FicWad

Long Live the Car Crash Hearts

The wind whips around our faces as I draw the neck of my heavy winter coat closer around me. We stand on a cliff overlooking my hometown city, Chicago Illinois. I unsuccessfully try to stop my teeth from chattering, and they knock together loudly despite my efforts. Leah and I stare up at the house - although it seems much more like a mansion or a post-modern castle than a home. The sun is setting over my hometown Chicago, and the leaves that fall swirling to the ground match the orange hues in the sunset perfectly. We stand on a ridge that overlooks Chicago, and the view is quite breathtaking. The scene makes me wish for my camera - it's one of those 'Kodak Moments' photographers and family-get-together-attendants are always discussing. The castle-house seems deserted, and I curse. "We're early; damn."

Leah sighs nervously, her dark brown eyes darting back and forth across the landscape. "Do you think we should go back? We can come back later, when everyone gets here," she adds hastily.

I turn to face her, jaw held tight from trying to look authoritative, and not letting my teeth chatter from the unnatural autumn cold. "You know that if we leave, we'll never come back. And I doubt we'll ever get invited to a party like this again."

"Let's go then." She shivers, but not from the wind. Leah reluctantly enters the large house with me because she knows I'm right. She and I . . . weren't exactly the most popular people at our high school. And our jobs - a secretary and YMCA Staff member - didn't exactly give us any 'popular' friends, either. We were pretty much the social outcasts of, well, everywhere. It's pretty sad, really.

We explore deeper into the large, magnificent house. There is an oversized entrance hall, complete with a large, swirling staircase. As soon as I see it, I have an overwhelming desire to slide down it. Marble busts and priceless paintings line the walls. I look down at the floor - some kind of elaborate mosaic. The chandelier sways gently on the ceiling as I force myself to catch up with Leah, who has discovered the living room. All the electronics are state of the art - multiple gargantuan plasma televisions, some kind of complex speaker system, and even a stage. I snort disbelievingly at the thought of someone needing a stage in their own house. It's their money, I suppose. I spot a deck out back, with a breathtaking view of the city. I point, and Leah follows.

"No one's here yet, Aeri," Leah whispers, still considering turning back - grabbing me by the hood on my coat and dragging me out if necessary. I can see it in her eyes, the fear of rejection and ridicule hidden behind her wide blue eyes.

"So? We'll just act like we own the place," I say much more confidently than I feel. I find us some lawn chairs, and settle into one. Leah still stands.

"I'm gonna go get us some drinks, okay? I'll be right back." She shoves her hands in her skinny jeans pockets and walks off. I shrug indecisively. I really don't care; I'm not thirsty and Leah's doubts about the party are beginning to rub off on me. I sigh, allowing myself to get lost in the sunset.

*

Leah comes back carrying two glasses of a sickly yellow-orange mix. "What's this?" I ask, sniffing the drink cautiously. For all I know, it's mustard and mayonnaise, or something equally as heinious. Leah is famous among our little circle of friends for her odd culinary tastes and extremely strange experiments with unusual foods.

"A screwdriver," she tells me, settling into the other chair. "Now we act like we own the place."

Suspiciously, I sip at my glass, hesitant to think it's really a screwdriver, and not some horrible mustard and mayo mix like I originally suspected. It's so strong my lips feel like they're on fire. "This is nasty, Leah!"

She looks at me like I have lobsters growing out of my ears. "Come on, it can't be that bad. . . ." she tries her drink and sputters. "Gawd, that's awful," she says, touching her burnt lips. "That's terrible."

"What'd you put in it, anyways?" I inquire, wanting to know if it really is mustard and mayo in there. I wouldn't be surprised.

"Vodka and orange juice," Leah says waveringly. "That's right, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I retort, shaking my head. "But it's supposed to be more orange juice than vodka."

Leah tries not to look embarrassed. "Oh. I thought it was half and half."

"Drink it anyway," I say, forcing down some more. "We'll need it if we have to talk to anyone."

*

After waiting about half an hour, the party was filling up. We keep our seats, and sip our second round of screwdrivers.

"My drink's almost gone," I whisper.

Leah glares vehemently at me. "Go get us some more, then."

"Why is it always me?" I moan, afraid of getting up. I don't know anyone here - what if I actually have to talk to somebody?

"Firstly, it's not always you. Secondly," she replies, "because I got the last two rounds. It's your turn."

I debate this. I don't want to get up - but if I don't have anything to drink, someone might try and speak with me. Sighing reluctantly, I get up.

Unfortunately, the vodka is finally setting in. I wildly grab for the nearest person as the whole world begins to revolve without me. When everything starts spinning with me, I let go of the slightly annoyed person. My cheeks flush a bright, warm, red color.

"Aeirsa Shea Lander!" Leah hisses at me.

"Shhh." I wave her off, suddenly eager to get to the kitchen. "I'm fine." I stumble inside, my legs going more quickly than my body. I almost knock down two people before I'm inside the house.

*

There are many people in the kitchen. I see a vaguely familiar face, like maybe from high school English or something. I think hard, trying to remember. It might've been senior year Journ -

Suddenly, she swings a hammer and barely misses me. I run quickly out of the way. She and some of her other friends continue breaking ice with hammers, barely noticing the manslaughter they had almost committed.

I've always wanted to smash ice with a hammer. . . .

As I search for more vodka, a rowdy bunch of guys start doing tequila shots. They shove one into my hand, and force me to gulp it down. Thankfully most of it gets spilled in the jostling. I gasp, because the liquor burns almost as bad as the vodka, and continue my search for the vodka. All the hard liquors are gone, so I nab some Seven-Up, or Sprite - some lemon-lime soda, anyways - and mix it with orange juice. It's probably better for our health anyways. I grab the glasses and head back out into the living room. A band is getting their equipment together, and doing what I presume to be a sound check up on the stage. One of the guys is playing his guitar. He smiles and waves feebly, blushing in his trucker hat. I smile back.

*

I give Leah her drink. "It's OJ and soda this time. All the vodka was gone."

She shrugs nonchalantly. "We probably don't need more alcohol anyways."

The bubbly sodas feel cool on our liquor-burnt lips.

*

Soon, we can hear music blasting from inside. I think of the guitarist in the hat, the one who smiled at me. Most of the other people go in to watch the show. I think that I should - the music sounds good, and I want to see Hat Boy again.

"Leah?" I say, wondering whether I should leave her here all alone or not. "Leah, I'm gonna go watch the show. You want to come?"

Leah seems distracted. She looks thoughtfully towards the cityscape view from the railing. "Nah, I think I'll stay out here," she says. "Come and get me when it's over, though.

I shrug. "Your loss."

*

With some difficulty, I make my way towards the front of the living room, where the music is pounding so loudly my body shakes. The room is jam-packed with people. Some of the crazier ones have a mosh pit. I avoid them, trying not to get trampled. Hat Boy isn't up yet, but the current band, Heaven Hill, is pretty good.

Finally, Heaven Hill finishes, and some completely wasted guy gets the mike. I attempt to block out the obscenity, but it doesn't really work. Drunken Man ends up sloshing beer over the moshers, which just makes them louder and more obnoxious. Eventually, Drunken Man gets to the point and introduces Fall Out Boy. I grin when Hat Boy walks out with a guitar. They are amazing - the lead guitarist ends up jumping around in a circle, and almost knocks the bassist over.

When they play Pretty in Punk, I swear Hat Boy looks at me. Leah's always telling me I have an overactive imagination. I suppose she's right, but I can't help but imagine Hat Boy is really singing about me. I feel my cheeks flush red for the second time this evening. I think I prefer this kind of blushing, though.

All good things must come to and end, and eventually another band takes the stage. It's some kind of metal band; the lead singer is nothing like Hat Boy, but sounds like a chain smoker on crack when he screams. I retreat to the bottom of the staircase, although the music is still loud and deafening. It takes me completely by surprise when I look up to find Hat Boy sitting beside me, grinning. His smiles are infectious, I decide, reflexively smiling back at him.

"My name's Patrick," he yells over the chain smoker and moshers.

"What? I'm Aeri!" I yell back.

"We need quiet!" he screams, fruitlessly trying to be heard. "Come with me!" Hat Boy grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the front door. I am too stunned to stop him.

Hat Boy leads me outside, past the potheads smoking on the front steps, and towards the woody area by the road. He silently drags me all the way to a little outcropping in the trees. "Err . . . we kind of got lost on the way here. I doubt anyone'll bother us though." He grins sheepishly. "Anyways, now that I can hear myself think, I'm Patrick."

I swear, I haven't grinned this much in years. I beam at him. "I'm Aeri. You guys were awesome, up on stage," I gush sincerely.

Patrick's eyes sparkle mischievously. "What happened to Pete, anyways?"

I figure he means the bassist who nearly fell offstage. "The other guitarist - "

"- Joe Trohman -"

"- was jumping and spinning around, and he collided with Pete. He nearly fell off the stage!" It was hilarious, watching him teeter on the edge of the platform, an expression of sheer terror on his face.

Patrick laughs when he hears this. "Joe really needs to work on that, doesn't he?" We sit in silence for a few minutes. It isn't awkward, just . . . quiet. "As you probably guessed, I'm a musician," he says. "What do you do for a living?"

I blush, somewhat embarrassed. "I'm a secretary, actually."

"Awesome," Patrick says. It's not mocking, and I think he actually is sincere. Most people wouldn't see me as the receptionist type - my usual garb includes a random t-shirt, very distressed jeans, and mismatching shoes and socks. Today I was wearing one blue sock, one red sock, and one pink high-top, one neon green low-top. My jeans had multiple holes in them, with a bandana tied just below my right knee. I am wearing a t-shirt I'd found at Hot Topic with GIR on it. I love GIR; he's just adorably stupid.

The music begins to ebb and fade away, although the night is just beginning. The stars are peeking out in the sky, and Patrick looks up. I do too. "It's probably time to head back in," I say jokingly, "or else I'll get lost on my way. I'm not the best at navigating."

Patrick smiles. "Neither am I. Want to come meet the band?"

"Sure." Why not?

*

Meanwhile, a tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed girl was looking out at the twinkling lights of Chicago beneath her. There was a breathtaking view of the city from where she stood, leaned over the balcony railing. It was captivating, and no one had yet disturbed her. Leah let her mind wander to other things - Her friends' new jobs, her 'parent's' renewed interest in her life, local news. December and the holiday season, New Year's Eve, Veronica's disturbing new habits. Leah was so absorbed in her own little world that she didn't even notice when someone came and stood next to her at the railing.

"It is an incredible view, isn't it?" he said, startling her.

"Oh, sure. I'd rather be looking at forests than the city though. It's too crowded." Why was she babbling?

"I know what you mean." They stood in thoughtful silence for a minute.

"My name's Andy," he offered, trying to break the silence.

"I'm Leah." She held out her hand to shake. Andy took it uncertainly. Leah chided herself, mentally shouting. Why did I do that? It was more awkward than the quiet! she thought.

They could feel the thumping vibrations of the music even though they were furthest away from the stage. "I'm a drummer," Andy said.

Leah perked up. "I've always wanted to teach myself to play an instrument, but never got around to it. Do you play in a band?" she asked.

"Yeah, actually. That's why I'm here - we had a gig tonight. My friends and I just finished playing."

"How can you stand that noise?"

Andy grinned. "I'm the drummer, remember? You kind of have to learn to live with it. It's not as bad during a show, when you're playing the music. After, though . . ." his voice trailed off. "Well, I came out here, didn't I?"

They laughed quietly. "Do you think my barrette looks like a pickle?" Leah asked suddenly.

"Uh, excuse me?"

"My barrette. The one in my hair? Does it look like a pickle to you?" she repeated, pointing to a green hairclip just over her ear.

Andy squirmed uncomfortably. "Um, no, not really."

"Hah, tell Aeri that. She's my best friend," Leah explained quickly, seeing the confusion on his face. "You should meet . . ." Before Leah could finish, she collapsed leaving only a very confused drummer behind.

*

Patrick and I are on our way to find 'the guys.' "Hold on a sec," I say, wanting to introduce him to Leah, "let me find my friend." He frowned, a seemingly unnatural expression compared to the laughing, smiling face I'd seen earlier. "Oh, it'll only take a minute," I assure him. Grabbing Patrick by the hand, I begin to weave my way through the crowd, toward the lawn chairs where I'd last seen Leah. There was a particularly large group gathered at the railing where she had been standing. I push my way through, and gasp.

"Leah!"

"Andy?" Patrick and I yell at the same time.

Leah is sprawled out on the deck, and a very perplexed Andy is sitting next to her, looking extremely out of place. Patrick turns to me.

"You know her?"

"You know him?" we both ask together. I blush.

"That's Leah," I explain. "My friend, the one I was looking for." I pause for a moment to shout for someone to call an ambulance already. "Who's that?"

"That's Andy, with her," Patrick says, still bewildered, "from the band?" Yes, I think, he is vaguely familiar. We stand in awkward silence for a moment. Patrick tugs nervously on the bill of his hat. The howling of sirens breaks the unease. The crowd that has gathered suddenly dissipates, parting like the Red Sea to let the paramedics through.

They take Leah away on a stretcher, and I try to flag down one of them. Patrick follows me - I hadn't let go of his hand. The crowd is just a few people now, finding more interesting things to do. Andy stares after us, unsure of what just happened. Patrick waves him on, to come with him. Dumbly, he follows. We all get in the ambulance. I cry quietly, Patrick letting me rest my head on his shoulders. It is going to be a very long night.