"Oh," I stunned myself with my conversational skills.
"About one year later, to the day, we kissed."
"Hey, hey, hey," I nudged him encouragingly. I sort of felt like one of his ´homeboys´, paying him respect for having been able to unclasp some girl´s bra in the back of his car at some highschool love nest on a hill. In other terms, I felt pretty dumb about that.
"It was nothing. She was just carrying out a dare when it happened.... Obviously Joe deemed it fun to torture me."
I was close to grabbing and shaking him. Why did he have to make it sound as if something meaningful happened and then he puts in some promising pause until he adds that it was all just a coincidence or some emotional retard´s expression of sadism. Come to think of it, maybe Hemingway´s writing would be more exciting if he had used rhetorical/ literary devices like that.**
In the meantime we had arrived at my apartment building, standing in front of the door.
"So you´re just gonna wait until she finds herself attracted to you or what?" The second the question escaped my lips I whished I could take it back.
Patrick shuffled his feet and pulled his cap up a bit, "Something like that. What else could I do?"
I really didn´t know. "Maybe go try to find someone else? Someone who requites your feelings." Once again, my lips had moved faster than my brain could operate.
He sighed and smiled sadly, "Once you figure out how to control your feelings you let me know, ok?"
Riiiiight.
All of a sudden the the guy´s face lit up, "The real question is: What are YOU gonna do about Andy?"
"Hoping that he doesn´t find out that I like him?"
"My, you dare-devil."
Right again.
I fluttered my hand to emphasize how minimal my interest in Andy was, "Well, it´s not like I wanna have his babies or anything. I don´t really know him that well. So I don´t want to rush anything, you know."
"Sua, sua," he teased me.
In order to get over the awkward silence that started to spread I told Patrick about the night I had spent on Andy´s couch. I didn´t mention my dream though because that´s private. And some people pay good money for pornography so why should I give it away for free?
"Oh, well... Just because he didn´t make a move on you doesn´t mean he´s not interested. Andy´s just..." he paused "not like Joe."
Both of us laughed. Then Patrick said that he should be getting home so he would be able to get up tomorrow morning for work.
"Thanks again for walking me home. Also, thanks for the pleasant conversation." That was, in fact, not even sarcastic.
"My pleasure," he said. Then he gave me a short wave and walked away.
*
______________
* Please forgive me if you like Hemingway. Please forgive me if you pretend to like Hemingway because Peter Wentz is obsessed with him. I happen to think he´s an ok writer myself.
** Ever so sorry. Just Sheena making a point here.
* What DO toilet seats and Ernest Hemingway have in common? Both are mentioned in this chapter. Duh.
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