#i also want to talk about photos as physical renditions of people’s memories and the way they saw them and photography in general but again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sherlockmonkeesstartrek · 7 years ago

Text

If You Could Only See Me (Part 2)

Rating: Mature Fandom: Based on the Hollies, mentions the Beatles Finished: Yes!!! Summary: Niki grew up with a boy named John in Liverpool. Spending much of her life with him and his band, in 1966 she fell in love with the front man of another band. Or… Did she?

Chapter 2: The Past

A description of events and recount of my entire, apparently imagined life later, and Tony glances at me with a bewildered, speechless expression.

“Ok, I’m starting to see why the others might think you’re crazy.” He chuckles, as kind heartedly as he can.

I stare down at my lap. I’ve cried, I’ve laughed hysterically, I’ve gotten so angry and so depressed all in the space of a ten-minute car ride onto a motorway. Emotionally, I feel exhausted. Physically, I feel hungry; I didn’t even stop to consider breakfast at any time this morning, which is to be expected, and it must be almost mid-day. Unfortunately, thought of eating turns my stomach.

I cast my gaze onto the youngest Hollie and, though I know he can’t look at me, as he is driving, I’m searching for acknowledgement.

“Do you believe me?” I ask, hopeful.

Tony nods enthusiastically, “I mean, if you really say so and you’re not pulling my leg. To be honest, it’s more hard to believe because of the way you love Graham.”

I fight the urge to wince in disgust. The tone of my voice, however, I cannot mask.

“I like him that much, hu?”

Tony looks surprised and side glances me, even though I’ve made my feelings towards Graham quite plain several times over.

“Don’t you?” He inquires, “You guys have been friends as long as him and Allan.”

I sigh. He still doesn’t get it.

“But I told you, I didn’t meet any of you until last year.” I mutter, more to myself than to him. It’s pointless trying to explain everything again. No one can understand it. I’m just a crazy girl with a story that includes meeting one famous band, being the girlfriend of one of the most famous members, then meeting another famous band, only to be stolen away by one of their members… Oh, by now, it’s just too tiring to think about. I slump in my seat, declaring, “I give up. I admit it, I’m done.”

“So, it’s just a story then?” Tony asks, a knowing smirk on his lips, which I ruin by shaking my head.

“No,” I reply nonchalantly, “But I’m done explaining. I just want to know why I fell in love with Graham” I shudder, “and not Allan.”

A silence falls between us. I look out the window. Beside the lines of traffic streaming down long stretches of road, thin trees hide the land behind them, the vast, empty fields seen only through the cracks of their branches. People in cars go on their dull way, their lives forever the same, their past written once, their present influenced only one. They’ll never have to learn again from scratch, be taught about their dull lives from others. The closest they’ll get to feeling what I do is by having a little too much to drink one night and waking up with no recollection of it. I envy them. No doubt they’ll make mistakes and learn from them. I made a mistake I’ve no idea how to rectify. I don’t even know if it’s the cause of all this, one bad mistake that landed me in bed with my boyfriend’s best friend. It could’ve changed my life, but no way like this.

Comfortingly, Tony is much the same as how I remember him. The quiet genius at the guitar is still humble and shy. He is still kind and funny and yet pretty straight-forward. He takes no bullshit from anyone. He still has stunning blue eyes, still looks like a teenager even though he’s 22. Right now, he wears a light brown top with a dark waistcoat on top, a pair of flared jeans and lace-up, thick boots. Compared to him, I a tear streaked mess curling up in his passenger seat like a puppy.

He looks, right now, likes he’s considering what I have said. I see him look down at me and, when he sees me peering back up at him, he fondly pats my shoulder.

“Tell me what happened one more time,” He insists, “Then we’ll go for a coffee.”

Though I haven’t really got the strength, I begin once more explaining first a timeline of the life I remember that I lived. As I do, Tony seeks out a coffee shop. After hurrying in, getting two hot chocolates and a brownie in a brown, paper bag, we park up on a high street and have a little picnic as I try and recall as much of the the night that everything changed.

I tell him everything, every thought that pops into my mind, everything I’d done, every piece of information I’d gathered, every emotion I felt. I’ve talked until my mouth was dry. I even told him that I’d neglected to put on underwear, to which he snorted.

“At least we know you’re the same no matter what.”

Which must be true. I cannot have changed all that much, save for the fact I’ve suddenly gotten way more emotional and erratic. While that is somewhat comforting, it also makes me wonder why the hell I ever thought that Graham Nash was a good partner for me. I express that thought to Tony too, and his brow furrows.

“You know each other so well. You both went through really difficult times together, no?”

“I don’t know, do I!” I exclaim.

This time, he does seem to get it. Or at least he humours me.

“Ok, no you don’t… but…” He trails off in a huff. I guess he’s starting to see where I’m coming from, with my despair, all these confusing timelines, as though my life has become a series of books that the author has made tons of continuity errors in. But he doesn’t stay silent long. “Do you think pictures will help?”

“Pictures?” I parrot.

“Photos. To jog your memory?”

It doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

With two half empty to-go-cups of hot chocolate and the brown, paper bag with brownie remnant inside between my legs and an Everly Brothers tune on the radio, crackling over the medium waveband, Tony pulls out of our parking space, heading for his home. With him, I feel far removed from this strange variation on the world I knew. I can just pretend that Allan and the rest of the band will be along in a minute. They could be meeting us at Tony’s to write a song. When I’d see them, I’d kiss Allan, make fun of Graham, and tell them both which Everly Brothers song we’d heard on the radio and they’d break out in a rendition of it.

And now, I feel a lot less helpless, as I now have a confidante. We are now on a mission together, facing a million unanswered questions.

“So, what photos?” I query, with reasonably strong voice back in use. I sound a little more conversational, rather than broken and beaten.

“Graham’s.” Tony replies, “He must’ve been a photographer in your life too, right? He used to do it when he was a kid.”

My brow creases, “Erm, I actually don’t know if he is.”

Tony looks equally confused but brushes it off. By now, he’s just assumed I know nothing about my own boyfriend, yet I feel like… perhaps I knew that once. Like, maybe Graham had been walking around with a camera and I made some kind of joke about it.

“Well,” Tony continues, “I have an old copy of a photo album. It’s really old, some of it, but it has a lot of newer pictures too.”

“Ok, cool.” I reply. I can’t imagine what’s in the pictures. Guitars, music shop windows and snapshots of attractive girls taken through bushes, all of those scattered sporadically between photos of himself, of course, because he is his own one true love.

Tony’s home isn’t too far away. Excitement builds as we turn into his street. Not only can’t I wait to see the pictures, which have ignited hope within me, it’s actually familiar. For the first time today, I actually feel like I know where I’m going. I’ve got my bearings. We park up and head out onto the pavement. I lead the way, up to a dark blue front door.

I know that his home opens into his living room, the furniture pushed mostly down the other end of the room. A TV set stares at anyone who walks in, behind a two-seater sofa and he still has the huge record player, a prize possession taking second place only to the two guitars that lean on a black stand. They’re held by their long, slender necks and their thick, yet sleek bodies shine in the golden light of the room.

I know that the kitchen is through the second door near the sofa, access to the second floor is in a small corridor behind the first door opposite the front one, which also houses a toilet, and there are two rooms up the stairs; a bedroom and a shower. My mind is flooded with familiarity, which makes me feel beyond comfortable. I take off my coat, hang it over the back of the sofa, then sit in front of it.

“Oh!” I gasp as Tony walks in front of me. He heads towards a beige chest of draws connecting the other side of the sofa to the wall. He knees by it, beginning to search through many papers, books and debris. “Do you still live with Amber?”

“Yes.” He smiles. His girlfriend is a tall chick with short, light brown hair. She has a wonderful sense of humour and a pathological hatred of authority, though you wouldn’t know that if you met her. She is so maternal, so kind, she’d do anything for you. No wonder Tony likes her so much. I’m so glad that he’s with her in this life too. “She’s out at the moment. You know her, can’t stay in bed for too long.” He explains. I laugh. She always was the early bird.

After a short while of searching, completely messing up the once clean top surface and the floor around him, he brings out a brown book which is wider than it is long. Its cover looks like faux leather under a thin sheet of plastic and pages seem to have thick spaces between them. He holds it out and whistles at me to take it, so I do, placing it on my lap as he climbs up next to me. The pages fall open. On every page, there are four or five photos, some negatives, all pasted in with captions. I file to the start and…

“My Mum’ll kill me if she knew I’m here!” I cry over at Graham. He’s climbing up the edge of a bombed wall, whose falling bricks create something of a staircase up to an unstable, falling away top floor. None of us playing, not me, not Graham nor Allan think twice about how dangerous this little playground is, or the fact that this was once a home. It had been a two up, two down fit for around six or seven people with an outdoor loo. I see the remains of the latter, a small cube reaching hardly to my waist. I can see it through a shattered window under where Graham is climbing.

“It’ll be worst if the Priest hears about this.” He warns.

Allan chimes in, “Police or spank, your choice.” He’s sitting with his legs between the crack of some rubble. We’re high enough up, around half of how tall the room used to be, quite stable on piles of debris that do have huge spaces between them in places. I roll my eyes at him.

“You two are so naughty,” I declare, but I don’t stop myself from joining in. Pulling my dress between my legs so to make it easier to walk around, I climb close by Graham and reach for what would’ve been the ceiling, though, even at the height I’ve climbed, my seven-year-old body is still too tiny to touch it.

Graham, however, has managed to pussyfoot his way onto the second floor and sits right at the edge, his legs dangling off. Playfully, I try to grasp him, to pull him off.

“Hey!” He shouts, though also laughing, “Get off, play nice!”

“You play nice. I want to get up there.” I retort.

“Come on then. You get a kiss if you can.”

“A kiss,” I wince, “Gross.” Yet I still climb with the best of my efforts to reach him. I sit next to him, my legs crossed as I don’t have the guts to swing them off the edge. The floor doesn’t feel totally stable. No wonder, as bits of dust shake down onto the ground. But we both still sit there. He kisses me, I wipe off his spit and punch him in the arm.

I then request that he and Allan sing to me. I had fallen in love with their voices.

“Right,” A tall, lean man with a white clerical collar poking out of a black shirt towers over us. His eyes dart from Allan to Graham to me, one by one making us guiltily look at the floor. We each study the stained, thick carpet at our feet, rather than meet the overbearing gaze belonging to the greying Priest. “It’s not common we get naughty girls dirtying themselves by climbing all over bomb ruins.”

I glance shamefully at my knees and calves, all cut and grazed, not bleeding thankfully and pretty painless. They are only skin deep, scratched turned red and raised, but they’ll be gone soon. Hopefully before I get home.

“I’m very sorry Sir.” I reply, the memory of Allan’s warning words persuading me to be good, though the sickly smell of alcohol in the room and the over patronising tone of the Priest’s voice is beginning to bother me. I have to summon all my will to keep myself quiet and continue the apologetic look on my face.

Allan and Graham are also attempting to look more guilty than angry. They’re so annoyed we got caught, and they’ve been in this position before. They know what’s coming. They are, however, a little more rebellious than me, rolling their eyes or smirking. Graham’s eyes burn more blue than grey in the low light.

“Well, you do seem very sorry. But I’ll have to give you all some sort of punishment. Shall I take you to the police, or will a spank teach you a lesson?” The Priest asks. I can hardly believe that Allan was right. You hear rumours all the time of bad things happening, punishments that no one ever seem to actually receive, especially at this age, but this one, he was telling the truth. I’m knocked speechless.

The boy’s, on the other hand, already know their answer, “Spank!”

I was going to choose the same. I can’t be taken to the police. Not only would my parents find out- they’d both kill me- but everyone would know, everyone in Salford. That’s the problem here; everyone knows each other’s business, and trust me, everyone would want to know something big like the police turning up on your door step.

Hurriedly, I nod, only to hear Graham pipe up, “I’ll take hers.” “What?”

The Priest smiles and sends me off. I don’t want to go. I can’t. I feel as though I’m abandoning the boys, betraying them. How is that fair? Not that I can disobey. I look helplessly at the Priest who is awaiting my departure. As I leave, I peer apologetically back at the two boys who are watching me. I catch a glimpse of Graham smiling slightly. I feel even worse. Why would he do that for me?

I sit on the steps outside the church, etching spirals on the ground with a stone to pass the time, before rub them out until they’re just smudges to be washed away when the next bout of English rain pours down.

The boys emerge what feels like ages later with blushed cheeks, walking with very slight limps. They say nothing to each other out of embarrassment. They say nothing to me when I join them. We walk silently out onto the desolate high street, heading home, though none of us really want to go. It’ll be a short while until we risk heading back out on our favourite playground. We all are, no doubt, swearing off it indefinitely, though it won’t last.

Since we don’t really just want to go home, I suggest we go to our only other quiet hangout away from everything. There’s a park opposite our school with a load of benches where we usually eat lunch. The boys follow me in. Like a normal child, I clamber up onto the surface of a wooden picnic table. It is, after all, the comfiest bit of it. The boys sit on the actual benches either side, though Graham is much like me, cannot sit like a proper kid. He lays across it as though it’s a chaise longue, with his head closest to me. Once we settle, I look over at him.

“Why did you do that?” I ask, pulling my dress down over my slightly grazed knees. My Mum’s really going to kill me if they’re not healed up by the time I go home.

Graham looks up at me, his eyes shining knowingly, “Do what? What did I do?”

“Got hit for me?” I reiterate. He shakes his head as though it was nothing. He doesn’t even answer me. After many soft punches and insistence that he tell me, I finally say, “Thank you.”

Quietly, he says back, “It’s ok.”

“I’ve done it!” I declare, rushing up to Graham and throwing my arms around his neck. In my hands, woven between my fingers, is my 11 plus results. I passed. Around me, there’s a whole load of people who haven’t, quietly wandering off to their families, but I’m not one of them, and though I know a lot of them, many should’ve passed with me, I can’t help taking pride in the fact that I’ve done it.

The smile on Graham’s face tells me that he has done it too. I feel his arms around my waist.

“Well done!” He cries.

“You too?” I ask, just to make sure, as we part. He holds up his paper. That’s all the ‘yes’ I need. I clasp my hand around his in delight. He squeezes mine tight.

“So, we’ll be going to the same school.” He says.

“Eh,” I sigh in feigned frustration, “Another million years with you.”

“Hey,” He laughs, “I’ve got the worse off deal.”

We’re both so excited to rush off and tell our parents, but we can’t bring ourselves to part with one another, so I take a trip over to see his family first. His mum hugs him, delighted. His had pats him on the back. They both ask me how I did and congratulate me too. I see his sisters, sweet little Elaine and more grown up Sharon. Then we go over to my mum’s. She tells me that she knew I’d do it, no doubt about it. I ask her if I could go out for a bit with Graham. We both want to go and talk to Allan, see how he did.

“Oh, he’ll have done it.” Graham says, “He’s smarter than us for sure.”

“Speak for yourself.” I laugh back.

When we get to Allan’s place, he doesn’t open the door to us, his mum does. She seems glad to see Graham. I don’t think she knows me. We do our usual act of ‘can Allan come out and play’ to which she replies, “I’m sorry, he’s not well.” I worry while Graham doesn’t take her word for it. The boy, an expert in climbing buildings in the most unsafe manner possible, clambers up the side of the house when we’re sure Allan’s mum has gone back inside, and bangs on Allan’s window. Our friend pops his head out, looking tired. His room looks pretty much in darkness.

“Not coming out?” Graham asks, hanging off the bricks like a spider.

“No.” Allan responds, definitely.

“Well, how did the 11 plus exam go?”

“I failed.”

I feel bad. We shouldn’t have come, all smug with our good news. He doesn’t even need to ask us the same, he can tell we’ve done it. No wonder he doesn’t want to come out. He’s probably either embarrassed or angry. I mean, loads of kids don’t pass. It’s not like you’re a genius if you do. Then again, you must feel pretty bad if your friends have all managed it and you haven’t.

He makes an excuse to go, so Graham and I head off, a little less excited than before. However, not much can bring us down. We’re going to the same school. We��re going to be together forever.

“Graham!” I call. Ahead of me, my friend walks, his head hung, his hands in his pockets, “Graham!”

He ignores me. For the first time, he’s actually ignoring me. Maybe he’s ashamed. I sort of understand, but to be too embarrassed to talk to me. I’m his best friend- next to Allan. We’ve always been close, always looked out for each other. I wouldn’t judge him. I don’t think anything of it other than how it must be making him feel. And it must be making him feel pretty bad if he’s ignoring me. All I want is to check if he’s ok. He certainly doesn’t look alright, in that he looks uncharacteristically quiet.

Finally, I catch up to him. He doesn’t stop me from joining in his walk, he just refuses to look at me. When his face is not angled completely from sight, I see tears streaked down his cheeks.

Though its my first natural question in difficult situations, I manage not to ask, ‘are you ok?’ I opt instead for, “How’s everyone?”

He sighs, “My Dad is a criminal, my Mum is depressed. Elaine keeps asking when he’ll be back. She doesn’t get the court stuff. Sharon just doesn’t talk about.” He shrugs, his oversized jacket, which I think was his Dad’s, rustling as he moves.

“Your Dad’s not a criminal.” I tell him. He looks away.

“That’s what he told me, that he’s innocent, but the whole world doesn’t think so. They’re sending him to prison for a year!”

A year. I’m winded. A whole year. A whole year without someone bringing in money, without a father figure, without a huge part of his life. No wonder he’s angry and upset. I run my hand into his huge pocket to hold the hand already inside. I have to walk a bit closer to him to make it work, not that he minds. He doesn’t push me away. His fingers clasp around mine.

“What about you? How are you?” I try.

He shrugs again. We then walk in silence, far from our homes. We don’t have a clear destination. We just want to get the hell out, out of Salford, out of the street that know us so well, away from our school friends and our family.

So that I don’t pry into his thoughts, which he seems engrossed in, I purposefully get lost in mine.

I notice Graham’s camera, hanging around his shoulder by an old scarf tied to it. He likes to take pictures. He did with his Dad. He has one picture of us at school, the day he was given the camera and he let me help him develop it. He and his Dad, as though they’d done in a million times before, set up a dark room in his bedroom. We drew the blinds, rolled blankets up to block light coming through the crack in the bottom of the door. We giggled as we fell over each other. That was the Graham I knew, fun and joyful, always dreaming. This one, the Graham I walk next to, is quiet and cold, distracted, probably still dreaming, only now of escaping. I promise, more to myself than to him, that I’ll always be beside him from now on. I’m not going to leave. I’m not going to abandon him like I did with the priest a couple of years ago. I like him far too much to let him go through this on his own.

As if to tell him all this, I squeeze his hand tight. He squeezes it back. It’s our understanding, our agreement.

I gaze in awe. It’s tall, it’s slender, a little beaten around the edges, but loved. Its body is smooth, painted brown and glossy, cleaned to the point that I can see my face in it’s huge, round curves. Scratches crosshatch areas, showing its wood layer, but, to me, it adds to the overall effect. After all, no rock and roller has an immaculate guitar. They beat them, abuse them, toy with them until they coax beautiful sounds from the well-worn, tuned strings. These strings catch the light in the room perfectly. They look like strands of silver hair woven into the painted black neck.

Graham holds it in both hands, presenting it to me, equally as besotted by it, even though he’s had it for the whole day. The wonder, the excitement, the prospects fails to die away.

“Wow.” I gasp, then look up at Graham’s adoring eyes.

“Can you play anything?”

Pride fills his smile, lightening up his face.

“You want to hear?”

I nod enthusiastically. He swings the instrument around to rest on its side, its curve between his slightly spread legs. His fingers set upon it, one hand curled up, the tops of his thumb and finger poised upwards, ready to strum. The other hand compresses into a chord. The sound he plays is pretty shaky, but far better than I can manage and so great for one day of practicing, no doubt non-stop.

“You see,” He tells me, “Rock and roll is only three chords. You got that, you got a dozen songs.”

He plays a second chord. This time, I clap. He reminds me of a 50s heartthrob. I expect him to look up into my eyes and croon a ballad, strumming his guitar effortlessly.

“Got another one?” I encourage, “One more!”

His fingers stretch, hands mould and…

“Nah, I only know two.” He laughs. I punch him.

“Come on! You’ve had it for five hours now!” I giggle, “That’s enough time to learn three.”

He pushes me, “You try and learn an instrument. It’s hard. But I’m going to be Buddy Holly. Just you watch, Allan and I are going to start a band.”

“Has he got one?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” Graham says with a glint of envy giving away to pure adoration, “Semi-electric.”

“No!” I gasp. I beg him to let me see it. When I do, I insist that they both play for me. After that, I never saw him without their guitars.

This place isn’t really my kind of dive. Then again, nowhere is. I’m not the party type. But when someone says they play all the newest, hip rock and roll, I have to check it out, as per my natural pull towards good music. And whoever told me wasn’t lying. Bill Haley and the Comets is playing. How could you get much better than that?

I’m standing amongst a crowd of people, mostly catholic school girls who seem to insist on wearing their uniform. I half get why. The ones clad in pleated, plaid skirts and white shirts tucked in are the ones talking to all the fit boys. We all have our vices, I guess. Mine happens to be music, rather than some weird thing for uniforms. I mean, I don’t get to hear this type of stuff at home! We don’t have a record player, but even if we did, I doubt I’d play anything I liked, just because, fuck, this stuff turns me on! Ever since I was 13, I noticed the profound effect music had on me. It spoke to me, directly to my gut, to my heart, sped up my pulse and dilated my pupils. Then Graham got a guitar and I found myself smitten with him. He’s a proper mimic, picks up songs like a jukebox. His Buddy Holly impression is fantastic, his Elvis gives me chills- the good kind- and his Bill Haley has me up dancing.

That’s why I’m wishing he was here now. This song reminds me of him. I’m all too delighted when that once-in-a-blue-moon wish gets granted and I see him amongst the crowd. At first, I though my mind was playing tricks on me, seeing what it wants to, but he and Allan cut through the spaces between people, making a b-line for some chick. Oh, come on! They’re such pervs.

Rolling my eyes, I start towards them, planning to play the ultimate cock-block, when something makes the three of us pause as though we’d planned it. Everyone else starts slow dancing, grasping onto one another and rocking. But I think it’s a waste of a song to so lazily dance. I hear two acoustic guitars working in tandem with one another and two voices like one beautiful mixture, blending like an artist mixing paints, a vibrant colour.

Allan and Graham hear the same thing. They pivot on their heels to face my direction, whispering something to each other before they notice me. I’m too taken with this new sound, these new voices, to notice that they’re coming over. I’m curious, who is this band, who are these new people?

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Allan asks me. I turn my head to fully see them. Allan dons a white shirt that may’ve been his Dad’s as it is pretty baggy on him, and there is a line in the waistband of his trousers where you can see that he’s tried to make it look less so by tucking the fabric in. Graham is in his usual mismatch. He’s yet to shift all the Salvation Army stuff in his wardrobe. It must be pretty embarrassing for him, with all the shit that’s gone on at home and that being evident by what he wears. He doesn’t look all that bad to me, but I know enough cruel people who’ll no doubt put him through hell because he doesn’t, or didn’t, have the money for clothes that fit his style.

“Same thing you two are,” I reply once my brain engages once more, “Perhaps minus the creeping on chicks.”

“Not creeping.” Graham insists. I shoot him an unimpressed look. He grins.

“Anyway, do you know this…” I point at the speakers.

Graham immediately understands, cutting in, “No, but isn’t it beautiful?”

I moan in agreement. The chilling, perfect harmonies send a wave of pleasure through my body. I wonder if Graham feels it too, as he drags me towards him, asking to dance. Allan sighs. I look sympathetically at him. I hate to leave him behind as Graham takes my waist and I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Save a dance for me!” I call at him. He rolls his eyes, doubtful we’ll return to being the three of us until the very end of the night. He’s probably right.

Dancing with Graham, I feel as though I’m with a rock star. I feel as though I’m a fan finally meeting my favourite band member. Music pours into us, we feel it the same way, we love it, and each other. We draw closer and closer until I hover my lips over his ear and tell him, “You should kiss me.”

I hadn’t been sure before; I’m a good girl, a chaste girl, and he’s my close friend. But I’d wanted to be closer for a long time. Only now do I really want to throw caution to the wind. His lips, the first I have kissed, are full of passion. I chalk that up to the music exciting us. He tastes as familiar as he smells. You know, that smell everyone has that is purely their own. It can be a good one, or a bad one, a faint one or strong one. Well, Graham certainly smells good, and tastes even better, not that I can describe it. I just take to it immediately, learn it in one, long kiss. I don’t stop, not for a good whole song, then I look desperately at him. We’re 16, we’re at a heated teenage party, people are practically grinding against one another around us; we’re going to make bad decisions. I will not regret this one, though, I refuse to. Graham and I walk out of the club together. We head to the park where we used to have lunches when school let us out on break. We find a tree good enough to support us and…

We have to behave, since Elaine is here, but I don’t really mind. I mean, I’m not just here to be with Graham. I came here to see two brothers stand on stage and woo me with beautiful music. God, now that the show is over, I’m all riled up, hot from the Everly Brother’s harmonies echoing around the small concert hall. I hold Graham’s hand close to my hip, resting my chin on his shoulder and whispering things in his ear like ‘wasn’t that hot?”

Graham laughs, trying to ignore me, or at least my flirtatious tone, because he knows full well what state I’m in, but has to stay decent for his sister.

Allan’s here too, starry eyed from the show.

“I would kill to sing like that.” He says dreamily as we all head out onto the evening. The streets are filled with other teenagers like us, all having seen two of their idols.

“But you can sing like that!” I tell Allan, “You two are amazing.”

He sighs, “But we’re not that good.”

“Shut up!” Graham butts in, “We’re great, and we’re going to go and tell them.”

“Tell who?” I ask.

“Don and Phil.”

I glance at both the boys, since Allan seems to know what he’s talking about. They’re both wired, excited, barely breathing. We get to the bus stop as I ask, “What do you mean?”

“Graham has this idea that we’re going to go and ambush the Everly Brothers at their hotel.” Allan explains. My eyes grow wide. All at once, I’m sceptical, unsure and deeply jealous.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Graham says, “Allan promised he’d come with. So, would you mind seeing Elaine home?”

I half want to go with them, but I can’t leave his little sister to go home alone. I know I’ll be missing out on such a huge, historic, once in a lifetime chance, but it’s good enough that Graham gets to do it. He’ll be the famous musician, him and Allan.

Their bus comes first. We see it down the street, so have a good enough chance to say goodnight. Allan leans down and hugs Elaine, telling her to be good with me, giving me and Graham a chance to kiss goodbye.

“Tell me all about it.” I insist, whispering in his ear.

“I promise. And when I come back, we’re going to do our usual post show activities, right?”

I giggle stupidly. We went to a concert when Bill Haley came to Manchester, then I stayed over at his home that night. Ever since, it’s been a tradition.

“Right.”

We part, smiling. I can’t wait for tomorrow when he comes over and tells me what it was like to meet the Everly Brothers. I turn to Allan as he turns to his sister.

“Good luck.” I tell Allan. The boy grins at me. We share a short embrace. “I really do think you’re as good as the Everlys.”

That makes him smile even wider, “Thanks. See you soon.”

“Yeah, you too.”

I then take Elaine’s hand and we wave the boys goodbye as they get onto the bus, so excited. I’m excited for them. I hope they do meet them and have a great night.

“We’ve done it!” Graham cries. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me up in the air, kissing me. The rest of the band, Allan, Tony, Eric and Bobby, walk on behind him, looking equally as excited. They, for once, don’t seem to mind too much that we’re practically making out in the doorway of this hotel room. This is too important to not bathe in absolute excitement and pride.

The Hollies, previously the Fourtones, have made it. They’ve got a date with Parlophone. They’re going to an audition at Abbey road. They’re on the same path as the Beatles- maybe a few steps back, but the Beatles have opened the door, they’re going to squeeze through it too.

“Are you serious!” I squeal when he tells me.

“Would I lie about this?”

“I…” My mind has practically gone blank, “I really don’t know.” I’m just so happy. I bury my head in his shoulder and hug him so tight that his back clicks quite satisfyingly.

He seems drunk in joy. He carries me over to a sofa, sits me down and kisses me against the arm of it, bruisingly. I giggle like a school girl. When he sits up, he takes my hand. I can see a wild, passionate look in the blue of his eyes.

“Come and live with me.” He requests.

My jaw falls slack, “What?”

“If we cut a deal with Parlophone, come and live with me. We’ll move to London together.”

I can hardly believe it. This is the same boy who I grew up with, the same kid who I’d been friends with for so many years, and now, he looks all grown up, gazing at me with child-like excitement, yet proposing something far more adult.

Everything, every memory, every tiny feeling… my God. It floods back into my mind as though I’d been injected with my own memories. There are pictures in the album from throughout my life, a life I haven’t lived, yet I feel almost as though I have. All that remains to remind me that I have not is the simple insistence in my mind. As for evidence, there is enough to suggest now that I have lived twice.

As I look over the pictures, I realise that I know every moment they capture. I’m weeping as though I’ve watched a sad movie. Which I’ve never done, by the way. No film has ever moved me enough. Seeing my life quite literally flash before my eyes, however, does the trick, if only out of relief than because it was actually sad. I hold onto Tony and cry into his shoulder.

“Remember?” He asks.

“It’s weird.” I admit, “I still remember being with Allan and the Beatles… but it’s like I’ve… two lives.” I gaze up at him through matted, wet lashes, “You do believe me, right?”

“I do.” He says, hugging me tighter. I don’t know if he really means it, but it’s nice to hear.

I stay for a while, for long enough that midday has been and gone and afternoon sets in. Tony makes a meal out of what’s in the fridge- not much, as he discovers- and we sit on the floor, eating with our hands while the TV mumbles quietly in the background of our conversation. First, Tony fills in the last few years I’ve missed. He recounts not only that but talks more personally about the past. I got the memories as though they were my own and, while his descriptions are personal and emotional too, it’s helpful to get an outsider’s point of view. Then we joked about my old life. It was better than feeling sad about the fact that I’ve no idea how to get back, if I even can. That segued into our current conversation.

“What are you going to do now?”

I’d spent so long considering and learning my past, the future had yet to dawn on me. I had milestones, seeing Allan, seeing Tony, seeing the pictures, all things I thought would help me, but I didn’t really think how, because eventually, I’d have to contemplate this question.

“I don’t know.”

The way I see it, I could try and restore things as much to my past life as possible, I could find a way back, or I could resign myself to this life. There are problems with each. As much as I want to go back and live my life I’d first created for myself, I don’t know if that is even possible. And as much as I adore Allan, I’d hate to cause his any pain by attempting to break up his marriage. I also found another problem there; I don’t want to hurt Graham.

Though I used to hate him, though a part of me can still not see his need to upstage anyone or be the centre of attention constantly, though I couldn’t imagine being in a relationship with him, really, part of me now sees why I might’ve fallen for him, if I hadn’t for Allan. If I’d been there, truly understood, lived, experienced his journey, I would have- as I now do- more respect and love for him. I feel bad for my many cold shoulders and cutting words I regret some of my actions towards him, when he may’ve been reaching out to me, as a friend, since I am so close with the rest of the band, in the only way he knows how to, which is to tease and be annoying.

That leaves me with my last option; stay. Be with him. It seems crazy. I said I could never be with him, but it’s the only option I can really see work out. I wouldn’t have Allan and I’d probably either have to learn to love Graham or end up breaking his heart, but it felt more plausible, the one option that would keep the most people happy.

I swear I’ve never been that nice in my thoughts, wanting to keep the most people happy. But these are people I really do care about, even Graham now. I think I really should stop joking like that, saying that I don’t like Graham, because I do, I actually do.

“I think,” I say cautiously, “I’m going to have to be fucking British on this one. ‘Keep calm and carry on.’”

Tony and I roll around the floor in giggles before I help him clear up and he offers me a lift home. Home. Yes. To Graham. I mentally prepare myself as we walk out to the car.

The drive is silent. I guess we bot have spoken all we can. Now is time for me to make my own memories, to actually live, instead of listening and find out from sources other than my own eyes, my own touch and smell and hearing and taste. We park up on the street I’d only glimpsed as I ran off, trying to find a cab. I don’t even know which one is Graham’s… I mean our place. Tony points it out. I half recognise the steps I flung myself down, and the door I pulled shut behind me so that Graham couldn’t follow.

I don’t get out the car straight away. I’m on the brink of something new, I can’t fathom the idea of it. I turn back, helplessly, to Tony, lean over the gear stick and space between our seats and press a kiss on his cheek. I’m not that good with emotional situations. Tony knows it. He kisses me too, and nods, his way of telling me that it’ll be alright without having the awkwardness of expecting a reply.

“Thank you.” I manage.

He knows not to make a big thing out of the whole situation, joking, “Thanks for making my Sunday interesting.”

I get out of the car, giggling. Nothing like a bit of laughing to distract me. I mean, it doesn’t for long, since, when I turn around, I’m staring at the prospect of a new life, but it’s nice for the moment. It comforts me to know that no matter what, I’ll have someone to talk to, someone who knows everything and believes me.

I wonder… if I should tell Graham. The thought comes to mind as I wander up the steps to the front door. If I am to be with him, really try to make this work, should I not see what he makes of it. If he doesn’t believe me, what’s the point in being with him. He’ll think me insane and no doubt will be hurt. If he does believe me, or at least humours me, then he’s worth staying with. I mean, I feel as though I can say anything to Allan, that I trust him enough not to laugh or take the piss. That’s one thing I’m not sure of when it comes to Graham. I don’t even really need him to believe me, I just need him to prove to me that he can be serious when I need him to.

Knocking on the door, since I remember I didn’t bring my keys out with me, I ready myself to step inside this home. It’s the final milestone.

It takes a moment for Graham to open it and immediately his tired, concerned expression turn to relief.

“Niki. Fucking hell!” His arms swing around me, his face burying in my hair. As he speaks, I feel his hot breath on my scalp, spreading through my many red strands, “My fucking God, I had no fucking idea where you were. Are you fucking crazy? I went to Allan’s and he said you’d been and gone. He refused to tell me what went one. Please Niki…” Tears threaten in his throat, but he catches them before they well in his eyes. I save him the utter embarrassment of crying by squeezing him tight and joking;

“Alright, enough fucking swearing.”

Weakly, we both giggle. I must say, being hugged by him… I feel comforted in his embrace. I never believed I could, yet here I am, actually enjoying it. I even kiss him, while we still stand on the door step. The taste of his lips takes me back to when I was a teenager, reminding me of sickly sweets we so rarely bought from shops with left over wages and of sweaty rock and roll dives around Manchester. And though I’ve never kissed him before I recognise the pure taste of him, as familiar as his smell.

I hear Tony drive off, his car chugging slowly down the street, knowing that I’m now safe, and happy. Then I’m drawn into my home. The door closes behind me. Graham’s fingers are clasped around my wrist as he tugs me into the living room.

He knows that something is up. He can tell that I’m still not myself, and he doesn’t assume I’m sick or something like that. He must know me so well. It’s eerie, to be known by someone you don’t, so well that you can hide nothing from them, while they can hide from you without even attempting to. Well, I say that, but suddenly, I do feel like I know Graham. In the grey of his eyes, I see all the hurt he’s ever felt, all the betrayal, shock, angry, inadequacy that’s now seeped it, made him who he is. In the blue, I see every good moment, all the passion, interest, love, excitement. In his posh, more stylish clothes, even the sweats he’s put on this Sunday evening that are far more… well they match, in comparison to the shit I’d pulled over my body this morning, I see pride and appreciation, the fact that he earnt the money to put these clothes on his back. In his fingers that brush me, tuck strands of hair behind my ear and grasp my hands, I see his adoration for music, passion for photography, built up and carried over from his childhood. I notice certain movements, expressions, now as readable to me as my own, or Allan’s. I understand his once unsettling kindness towards me. It’s out of love. Strange.

I sit on our sofa, flicking on our TV and muting it. As usual, nothing good is on. Graham goes into our kitchen to make coffee for himself and my usual cocktail of orange juice and sparkling water, because I’m so damn posh. He brings it out in a long, tall glass and asks me if I’m hungry. When I say yes, he brings out a family packet of crisps, opens it and places it on the coffee table in front of us. When he looks at me, I see a glimmer of worry. He seems to talk to me as though he doesn’t wish to startle me, very soft and gentle. Its annoying, of course, more than any of his arrogance that I’m used to. In fact, I’d take that side of him any day. At least we’d both be having a little laugh, even if it is at each other’s expense. I try now to joke with him, but he’s weary. His laugh is minimal. He knows that there is something not right. At the moment, I think it’s him who’s acting strange. I’m trying to be normal, I think I’m acting normal, but I do not know how I usually am with him. Perhaps its completely different, despite Tony saying that I seem to have changed very little. Maybe I’m the same around friends, different around lovers. I really don’t know.

But I can tell that Graham is psyching himself up to be serious with me. Like me, he’s obviously not good with difficult conversations, he finds them as awkward as I do. I can imagine we rarely burden ourselves with them in our relationship. I wonder how the hell we work! Then again, I know that he rarely had deep, more meaningful moments with anyone, not his Mum or Dad, not with Allan. More likely with his sisters, but I still couldn’t imagine it.

I see he’s trying, though. His duty from the years he has to be the man of his family home reappears. He sits down on the other end of the sofa and smiles, less at me, more at the steam rising from his coffee.

“I spoke to Allan.” He practically whispers, the smile slowly fading from his lips. I bow my head. “He wouldn’t tell me what went on. He was really confused. And I’m not trying to pry. This is your business, but fuck! You had us worried this morning.”

I sit forward, placing my drink on the table, on a coaster, which I’ve no idea where it came from. I’d never buy coasters. I’m not that house-proud to protect my dear tables or other surfaces from water ring stains. I doubt Graham is too. Perhaps they were a gift.

“I’m sorry.” I mutter, my thoughts back on subject, “You must think I’m…”

“No, I don’t think anything.” He says with a smile, “You don’t have to explain to me. You know that. I was just worried. I mean, you’re not yourself.”

See, several hours ago, I probably would’ve taken the option to leave my sudden insanity unexplained, taken it and run. However, several hours ago, I was still in denial that anything had changed. I was running to Allan in hopes that he’d take me back or explaining to my life to Tony as I waited for the world to change back to the one I knew.

Now, I respect Graham too much to leave him in the dark. As I whisper, “I’m not myself.” I’m actually seriously considering unloading all the insane, crazy bullshit my mind has clung onto this whole day. It is difficult, of course, to look him in the eye, to see a man I used to hate and distrust and trust him enough to say what’s on my mind without worrying about his reaction, but I feel like I need to, because I don’t just see that man anymore. I see our history together. I see someone I could like.

My mind is literally the worst, as it tells me, ‘You really are that girl now, the girl who’s fallen for and- depending how you see it- slept with your boyfriend’s best mate.’

I shake my head, erasing the thought.

“And, you know what,” I say, “Don’t say you don’t think I’m crazy. If you knew… If you honestly don’t think so, you will.”

Graham smiles cheekily, “Try me.”

I don’t want to.

God, he deserves to know, but not to be hurt, and there is no way to give him one without the other.

Still. I close my eyes, squeeze them tight shut and tell him, “I have no recollection of this life.”

A silence hangs over us. I peer under my eyelid to catch a glimpse of him, to see his reaction. I was expecting something more than the confused look I’m greeted with. He looks as though he’s still waiting for me to speak. I open my eyes fully.

“You’re gonna have to dumb that down for me.” He says.

I sigh. How else do I put this? I’ve thought about it for so long. I managed to explain it to Tony.

“I don’t remember my childhood…” I start, “or my teens, or the last few years.”

“Ok,” He says slowly, nodded despite the expression on his face telling me that he clearly has no idea what I’m going on about, “Then what do you remember?”

“Waking up,” I reply, “next to my boyfriend’s best friend.”

“My best…” He doesn’t get it. I didn’t expect him too. I’ve no idea how to explain it, so perhaps it’s my fault.

“Allan’s best friend.”

“I’m your boyfriend.” He corrects me, though I think it’s more for himself than for me, to make sure he’s getting it right.

“Well…” I huff. How do I say ‘no, you’re not, I fell in love with your best friend and have no idea how I ended up with you?’

“So, you have amnesia?” He tried. I shake my head.

“No, because I know you, and I know Bobby, Bern, Allan and Tony. I know what today’s date is, I know pretty much everything like that, from the moment I woke up today, but I can remember another life that you all were in…”

And so off I descend into another- maybe my fifth, sixth or seventh- explanation of the life I remember living. By the end, I cannot decipher the look on Graham’s face. I’ve done it, though. I’m sure I’ve convinced him that I’m crazy. I’ve also upset him. That is written into the blank, glassy gaze in his eyes. He tries not to show it, of course, but he can’t hide it from me. Not something as big as that. I’m just unsure of all the other emotions, the exact blend mixing in his heart, his gut, his chest.

And when I’ve finished, a heavier silence hangs between us, a lot being unsaid, a lot pressing on our minds. Too many questions arise, too many to be sorted into best ones to be asks. So, we sit. I feel bad, but good, relieved that I’ve told him.

“I’m sorry, Graham.” I pipe up, “I really am, because I got all these memories of us being together back when I looked at some photos you took. Tony gave them to me. And I may not have liked you in my other life, but I promise you I…” My mind goes blank, but my mouth carries on moving, “love you. I understand you now” I surprise myself, but I manage to hide it.

Looking down at his lap, Graham opens his mouth. It’s a moment before any sound escapes.

“So,” His voice is even softer than when he’d begun this strain of conversation, “What do you want to do?”

Again, I’m surprised, yet this time, I can show it. Though he’s obviously not happy, he believes me.

“You… believe me?” I breathe.

“Yes.” He replies quite casually, “Why, are you lying?”

He’s almost joking with me.

“No, of course not. It just took a lot more persuading to convince Tony.” I explain.

All of a sudden, a smile lights Graham’s face, “Are you saying I’m easier than Tony?” He chuckles. It does occur to me that, as I had done earlier with Tony, he may be dealing with the difficult moment by injecting humour into it. When before that may have irritated me, I now understand why he does it and allow him to do so. His laugh comforts me, since it does imply that he’s taking it better than expected.

“I’m just saying, had I been making this all up,” I join in, “you’re very gullible.”

“So, I’m gullible and you’re easy?” He tries. I laugh, sitting up on my knees and punching him softly in the arm as I used to do when I was a kid. I think that is more what he is used to. He suddenly seems more comfortable with me. We giggle for about a minute before he attempts to pull the conversation back, “But seriously,” There is still a smirk on his face that I think remains there out of relief, “What do you want to do?”

Unhelpful as I ever am, I shrug, “After all that, do you still love me?”

“You assume I ever did.” He teases, “But since you are so easy, I think I could.”

“So, it’s ok if I say?”

Now smiling genuinely, he leans in and kisses me. That’s all the agreement I need.

We decide, Graham and I, to have a night in, a quiet one. Together, we call Allan and Tony. I apologise for all my insanity- though I know I’m totally valid in my actions, which I tell Tony and he understands. As for Allan, I’ve weirded him out enough. I merely say sorry and thank him for being such a good friend. I want to cry when I do. He doesn’t realise that, for me, this is a goodbye. I have to forget that I loved him, that I still do.

I then hand the phone back to Graham and he spends ages talking to Allan about going into the studio tomorrow, while I sit next to him, my legs thrown over his lap, perusing several photo albums he’d fished out for me. I rest them on my knees and pile them up on the floor in front of the soft. The pictures give me such a rush, like a high. Memories wash into my mind, making me see things, recall things I never knew as though I’d merely forgotten them.

My favourite picture remains on in which both Allan and Graham have their arms around me, late at night in a street in Hamburg. I’m in a white summer dress, whose straps are obviously not enough to keep me warm. Over my goose-bristled arms and chest, I wore a rough, shabby leather jacket. In either pocket, Allan and Graham’s hands are buried, the opposite sides to where they are standing. I’m so short, they lift me off my feet several centimetres. We’d just come back from a show, with no car to take us to our hotel. Both Allan and Graham are wearing the same suits, black with light pink bowties, covered by similar black trench coats. They’re smiling like crazy. At the side of the frame, there is someone’s shoulder, who I think belongs to Eric, because I’m sure Bobby took the picture. It fills me with excitement, as it must’ve been one of their first big shows. I must’ve been on a post- show high, as horny as ever. I bet Graham and I slept together that night.

“Did we?” I ask him once he gets off the phone.

“We did so often, are you expecting me to remember every time?”

“You’re a perv, I thought you might.”

He shrugs, “You’re a perv too.”

“Yes,” I agree, “but I don’t even remember growing up with you. How am I meant to remember one time that we fucked?”

“Fair enough.” He giggles, before kissing my forehead and suggesting we make some dinner. He hasn’t eaten all day. I can’t believe that he actually forwent food, worrying for me. I feel almost bad that Tony and I stopped to eat.

We both stand in the kitchen and cook. Graham starts toasting and buttering some bread, while I mix up some eggs with herbs I find in the cupboards. Just as I expected, the kitchen is a little hectic and void of really substantial food, despite there being plenty of it. We both just get whatever we feel like when we go out shopping.

Graham jokes about me probably being a better cook in my other life, while I quip back that he probably hadn’t cooked a single meal for himself back then. He, no doubt, would’ve killed for my scrambled eggs on charcoal toast even if he turns his nose up at it at the moment. When we go into the living room to eat, I watch him scoff every last morsel I put on that plate and finishes up what I don’t manage to eat. I scold him for giving me such a hard time about my cooking.

“What do you mean?” He asks innocently, “What did I do?”

The cheeky bastard.

After all that, we curl up on the sofa. The TV flickers on and we stare at it, unspeaking, unmoving until we fall asleep.

#the hollies #the beatles #fanfic #graham nash #Don't ask me why I hate graham #I don't really

1 note · View note

orangepunkwitch-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Not dead! Not an abandoned blog, either! This kinda happens from time to time, so lemme explain myself:

Did the read-more page-breaking thing so nobody has to scroll for eons if they don’t care to read...

Anyway, my absence. My mental and physical health have been absolute shit, and I’m starting to think I may have seasonal depression on top of situational depression as well since every damn winter I have no energy to do much of anything. But as this year progresses, I’m finding myself perking up some. My physical health is largely due to flare-ups (I haven’t been diagnosed but it’s strongly considered that I may have endometriosis; I need to get a laparoscopy to find out and currently cannot afford that, etc. etc. long story for another time) and lack of proper dieting and exercise. The flare-ups and shitty periods are why I can’t exercise when I’d like to, and we can’t always afford healthy food for strength and energy I need to do things (my metabolism is high enough to where gaining weight isn’t exactly an issue with me despite being almost 30). The worst of my pain occurs the first couple of days on my period, to which I have ultimately resorted to smoking marijuana which helps tremendously. The only time I use it off the rag is during an extremely bad flare-up, which are thankfully rare.

‘Kay... mental health... My husband and I still live with my parents here on the farm and it’s been stressful to the point where I’m getting anxiety-related chest-pains from time to time lately (long story-short: my parents---especially my dad---are assholes and even Loki said that no amount of magick can help them so I just rely on my wards in my room to have a safe haven). This and the fact that we may have a lack of proper oxygen in this house might be contributing to it. I plan on beginning my luck at growing pet-safe indoor house plants such as succulents and aloe vera to help with this after visiting a friend’s house whose mom pretty much has an indoor garden and realizing how much better I feel just being there for a few minutes.

With that out of the way, let’s talk about a topic relating to what this blog is about: Paganism, witchcraft, and being a Lokean.

Nope, still a solid Pagan with Druid beliefs and such, still a Lokean, but I haven’t practiced entirely too much witchcraft because there haven’t really been ways for me to use it where it’s needed. You can’t expect certain spells to work if you’re not doing anything to help it along (such as a job wouldn’t just fall into your lap because you still have to apply for a job). Money spells can get expensive if you’re doing it constantly for your spouse or parents because you’ll eventually run out of candles and such (I can’t do it without ingredients because I’m scatterbrained and need a damn decent point of focus and stuff).

I’ve got plans, though! I still haven’t invoked Loki for practice (which he’s cool with) so there’s that; I need to work out a ritual, and Loki says that for me, being short, sweet, and too the point is the best way to go. So I’ll be working something out with him in the (hopefully) near future. There’s also the fact that I plan to try out my green thumb and see about growing pumpkins and sunflowers. The sunflowers are to help with luck or prosperity or something on the property (honestly, I really wanna grow some out front to make the place look nice and having half a field of these flowers will be great for the faeries living there). The pumpkins are because I fucking love Halloween and love pumpkin pie and have a few recipes involving pumpkin I wanna try. I’d also like to try my luck at selling some, too.

While Loki tells me he isn’t associated with pumpkins, he sure as fuck likes to press the whole “come on, you know you wanna” bit onto me with growing them, and I’m getting this feeling that he’ll show up presence-wise whenever I go out to the pumpkin patch, so... Whatever, I’m gonna grow pumpkins because pumpkins are fucking awesome.

I’ll be asking the neighbor that owns the property across the street from us if I can do some bone-hunting and maybe a little bit of fossil-hunting. I still have the deer bones that my friend gave me that I need to wash, plus a dead young skunk I’m trying to decompose for bones, but winter makes this shit hard, so that’s part of my spring/summer activities. Loki wants me to try and articulate the skunk and have it mounted on a wooden platform and put onto his altar and I’m sitting here like: uuuuhhhhhh you don’t have much in a way of room... Regardless, articulating a mammalian skeleton will be beneficial in starting myself out in first-hand osteological studying, which is something you kinda have to know if you wanna be a paleontologist (which I do). I’m also interested in creating a staff involving animal bones, but I’m not sure what I’ll be using it for. If not for magick use, then it’d make for a great bring-along prop for a future druid character for D&D night (my husband and friends and I are just starting out with D&D because we haven’t been able to afford the books to play in the past, so we’re real excited about this).

Speaking of osteology, I plan on going to the museum with my husband and some friends in Pittsburgh and taking as many reference photos of all the fossil skeletons as I possibly can so I have decent and varied angles of the animals for reference when I practice to better my paleoart. I don’t wanna keep on using artistic renditions or limited angles of the same damn pics of fossils on the internet for references. I just need a decent camera, and I’m hoping my mom will stop acting immature and demand from a supposed friend that they give her her camera back. She has more authority to demand it back than I do, and I never talk to those people anyways, so it would make sense if she tried getting the damn thing back. Even though it’s sort of old, it’s still very high quality even for today’s standards and cost my parents nearly a grand to purchase. If not, my husband (who is extremely knowledgeable in technology and quality) can help me get a new decent camera (because my iphone sucks and his samsung phone can only hold so much memory for the amount of pictures I wanna take).

I do plan on doing more magick this summer, largely to help with learning a new instrument. While I do wanna properly learn the French Horn since I simply have the instrument, I need the proper mouthpiece (not sure if I’ve bitched about this in past posts), but every damn time I try to get the proper mouthpiece that I need, shit happens and I never get it. However... There’s a very strong possibility I could be learning how to play drums. I’ve always wanted to play but my parents did their damnedest to keep me from that thinking I’d just be annoying on drums. Turns out I’m quite proficient in terms of knowledge on how to play after a clerk at the local music store permitted me to play around on a drum set in one of the tutoring rooms because I paid very close attention to my band teacher helping the percussion section back in middle school. That knowledge stuck with me because I wanted to play drums so damn bad. So as it turns out, looks like I’ll be a drummer after all! It’d be a great way to help me stay in some upper-body shape and help relieve stress through movement while creating music. I’ll worry about starting a band later once I’ve actually become proficient in actually playing the drums, though.

Loki has made sure I stayed on the right path to where I don’t completely go on hiatus regarding creativity. I have a deviantART now if anyone is interested, and I’ve been working on some DIY punk clothing for myself. I’ll also be working on getting my hair how I want and learning how to apply makeup. It’s apparently time that I start expressing myself how I want now that I know what I’m doing. I’m going to go for a goth-punk look that I’ve always wanted since forever, just didn’t know how to achieve the look without spending a fuck ton of money (turns out that I never needed to in the first place).

....yay tangents.

Loki’s basically been trying to teach me to stop relying on the pendulum so damn much. Basically I have to accept that I’m not going to know everything and find some other coping mechanism unless I absolutely have to consult with a pendulum, otherwise he’s just going to lie to me to hammer the lesson into my head. I mean, his opinions? Fine, sometimes I can’t take a hint on my own, he knows it, and sees the pendulum being something that could work. But other stuff I won’t get into, he’s like, “Okay look...” He’s also apparently preferring that I use tarot readings in general divination than runes. I think it’s because the runes were a nice beginner’s way of helping me figure out the whole divination thing. I’ll Sometimes combine tarot with the pendulum if I’m not sure and very damn confused on certain things, but other than that, I’ve been getting the hang of it. I still need the handbook because holy dumbfuck, I can’t remember every little thing about every damn card.

Actually, this one tarot spread tried to basically tell me to compare what I’m going through to a caterpillar’s life and I’m currently in the pupa stage. Meaning: I’m working on the appearance that I want, and when I finally achieve it, something something butterfly/moth analogy. Of course, it isn’t narrating my whole damn life, just a part of my life.

Regarding art, I’ve been working with Kenaz, and that’s the rune I have on the Loki painting I may or may not have shared here sometime ago (I’m pretty sure I did but I’m too lazy to go get it so...) The painting has now been moved to a new part of my room (after rearranging shit for the millionth time) and it’s lined up to where it’s directly across from where I sit to do art. Ever since then, I’ve been able to dish out projects with higher quality than what I usually do at a faster rate. It’s just that lately, thanks to precipitation, I can’t do charcoal drawings for a while. Reason being is that I have to go to the outer garage to spray fixatif on it when I’m done and I need proper air circulation for that, and my windows aren’t meant to be opened... the architect of this house was a fucking idiot.

I am not entirely sure if I’ll be purchasing and reading anymore Pagan/witchcraft books for a good while, especially after being better informed, checking my amazon wish list, and finding out that some of the stuff I wish-listed is empty garbage because a lot of crud cranked out by Llewelynn tends to be garbage for money (note: I said “a lot,” not “all.”) But I do make purchases of incense from a small business witchy shop (they make their incense sticks). Lately, I’ve been focused on finding affordable boxes suitable for Bast’s, Thoth’s, and Cernunnos’ altars because my asshole cat likes to knock only the tiny shit off them. I’d also like to get proper statues for Bast and Thoth, too.

I’m also interested in making a smaller besom for general workings, and putting my bigger one up above the front door for protection purposes.

I don’t know how to end a ridiculous post like this, so that’s all I’ve got for now. I’m not disinterested, it’s just I don’t have a whole lot going for me, plus my health isn’t entirely the best right now. Take care, everyone!

#personal #life update #holy shit I hate winter #I didn't proof-read this so if something sounds weird then I'm sorry

4 notes · View notes