Raz
Bluelighter
I am not 100% sure this works…..I like the idea and I like the narrator Andrea’s voice, buuuut….I think it could benefit by having an editor’s input maybe.
For anyone who’s curious, the song she’s talking about (and from which I stole the title) is Baby Can I Hold You by Tracy Chapman
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I had been waiting for thirty-five minutes when she finally walked in. Jules – Julia – had never been on time, not for anything, I didn’t know why I had expected this time to be different.
“Hi.”
Awkward. We both spoke at once. I cleared my throat and she nervously looped one long auburn curl of hair around her index finger. Anticipating her tics just made them hurt more when they came to life. Nasty little children taunting me with their existence. You know me, they said. You know me.
“Don’t just stand there,” I said as flatly as I could. “Have a seat.” I gestured to the empty chair opposite me with my lit cigarette, silently cursing my treacherous shaking fingers.
“Thanks Andrea,” she smiled wanly. Don’t thank me, I wanted to say. I just don’t want you filling everywhere I look. I want you to be one of this sea of people sitting in a shitty cafe waiting for their shitty overpriced food where I can look at you and not have to look at you, and -
“Um..lady? You can’t…you can’t smoke in here.” The waitress looked at me, wide-eyed and chewing her lower lip in a way that was vaguely arousing and pitiful at the same time. She was young, seeping contempt and confusion that someone like me would have the gall to confront her with an inconvenient reality like age. An acid retort sat on my teeth for a second, but then I realised everyone in her world was as young and stupid as her, and that was punishment enough. I muttered an embarassed half-apology and butted out the smoke in a napkin, balled it up and tucked it into my cardigan pocket with lint and dead bus tickets for company. The young waitress stifled a look of disgust only partially successfully and walked away.
“Fucking nazis,” I hissed when she was at a distance where it would be impolite for her to show she’d heard. “I was smoking in better places than this before that little bitch was even some scared teenage girl’s missed period..!”
Jules – Julia – looked pained. Thirteen months ago she would have told me to give the kid a break. Thirteen months ago she would have filled her place in our synergy like she was meant to, and it would have been boring and it would have been predictable, but it would have been better than whatever this was….this horrible uncomfortable sweat of obligation and guilt.
“Andrea,” she said, her voice deliberately calm, “I wanted to – you know how hard it is for me to say I’m sorry. Even when I am. For everything. For the way I left. For hurting you. Words don’t come easily to me, you know that, and-” she stopped in mid-stream, raised one quizzical (and slightly offended) eyebrow. “Andrea…are you laughing at me?“
“I’m sorry,” I half-snorted. I had been trying to hold it under my skin, but now the laughter erupted, loud and cathartic. ”...Words don’t come easily…”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I had come to this meeting without make-up, because I knew I’d leave crying, but I thought they would be tears of regret. Tears of despair. Tears of loss and loneliness. But now..? Now I couldn’t believe I had ever wallowed in that pool for as long as I did. Now I laughed like a crazy woman, and maybe I was, but I was a crazy woman who had found her release.
“Andrea, what are you laughing at??” Jules was angry now. She was giving the expected effort to disguise it, but that facade was dropping fast. “What’s so funny?”
“Are you shitting me??” I finally managed to exclaim. “Are you fucking shitting me?? I spent over a year mourning you and grieving you and beating myself up and wondering what I did wrong and how you could have stuck a dagger in us like you did, and now that you finally find the spine to talk to me about it, the best you can do is quote TRACY FUCKING CHAPMAN?? THIS is what I went to THERAPY for??”
Julia glared at me uncomprehending. “Andrea, I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”
“I know!” I cackled hoarsely. “You’re trying to say you’re sorry, but sorry is all you can’t say…all you can say is baby-” The laughter overtook my efforts to speak, and I heaved air to try and get past it. “All you’re saying is-” I dissolved into laughter again, quite conscious that the entire room had their eyes glued on the insane dyke sitting against the wall, and letting that send me even further into a chortling mess. “Oh God it hurts…”
Julia folded her arms across her chest. Flushed, she stood and tried to regain some kind of control over the situation. “Andrea, I’m going to go. You’re obviously not ready to talk about this-”
“No, no,” I gestured emphatically. “Just gimme a sec.” I buried my face in my palms, took a few long inhalations, coughed and cleared my throat and felt finally composed enough to say what I needed to say. “Jules….Jules, I’m sorry, just…just sit. Please?“
She studied my gaze for a long minute before finally taking her seat again. There was another minute or so of silence between us. We both waited for the conversational hum of the cafe to regain a level that would let us talk in relative privacy. Then she opened her mouth. “Andrea, I-”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Let me.”
She scowled and sighed, and knowing her as well as I did, I knew she was sorely tempted to roll her eyes in indignation, but she wasn’t sure how that would be received. “Go on then,” she finally managed.
“Julia. When you left me, you broke my world. Shut up and let me finish. I spent – I thought I spent thirteen months of my life wanting nothing more than for you to walk back into my life. Every night I pined for you, for what we were, and every night I wondered…why? Every night I wanted nothing more than for you to come back in and I didn’t care if you’d apologise, I didn’t care if you would manage to say you loved me this time, I just wanted you back.
And now, you are back, and the first thing you do is tell me how it’s hard for you to ask for forgiveness, how it’s hard for you to say sorry, how words don’t come easily, and it’s just like that fucking Tracy Chapman song, and Julia…
...Julia, I hate Tracy Chapman.
Thirteen months ago, all I wanted was for you to hold me. Oh sure, I wanted your love, I wanted your respect, but I think deep down I knew I wasn’t ever going to have those things. So I told myself that if you could just hold me, the rest wouldn’t matter. And then you left, and I didn’t even have that, and it really just reinforced that I wasn’t deserving of you.
And now you’re back. And you’re exactly the same person you were thirteen months ago. You don’t want me back because you love me, you want me back because you want to hold me. You want to hold someone stable and dependable and someone who’s gonna take your shit, and Julia…I’m not that person anymore. I thought I wanted you, I thought I needed you, but all I really needed was for someone to remind me how much I fucking hate that song.“
Julia stared blankly. “But…but I…”
This time, I stood. I took out enough money to pay for the cake and the coffee I had consumed before she’d arrived, I made sure there was enough to tip the waitress, and I placed it on the table before her. “You know Jules, I was right all this time about one thing. I don’t deserve you. I’m not gonna wait around forever to be stuck in some stupid song I don’t even like. Have a nice life.”
Then I walked outside and I rejoined the world.
For anyone who’s curious, the song she’s talking about (and from which I stole the title) is Baby Can I Hold You by Tracy Chapman
********************
********************
I had been waiting for thirty-five minutes when she finally walked in. Jules – Julia – had never been on time, not for anything, I didn’t know why I had expected this time to be different.
“Hi.”
Awkward. We both spoke at once. I cleared my throat and she nervously looped one long auburn curl of hair around her index finger. Anticipating her tics just made them hurt more when they came to life. Nasty little children taunting me with their existence. You know me, they said. You know me.
“Don’t just stand there,” I said as flatly as I could. “Have a seat.” I gestured to the empty chair opposite me with my lit cigarette, silently cursing my treacherous shaking fingers.
“Thanks Andrea,” she smiled wanly. Don’t thank me, I wanted to say. I just don’t want you filling everywhere I look. I want you to be one of this sea of people sitting in a shitty cafe waiting for their shitty overpriced food where I can look at you and not have to look at you, and -
“Um..lady? You can’t…you can’t smoke in here.” The waitress looked at me, wide-eyed and chewing her lower lip in a way that was vaguely arousing and pitiful at the same time. She was young, seeping contempt and confusion that someone like me would have the gall to confront her with an inconvenient reality like age. An acid retort sat on my teeth for a second, but then I realised everyone in her world was as young and stupid as her, and that was punishment enough. I muttered an embarassed half-apology and butted out the smoke in a napkin, balled it up and tucked it into my cardigan pocket with lint and dead bus tickets for company. The young waitress stifled a look of disgust only partially successfully and walked away.
“Fucking nazis,” I hissed when she was at a distance where it would be impolite for her to show she’d heard. “I was smoking in better places than this before that little bitch was even some scared teenage girl’s missed period..!”
Jules – Julia – looked pained. Thirteen months ago she would have told me to give the kid a break. Thirteen months ago she would have filled her place in our synergy like she was meant to, and it would have been boring and it would have been predictable, but it would have been better than whatever this was….this horrible uncomfortable sweat of obligation and guilt.
“Andrea,” she said, her voice deliberately calm, “I wanted to – you know how hard it is for me to say I’m sorry. Even when I am. For everything. For the way I left. For hurting you. Words don’t come easily to me, you know that, and-” she stopped in mid-stream, raised one quizzical (and slightly offended) eyebrow. “Andrea…are you laughing at me?“
“I’m sorry,” I half-snorted. I had been trying to hold it under my skin, but now the laughter erupted, loud and cathartic. ”...Words don’t come easily…”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I had come to this meeting without make-up, because I knew I’d leave crying, but I thought they would be tears of regret. Tears of despair. Tears of loss and loneliness. But now..? Now I couldn’t believe I had ever wallowed in that pool for as long as I did. Now I laughed like a crazy woman, and maybe I was, but I was a crazy woman who had found her release.
“Andrea, what are you laughing at??” Jules was angry now. She was giving the expected effort to disguise it, but that facade was dropping fast. “What’s so funny?”
“Are you shitting me??” I finally managed to exclaim. “Are you fucking shitting me?? I spent over a year mourning you and grieving you and beating myself up and wondering what I did wrong and how you could have stuck a dagger in us like you did, and now that you finally find the spine to talk to me about it, the best you can do is quote TRACY FUCKING CHAPMAN?? THIS is what I went to THERAPY for??”
Julia glared at me uncomprehending. “Andrea, I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”
“I know!” I cackled hoarsely. “You’re trying to say you’re sorry, but sorry is all you can’t say…all you can say is baby-” The laughter overtook my efforts to speak, and I heaved air to try and get past it. “All you’re saying is-” I dissolved into laughter again, quite conscious that the entire room had their eyes glued on the insane dyke sitting against the wall, and letting that send me even further into a chortling mess. “Oh God it hurts…”
Julia folded her arms across her chest. Flushed, she stood and tried to regain some kind of control over the situation. “Andrea, I’m going to go. You’re obviously not ready to talk about this-”
“No, no,” I gestured emphatically. “Just gimme a sec.” I buried my face in my palms, took a few long inhalations, coughed and cleared my throat and felt finally composed enough to say what I needed to say. “Jules….Jules, I’m sorry, just…just sit. Please?“
She studied my gaze for a long minute before finally taking her seat again. There was another minute or so of silence between us. We both waited for the conversational hum of the cafe to regain a level that would let us talk in relative privacy. Then she opened her mouth. “Andrea, I-”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Let me.”
She scowled and sighed, and knowing her as well as I did, I knew she was sorely tempted to roll her eyes in indignation, but she wasn’t sure how that would be received. “Go on then,” she finally managed.
“Julia. When you left me, you broke my world. Shut up and let me finish. I spent – I thought I spent thirteen months of my life wanting nothing more than for you to walk back into my life. Every night I pined for you, for what we were, and every night I wondered…why? Every night I wanted nothing more than for you to come back in and I didn’t care if you’d apologise, I didn’t care if you would manage to say you loved me this time, I just wanted you back.
And now, you are back, and the first thing you do is tell me how it’s hard for you to ask for forgiveness, how it’s hard for you to say sorry, how words don’t come easily, and it’s just like that fucking Tracy Chapman song, and Julia…
...Julia, I hate Tracy Chapman.
Thirteen months ago, all I wanted was for you to hold me. Oh sure, I wanted your love, I wanted your respect, but I think deep down I knew I wasn’t ever going to have those things. So I told myself that if you could just hold me, the rest wouldn’t matter. And then you left, and I didn’t even have that, and it really just reinforced that I wasn’t deserving of you.
And now you’re back. And you’re exactly the same person you were thirteen months ago. You don’t want me back because you love me, you want me back because you want to hold me. You want to hold someone stable and dependable and someone who’s gonna take your shit, and Julia…I’m not that person anymore. I thought I wanted you, I thought I needed you, but all I really needed was for someone to remind me how much I fucking hate that song.“
Julia stared blankly. “But…but I…”
This time, I stood. I took out enough money to pay for the cake and the coffee I had consumed before she’d arrived, I made sure there was enough to tip the waitress, and I placed it on the table before her. “You know Jules, I was right all this time about one thing. I don’t deserve you. I’m not gonna wait around forever to be stuck in some stupid song I don’t even like. Have a nice life.”
Then I walked outside and I rejoined the world.
