dolinskys-blog

[dolinskys-blog]

jiménez, abel.

        “Yeah, maybe you’re right…” Abel trails off — more like a nightmare, than a dream, though. He still can’t stop thinking about that day, how he spoke to Judah on the phone in the morning only to get a call from Savannah the same night, telling him about what happened. Summer really is right — he feels like he’s been asleep since then. “Tony. He’s six years old. It’s uh— a long and weird story,” he says with a sigh. He hasn’t told that particular story in a while, to anyone but he figures now that he’s seeing his friends again, ones who haven’t been around to hear it, he’s going to have to get ready for that, explain how his son came to be. “Other parent, well, they’re not in the picture. I pretty much moved back in with my mom when Tony was born. It was— weird, to come back. But I’m pretty used to living here again now,” he says. At least moving here was an easy way for him to reach out to Judah and Savannah and start acting like proper friends again. That’s probably one of the things that he loved about moving back, apart from getting to see his mom on the regular again. “What about you, what have you been up to? Just, in short, I guess, because we probably should get back to everyone soon. But we should have time to catch up, you’re staying around for the summer, right?”

When Abel asks for confirmation of her attendance at what promised to be the most awkward summer ever, she falters. “ Uh, well ... ” She frowns, and there’s a question posed, silently. Will there be any disappointment at an unplanned exit? Or will it be just like it was before: Summer was there, and then she wasn’t. Second time’s the charm, she thinks, and she knows it wouldn’t be a goodbye filled with hugs and adieus at the airport. She’d leave a note, most likely, taped to one of the refrigerators so someone would see it when getting cream for their coffee in the morning. Had to get back home. Wishing you all well. And then a looping signature, her own, the last they’d ever see of her. “ I don’t have a second ticket. I got ... a long leave off of work, I’m higher up in the company, so ... ” There was no company, she’d told the bright eyed old woman who ran the bed and breakfast that there’d been a death, and she was tutted off with a tight hug and permission to come back in autumn. They had enough teens lurking around the beach in search of extra money to coax college students into buying them cans of Mike’s Hard Lemonade for the B&B to not miss her help. “ They let me take a little bit longer. I’ll buy the ticket sooner rather than later, though. ”  

[dolinskys-blog]

parker, jack.

It seemed to be a pattern with their group of friends: crappy parents that guilt tripped, and criticized, and asked too much of them. Even back in their high school days, Jack could recall numerous incidents of close friends of his that just desperately needed to get out of the house, away from their overly demanding parents… or the more extreme cases, the ones that required all of the Rat Pack to assemble and an offer an ear, or a hand, sometimes a spine. He guessed that that’s in part why they hung around each other so long. How many other friends could he think of — now as an adult — that would show up if he called at the middle of the night, citing his crazy father as the only reason?

Apparently not much had changed at all, despite his first impressions. Summer was still the same sweet person she’d been — still feeling like she needed to work twice as hard as everyone else, still afraid to disappoint. Maybe that was why Jack reached to squeeze her knee as she spoke. Not an unfamiliar reflex, in fifteen years he had never improved how lousy he was with words. “How about we… switch? I’ll go visit your parents, you go visit my dad.” The slight crack of a smile tugged at his lips at that, followed by Jack’s watery laugh. And then, “They not too keen on you living all the way across the country, huh?” He didn’t mention that it had bothered him at first. At least, the way she’d disappeared had. Jack still had the ‘ Wish You Were Here ‘ postcard, could remember the finite details of the shiny gold cursive, and the cartoon palm trees lining the side. It was the last time he and Summer had spoke, really.

God, how she wished it were feasible. To just send someone else in her place — to deal with the hushed shaming in the kitchen as she helped her mom fight vegetables, watching her dad groan whenever he as much as shifted and look at her with such a sad, lonely expression. It was a nightmare, crafted just for her and hidden behind a front door that was supposed to entice her. Come home. She’d visited them at Christmas, for three days. I have winter session classes, she told them, so they’d pay for her to spend three months in an apartment just leased for the holidays. She’d call them, thanking them, on the day when she crawled back to her dorm room, and then she’d gotten her own apartment and not needed to call them anymore. 

After that, they’d visited. She’d rented an Airbnb in the town she lived in, pretending it was her own home. They’d found the listing online on the seventh visit, and her mother inquired into why she was lying — where Summer cracked entirely under the pressure. She wasn’t successful, she didn’t have her dream career. She’d dropped out of graduate school and fled across the country to get as far from New York as she could. There had been no miracle job offer. It was a myth she’d spun, one to laud herself as a hero instead of a victim of the pressure she’d put herself under. Then, came, of course, the classic parent line. I’m not mad, Summer ... she could finish the rest. They took their flight back three days early. That had been the last time they visited, all the I miss you’s instead occupying FaceTime calls and long-winded posts on her Facebook wall. ONCE — that had been how many times she’d visited them since, the Thanksgiving she turned twenty-nine. The turkey’d been to dry, the pressure cooker shattered all over the food that was inside, the stuffing was flavorless. As if she’d been a harbinger of shitty things to come. She hadn’t seen either of them in person since. 

So she lies. “ No, ” She sniffles, and it’s to her own surprise she feels the warmth of a tear on her cheek. Quickly, she swipes it away, yanking away from the comfort of his touch in the process. “ No, they ... wish I was back home. On the East Coast, at least. ”

[dolinskys-blog]

de veronesi luca.

If there’s one thing that Luca remembers from their school days and Summer’s moods, it’s how to weather them. Sometimes (when he’d been feeling like a little shit) he’d poked and prodded and run away laughing like a fucking gremlin – other times he’d just ridden it out, acted normal and let Summer have her way until the storm passed.

He thinks he’ll go for door number two this time. He doesn’t have the energy for the first option.

Her observation makes him laugh, a rusty noise that’s pulled out of him with a faint start, like he’s surprised that noise came from him. “Well, yeah, you’ve seen how huge this place is, you don’t wanna have to walk that far to get a coffee,” he says dryly. “I’m shocked there’s only two.”

There’s nothing else for it. He’s going to have to climb Mount Staircase. Hell, he’s going to need to do it at least a couple times a day. Luca plasters on the most bland, normal expression he can manage, and sets off – one hand on the rail, chin tucked down to make sure his cane doesn’t slip on whatever fancy fucking flooring this is. He wishes Judah was alive so he could make some sort of smart comment about the ADA.

“Ten bucks says we’re going to turn a corner up there and find a fucking original Van Gogh,” he offers, faintly proud that he sounds mostly normal and not strained. In the words of famed poet Disney’s Elsa: conceal, don’t feel. “Or a Warhol. He was totally the type.”

Summer walks slowly, but doesn’t offer any assistance — half because she’s small and weak enough that it will be useless, and the other because she’s unsure if he’ll be grateful or proud. The last thing she needs is to create more tension on the mansion from hell. Instead, she matches pace, making no show about dawdling footsteps and pauses on individual steps. “ Well, this place is classy enough for a Monet. I half expect to walk into a room and see some indoor garden that’s a perfect recreation of Water Lilies anyway. ”

She didn’t exactly pin this type of opulence on Judah, though she supposed the innate competitiveness that was practically shot into him in its distilled form made it more realistic that he would want the best of the homes he could get. She’d grown up well off — a McMansion that looked identical to every other house on the street. No columns or enough land to call it an estate, but with a small pool in the backyard and a guest bedroom and exactly one walk in closet. This felt more like Bill Gates bullshit than the casual bragging her father used to like to do. Well, we just got new stainless steel appliances. They go great with the granite countertops, even though everyone knew the countertops were fake. 

[dolinskys-blog]

lloyd, diane.

Diane knows she wouldn’t have responded to a fucking email. Even at this point in her life when she’s trying to be better with herself. It’s just shallow, and who has time to sit at their computer and write some formal letter to someone they haven’t spoken to since high school? It just seems unnatural. But she understands where Summer is coming from.

Diane shrugs, lifting a hand to gesture when she speaks. “I think it just took something tragic and horrific to pull our heads out of our asses, you know?” She looks down at Summer. “I hope you’d be able to recognize that a simple email wasn’t going to bring the gay back together. Not after this long.” That was a fairy tale world. Regardless of Diane and her attitude, she knows that something as lame as an email, would not spark for longevity in a healed friendship.

There were plenty of emails she hadn’t responded to. Texts too, phone calls. She’d sent out a fucking postcard as the only contact in fourteen years, for fuck’s sake. She knew — deep inside her, somewhere she’d rather not confront ... something like this would have been the only thing to work. A slow death, one she had time to get used to — she never would have agreed to stay. Or, really, even come. She would have sent a fruit basket to Savannah, and cried alone at home, and then gotten over it. 

But the suddenness of it — the shock was enough that by the time it wore off, she was already on the plain. Of course, she was still not used to the idea. A loss so heavy and so whole was still difficult to be accustomed to. But there was a weight of certainty to it: she knew there was no way for him to come back. Though she still expected to turn a corner and see him when she saw one of the others, to hear his voice. They were phantom pains, as if she’d lost a limb. He was gone: and that was the only way they were ever going to have ended up here. 

“ He would always talk about how great it would be when we were all together again, ” Summer said quietly. “ I — I got coffee with him. Once. Twice, really, but ... the second time was when it mattered. Because I guess ... I guess he thought it meant that I was gonna stop ignoring everyone. That I was back, and it was gonna be just like the old days. And I just ... let him think that. ” There’s a beat of silence as her stomach turns. “ And ... that was the last time I saw him. ” She gazes up at Diane, and there’s no more anger or panic or sorrow in her voice. Just resentment. “ So an email wouldn’t have worked. But ... it shouldn’t have been him. ” It shouldn’t have been any of them, not really. And it’s fucked up to think, to ponder something so morbidly — but Summer is certain the effect of her going would be less profound. 

[dolinskys-blog]

wilson, theo.

“Sustenance can be procured elsewhere,” Theo quips easily as he holds out his arm for Summer to hook through, a gesture his younger self never did but wanted to at their prom. “M’lady?”

It’s so ridiculously stupid, but he would rather stupid over melancholy right now. The mourning and sadness can take over their realities later, but for now, he will settle for a little distraction in the form of diner food. Summer probably needs it too, if not more than he does.

Theo knows that these distractions are just excuses he’s using to push off doing the inevitable — paying his respects to a dead friend, greeting Savannah, being in the same room as the other Rat Pack members at the same time… The list goes on and it hurts his brain to even think that far ahead.

God, how he wants to spend his days here with Summer and her alone. Things feel easier whenever he’s with her; she makes it feel like everything will be okay. The feeling of gentle caresses and gauze brushing against split knuckles. The familiar feeling of home.

She laughs, and there’s a crack in her sadness — it doesn’t shatter completely, or fade away, but a little bit of light peeks through. Her arm links with his, and she’s thankful to have the anchor of him by her side again. “ Lady, huh? ” A frown burrows itself deeply into her face, but there’s an unmistakable glint in her eyes that show she’s teasing him, still. “ I thought I was the princess. ” 

Though as silence takes precedence again and they walk towards the end of the rolling driveway, where the cars are all tucked neatly — she’s convinced it’s probably the length of a street — she can feel herself drifting away again. Caught in thoughts not of sadness, but of how sad she is: of the numbness that trickles in, of the regret. She should have been here sooner, she thinks, not just for Judah, and not just here as in Massachusetts, but for all of them, wherever they may be.

Sometimes she thinks there’s something wrong with her. A disconnect somewhere in her body, wires crossed or never connected in the first place. The frequency of which she runs — far away, sprinting from whatever issue dares confront her — there must be something out of place there. Enough to leave her unequipped to stay places she didn’t want to be, even for a moment. She stood her ground when it shook, but the moment a fracture appeared, anywhere, she was gone. The chasm of the separation between her and the Rat Pack as they flitted away to different places ... she couldn’t bear the thought of being only partially torn apart, of being ripped or roughened at the seams but still tied together. And so: she left them before they could leave her. A stupid mistake, she’s now recognizing, as guilt claws it’s way upward and holds her hostage — a constant reminder of her fault in how she’s feeling. How she’s acting. 

“ I can’t do it, ” She blurts, and she’s speaking more even as she tries to stop herself, a waterfall of confessions and expressions of sorrow. “ I can’t go back in there at all. Not — dinner somewhere else isn’t gonna fix that. ” She stiffens, and unlinks her arm from his, halting their walk in it’s tracks. “ I — he died, and it’s like we’re taking a vacation in his house. I haven’t seen him in twelve years, Theo. ” She’s spiralling, again, like she did with Diane in the church and talking about her parents in the car with Jack. She was supposed to be strong: an impenetrable force, sure of herself and taking life and making it do what she wants, not the other way around. But the guilt she feels about abandoning them — about Judah, who will never know that she came back – it beats her over the head simply to remind her it’s there every time she dares forget about it. 

She could leave. Her tickets weren’t round trip, the first leg purchased one way so she could claw her way back to California at the first sign of trouble. Even in moments of tragedy, she was a bird in flight, perpetually ready to flee. She could leave. 

Isn’t that what she always did?

[dolinskys-blog]

[dolinskys-blog]

i’ll be getting to replies hopefully later tonight or early tomorrow, if anyone wants to chat on d*scord ( i see people starring it out all the time and i’m genuinely not sure if i’m supposed to bc of tumblr fucking something up so i will ) i’m meredith#3445 

[dolinskys-blog]

parker, jack‌.

“Get outta here!” Jack laughed, playfully swatting at her hand. “They only give you so much icing with these things, you know.” He scoffed jokingly, swiping more of the excess with his own finger. But secretly Jack welcomed her efforts. It took him back to a different time: of an old Ford with a big dent in the side, and a souped out sound system they would switch on when they ran out of things to talk about. Some of his best memories of Wellesley had been in that car, a lot of them with Summer right by him. Idly he wondered if he’d find the old thing at his dad’s house if went to visit. Jack hoped so.

“ — You know, I like to think I’d never become one of those dads. But every time I turn on the news, or even like, pass by a group of teenagers at the mall. I just can’t imagine seeing her grow up and be a part of that. All of the…  I don’t know. Everything we got up to, I guess.” A sheepish chuckle falls from his lips; a new revelation suddenly on the tip of his tongue. As he gets there, Jack looks up. “I think I might be turning into my dad.” he said, eyes shining. He figured that Summer would know what meant. It was a complicated discovery.

“When do you go see your folks?” he asked, gaze settling back on Summer. 

She shakes her head, offering him a wry smile. “ Oh, believe me, Jack, you were born being one of those dads. ” He’d certainly been protective enough over her, always threatening to clank heads together if need be. She remembers them both, early on in knowing one another – their pre Rat Pack days, when he was best friends with all the boyfriends of her best friends. But when pom poms were traded in for social suicide, a fond memory emerges: the life ruiner himself’s ( what kind of name was Chadwick, anyway? ) best friend, fighting him. For her. And Jack expected nothing out of the other end of the deal, a big brother in his own right to her existence as an only child. 

“ I’m so glad I don’t have kids, ” She says, though it’s never really existed as a possibility. “ Because If I ever turned into my mother, I’d want you to put a bullet between my eyes. ” She wishes that was enough of an answer to the last question he asks, because she really doesn’t want to see her parents. Her father’s health was waning, in rapid decline, and her mother’s tired eyes always carried the depths of the same shame Summer carried. She’d always been enough for them, always been perfect enough to not crack under pressure. For them to be loving and kind and warm. And now, here she was: wholly and completely shattered, and uncertain if she would be what they wanted even when she was put back together. And they weren’t what they used to be. 

“ I guess when I get the courage. I already know I’m going to get the whole guilt trip about how I could have seen Judah if I ever came back sooner. ” Voice cracks, and a shaky breath is taken in. God, Summer, don’t cry. “ And how I ... should just stay with them because there’s gonna be another funeral soon. ” Dramatic, for how slow dying seemed to be. But nowadays, she could hardly seem to guess. She can hear it in her mother’s voice. What is there for you in California, Summer? We’ll  pay for you to go back to school. You can finally get your master’s, do something with your life. She’s young enough for that in the same breath that her biological clock is ticking, and it’s enough to make her want to scream. 

[dolinskys-blog]

wilson, theo.

Resident John Benders. One less now. Theo smiled anyhow, content to push down the sadness so he could face it later, preferably alone and with a cold beer. He began to realise that when it came to Summer, it was both same and different. Same in the way that he could get away with calling her spider monkey and swing her around (carefully) like a backpack, but different in how she carried herself. Like she had the weight of the universe on her shoulders.

“I guess that makes you Claire Standish, then.”

It was funny, really, because Summer was Claire. A girl who not only had the grades and the looks, but also two teenage boys completely smitten with her. Between Judah and Theo, of course the latter was the understudy — he always lacked a certain something as compared to the fearless Rat Pack leader. Charisma or eloquence, maybe, but something was missing.

The thought of never having the chance to judo throw Judah to the ground sent Theo reeling in nostalgia. He unconsciously let go of Summer’s hand, overwhelmed by the dull aching in his chest that had reared its ugly head again. He needed to distract himself, or at least enough to momentarily forget about the guilt and pain of remembering.

“C’mon, spider monkey. I’m starving.”

Eyes flick up to the sky, grey and foreboding until he speaks again, and another grin flashes onto her face, looking at him with a smile. “ You flatter me too much, we both know you’re only saying that because they end up together. ” Voice is teasing, and it’s painfully ironic, even if Summer doesn’t know it.  There’s moments spent thinking about the past, of movie nights where she almost always fell asleep before the credits. It was easy to get lost in thought and then in slumber when you were more pretender than observer, and she always thought more about how the movie relates to the Rat Pack than the characters actually in it. She remembers them watching the Breakfast Club, though memory is fuzzy on which of them persistently asserted it was a classic she needed to watch. She was the princess, even then, and each of the rest of them was shoehorned neatly into one of the boxes. Another thing that’s ironic, but, well, she had missed the end of the movie, only absorbing aforementioned reference by cultural osmosis. It probably had been Theo’s shoulder she’d fallen asleep on that time, it more often than not was, though each of them has been subjected to her head lolling onto their shoulder or resting in their lap. Movie theatres were the only chances they had of keeping her up & at ‘em until the credits. 

Maybe now they’re all the basket case.

She disguises a frown as hand draws away from hers, and the first thought is that she misses its presence, like an anchor keeping her from slipping to deep into nostalgia. Though now it’s his voice that keeps her out of it, and Summer shakes her head at his revelation that they needed to eat. It’d been hours since she sat in the car with Jack, and she could go for something, but ... 

“ I don’t wanna go back in there, “ She whined, though it seemed more sympathetic than her complaints had been in the past, considering circumstance. “ I can’t look at any of it right now. ” Any of Judah’s stuff, or any of her former friends, she wonders. Maybe both. 

[dolinskys-blog]

de veronesi, luca.

She’s already wiped most of the coffee off on her shirt, but Luca sets about cleaning the rest off with a spare bandanna anyway, just to make sure. There’s no redness, but he has to check – if he’s learned anything in the past fourteen years, it’s that even the smallest of injuries can turn into real problems.

At the edgy comment, he gives a self-deprecating little chuckle. “Bit of light sensitivity,” he admits, and finally stops cradling Summer’s hand between his own to take the damned sunglasses off. They’re far enough from a window that the glaring sun outside isn’t too much of an issue.

Summer’s… clearly on edge, that much is obvious. Hell, they’re probably all on edge. But Luca’s way of dealing with it is just to totally avoid thinking about Judah as much as he can – repression is definitely making a comeback in some psychological circles! And he wants to help her feel better, because that’s just who he is, but here and now he has no idea how to go about doing that, not without bringing up the biggest topic at hand.

“You, uh– I hear there’s a coffee machine somewhere upstairs. I can make you a new one? To apologize?”

“ You don’t need to apologise. ” She says it more snappishly than intended, and eyes immediately show regret. Even sympathy over something as miniscule as spilled coffee feels, in the situation at hand, patronising. It’s clearly not the intention, but the idea is hard to shirk. The idea that she’s so depressed over Judah that she needs to be handled with kiddy gloves. She resents it, even though it’s kind of true. Of fucking course she’s on edge. Neuroticism, the kind of anxiety and hunger for control that they were all too familiar with in her high school days was rearing it’s ugly head, and she was getting angrier and angrier over how helpless she felt.  “ But we can get coffee. Because of course this house would have two coffee machines. ” She glances at the staircase, rising high above them, seeming more like something a la Daddy Warbucks than Judah Price. “ It feels like a museum. I half expect to walk into a room and see the fucking Thinker. ”

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lloyd, diane.

“I’m emotionally constipated, remember?” She raised her eyebrows, throwing the words right back at her. Diane was feeling it, though. She just wasn’t expressing it in a way that made her look like a complete mess. She wasn’t expressing it at all. It’s felt so weird being back here. There’s a heavy weight that is just sinking in her chest and she can’t decide if she wants to say fuck it and leave, if she wants to hide because she’s got no right to be hear, or if she wants to try and fix things because she’s never felt the weight of loneliness so much in her life than she has the last couple years.

“You should know that I’m not good with this.” She sighs, hands coming together at her front. Pressing her lips together, she looks over Summer. Clearly, she’s struggling. She’s drowning and she’s gasping for help for others to tell her that they’re drowning too. Maybe she just wanted to drown together. “I kind of don’t want to be around everyone pretending it’s good to see each other. I have a feeling the elephant in the room will never truly go addressed.” Not the elephant which is Judah. But the elephant that they were all shit friends who stopped caring after a while. Well, she was that shit friend who stopped caring after a while. Who knows what the rest did with each other.

Guilt is a mutual affliction, though one they’d contracted on their own – ignoring people isn’t contagious, and Summer supposed it was inevitable. Them two being the first to fall off, ambitious and strong and too determined to be weighed down by nostalgia. “ It is good to see each other, ” She corrects, and she means it — but there is a catch. “ It’s ... just not good to have to talk to one another. I’m glad to know you’re all healthy and not dead. ” She glances upward at the ceiling of the chapel, refusing to look at Diane. 

“ It just, you know, would have been better via email. Under ... ” Voice trails off, but intent is evident. With Judah not being dead, she means. A breath she’s been holding in unbeknownst to herself is exhaled, and it feels almost therapeutic. “ Less extenuating circumstances. ” It’s hard to talk about the tragedy that  brought them together once more, but somehow that’s still easier than the remincising. Summer isn’t entirely sure what she expected. Ignoring one another or living in the past, those options were extremities. She had to expect the painful, awful, awkward middle bit. Even if it fucking sucked. 

[dolinskys-blog]

jiménez, abel.

         When the response comes, Abel just nods because he understands. Asking questions like how are you? or how are you doing? to people right now, especially his friends, is a risky business, maybe stupid, even, because none of them is okay, that’s for certain. It’s probably various shades of horrible, though none of them really wants to admit that out loud. Abel especially. He gives Summer a small smile when she returns the question, appreciating the effort on the joke. “Just had to see my mom and my kid off, he doesn’t need to hang around here longer than necessary,” he says and then realizes — does Summer even know he’s got a kid? While there’s definitely a mention of him being a dad somewhere on his facebook profile, he has no idea if that news has ever reached her. If not, there goes the surprise. “But you know, I’m just— hanging in there,” he says, settling for probably the most generic (and most bullshit) answer. “I think I still need some time to process everything. It hasn’t hit me full force, yet, I think.”

Another kid added to the mix, and another checkmark on the list of life milestones other people have hit and Summer hasn’t — but for once, it’s less about her and more about how horrible she feels for missing it all. Perhaps she could had been there, to show support and kindness and be the friend she had been so many years ago. She wonders if they would have even wanted her there, and there’s a faltering in her expression as she continues, the softness melting off her face and showing how scared she is. That nerves have gotten the better of her, and that as much blame as she could shift onto other people for falling out of contact as quickly as she did, Abel wasn’t one of them. He’d always been there to reach out, to express care, and she’d struck him down with silence every time. Shit. “ Maybe ... this is just one of those things that’s ... always gonna feel like some messed up dream. ” Gaze connects with his once more. “ A kid, huh? ” Topic is changed quickly, and she acts more intrigued than shocked, and there’s a beat of silence that goes on too long before she continues, smiling. “ I mean — when? What’s his name? ”

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price, savannah.

savannah price always had the upper hand in life. perpetually in control, organized and prepared. she is none of the above as she sits in the first row of the church pews, perfect posture leaning against the uncomfortable wood. she is too fucking young to be doing this. she’d always laughed people off when they commented on how attached to the hip her and judah were, two peas in a pod. she can’t stop thinking about how true those statements and jokes were, feeling completely empty without his essence to complete her. 

her racing thoughts and the deafening silence of the church as people shuffled out are all too much, and the blonde grabs her chanel clutch, heels clicking as she swiftly exits through the side door. she takes a deep breath, leaning against the wood paneling. her eyes close as manicured fingers play with the thin gold chain around her neck —- a small piece of jewelry judah had managed to trade his shoes and a few coins for on their honeymoon. she hadn’t taken it off since.

she jumps a little as her eyes open to find that she’s no longer alone, standing up straight again. blue eyes rest upon one of her old friends. “jesus, you scared me half to death. i ought to put a bell around your ankle.” the words are a joking tease, though her face was unable to muster up even a polite smile. she was all out of simple courtesies since judah had passed, doled out to too many distant acquaintances giving their condolences. “thanks for coming. i can’t fucking do this anymore.” she sighs, unable to even thank them without adding some miserable complaint on the tail end of the sentence. 

Summer doesn’t want to rank her friends, or be the keeper of the keys when it comes to sadness or grief — but of fucking course, she feels the worst for Savannah.

The two had always been in competition with one another, who could get the highest grade on an exam, who could do whatever the fuck the best ... and of course, the elephant in the room of it all, Judah’s change in affections. Though Summer had remained relatively oblivious to anything he’d ever felt unless it was punctuated with her immediate rejection, a giggling whatever, any jealousy that remained after the fact during the days when they were all friends were facts completely in the dark for her. 

But this is something Savannah does win, though Summer is certain it’s not exactly a trophy the blonde will hang on the mantle, or even a competition she wants to be in. She gives in awkward smile, tight and unamused at the joke the other gives her, and it’s the sadness she connects with either. “ I mean ... you don’t have to be able to do this. I’m sure you’ve heard this like ... a billion fucking times, but I can’t imagine. ” She digs her toe of her shoe into the floor. She wouldn’t even know what to say to Savannah if she’d seen her in the grocery store, let alone at her husband’s funeral. At Judah’s funeral. " I’d ask how you are but ... I figure one cliché is good enough for the whole conversation. ” That, and the answer was obvious.

[dolinskys-blog]

wilson, theo.

There would always be a part of him that wanted to change things in his past. What if he had stopped picking fights with people? What if he had actually put himself in front of textbooks and studied instead of using them as a TV stand? What if he had been less of a dick and more of a homecoming king… would that change anything, if at all?

What if’s were dangerous for Theo. He spent so much time with his head in the clouds, wondering what could have happened when time was passing by all around him. Maybe that was the reason why nothing ever really happened for him — other than throwing punches and kicking walls, he never did do anything else in life.

What if they had stayed in this moment forever, sitting together on a park bench as everything else melted away?

“I meant the goldfishes, you goober.” Theo said, wiping away a stray tear with a laugh. “They don’t exactly have the best memory.”

And just like that, it was back to square one. It wasn’t a secret that vulnerability scared Theo, because if he couldn’t punch his way out of it, then how was he to defend himself? But with Summer, it was different. He wanted to hold her hand and ask her about her day. He wanted to kiss her forehead and give her his jacket when the autumn breeze finally comes through. He wanted to do a lot of things, and he did — all without telling her how he really felt, but that’s okay. The past is the past, and he had this moment now.

“Don’t You Forget About Me should’ve been my first pick for the song,” He grinned cheekily. Still, even in his attempt to move on away from the sadness and pain and disarray, he placed his hand around Summer’s, as if to say: don’t be, it’s okay.

There’s a heaviness that’s replaced the soft ease between them — like cotton in her mouth, or a thick blanket of snow over a sleepy town, numbing out any noise of the outside world; even footsteps unable to be heard. It’s fragile still, and comforting. “ You’re so stupid, ” She tells him, through a gentle laugh, and when she feels the pressure of his hand on top of hers, she almost yanks it away. She used to be all over him — pressed against him as she investigated whatever new wounds had cropped up, grabbing his arm to yank him somewhere she wanted to go, and again, using his back as means of transportation. She never thought a thing of it. But now, something as delicate as one hand on another feels like too much. There’s an aching numbness that comes with guilt, and a coldness too, but the warmth of him, not brushed against her but intentional feels almost like it’s burning. It’s an olive branch, but it feels more like a Trojan Horse. If she accepts, she’s tricking herself. Fooling herself into thinking that things are alright, that she didn’t abandon them all. Like they can have moments like they did before. Like she can tell the difference between then and now when the lines are blurry and redrawing themselves quicker than she can map them. 

Exhale, and fingers intertwine with his. Hook, line and sinking, falling back into the depths of the past, and all the regrets she has. Sorry feels too grand, to overarching, and there are specifics. Sorry, I didn’t call you back. Sorry I didn’t say enough about where I was going. I’m sorry I let you think I was coming back. She’s sorry for New York, and she’s sorry for California. She’s sorry for coming back in the end, for the rolling Price estate. Summer wants to lean against him, rest her head on his shoulder, douse herself in memories that walk the halls they do like ghosts, even in new homes. 

She doesn’t. 

“ I can’t commit sacrilege against the Breakfast Club like that. Who’s gonna fist pump? ” She squeezes his hand, and smiles. “ You and Judah were our resident John Bender—s. ” 

[dolinskys-blog]

lloyd, diane.

Diane found no reason to get angry. Summer was going through her grieving process, this is what that looked like. Diane still had no idea what was going on inside her head. For the last fifteen years she’s essentially turned herself off form all feelings that she’s got no clue what anything she’s feeling means. As far as she knows, this sucks and she just wants to be with her kid.

Her hand braces on the pew, looking down at Summer as her anger leaks out of her being. She just watches her for a bit, taking in the anger she’s projecting. She does this with Daphne. Let’s her have her meltdown for a bit and then she’ll just stare. She doesn’t feed into it. Doesn’t acknowledge it. Just embraces it. She has a feeling that’ll just make Summer more angry. “You got it right.” She shrugs. “Totally, right, actually.” She nods, “I don’t think I have any right to be here because I’m not angry like you are. I’m not sad. I’m not heartbroken. It’s a tragedy in the sense that I’m removed so why am I even here?“ She shrugs. “I think it’s a bit of wasted energy on your part to try and attack me. But if it’ll make you feel better, I can take it all day.” She’s got a kid. A kid that’s her’s, which means she knows how to be mean. She can take anything at this point.

Truthfully, she is being childish. Pettier and angrier and more melodramatic than she has any right to be, but the release feels good. CATHARTIC. It feels like at least she’s doing something with all of it, making something happen. Even if that something is destructive. She wants the retort from Diane, the quick fire debate they used to get into if one of them so much as turned her head incorrectly. She wants Diane to be mean, so she can yell, or at least say something other than let it out. Frustration seeps out and she can’t bring it back now, it’s as if the spell is broken purely by virtue of not getting a reaction. At least her turnover time is quicker than a toddler’s. 

“ This is such a fucking joke. ” She moans, collapsing back onto the pew with her face in her hands. She wants to apologise, but she can’t bring herself to. “ How ... are you not going crazy being back here? ” Summer stepped off the plane and immediately unravelled. She’s genuine now, a defeated sort of honesty that comes with the remnants of an explosion. “ Like ... that’s gotta be something in common, right? Like — if not ... how we feel about everything, at least the fact that it’s wrong being back in ... ” She gestures to the chapel, but the sentence ends without explanation. Their old stomping grounds, where they used to be. Their hometown.  

[dolinskys-blog]

AESTHETICS ( 1/? ) — HIGH SCHOOL: TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

“ It's like high school holds two different worlds, revolving around each other and never touching; the haves and the have-nots. I guess it's a good thing. High school is supposed to prepare you for the real world, after all. ” — Lauren Oliver, Before I Fall

[dolinskys-blog]

parker, jack.

In high school, he could eat three of these Cinnabons in one sitting. He remembered how much shit the Rat Pack would give him — teasing that he practically inhaled it, and did he even get a chance to taste the damn thing?! Now he took his time with one, running a finger along it and scooping up the excess icing as he went. Back then he didn’t feel the effects of what he would’ve probably called old people metabolism. 

“Emily.” he said, swallowing his bite. “She’s five. And no, I’m not still with the mother. And no, she’s still alive - just a raging bitch.” Humor shone in his eyes despite the bleak situation. It was funny, if you weren’t Emily and Jack struggling to find any time together with his demanding job; or his job offering him everything but the time off he needed to see his daughter grow up. But in a meta, I’m the bitch ex wife forever swinging for full custody kind of way - sure, funny. 

“Actually she kinda reminds me of you how you were. She’s really into all that beauty shit you used to like - the nail polish, the hair clips, all that.” he said. “Probably moreso when she grows up and I have to start threatening boys again.” And then, a small smirk at his lips, Jack nudging Summer lightly in the seat beside her. 

It feels like home again. A mirage maybe, something intangible that she can’t keep, but in that split second — she wants to hold it forever. The smell of cinnamon and french fry grease and all the other bullshit they shouldn’t be eating, and way things feel easy. It’s almost as if she can slip back into things again, time falling away like sand in an hourglass. One more grain, one more second before she has to remember what year it is, and what’s happened. 

She can’t help but let out an amused scoff at his revelation that she has several unanswered questions, and how exactly he answers them. He did always know her well. “ Well, I still have all my old butterfly clips and scrunchies tucked away somewhere at my parents house. ” Somewhere between old boy band posters and AP textbooks. No one could say she wasn’t dynamic. “ I’m supposed to see them soon, and ... ” She doesn’t want to go to see her parents, that much is evident. They never used to be so naggy, but that’s when she was going places. Nowadays, she can feel the disappointment radiating off of them. Her mother in the kitchen, staring at Summer with sad eyes. Your father doesn’t have much longer, you want him to die disappointed in you? No husband and kids, no real job, no way to carry on his name... She can already feel shaky breaths and curt words, but now, she just wants to live in a world of the good kind of nostalgia. As he bumps her shoulder, she finally grins for the first time in what feels like forever, takes the opportunity to reach across and take a swipe of icing off of his Cinnabon, popping it into her mouth. Just as good as she remembers, tasting all the better having stolen it from Jack. “ Oh god, I was hoping you’d grown out of defending honor. ” She’d never minded. “ Let me guess, your closet is just itching to chock full of those Rules for Dating my Daughter novelty tee shirts? ”