#for him in particular and they got all snotty with us because ‘it’s a concert people stand up at concerts’

[mmvalentine]

The Pianist pt 1 | Jurdan

Modern AU. Okay so this is the first time I'm trying a Jurdan AU, dunno how's gonna go so don't get too excited okay?

*Update: Read part 2*

Jude had lived in the same apartment for years, and refused to leave. It was small, but rent controlled, and there was no way she could afford to stay in New York if she lived anywhere else. So despite the feeling that she was slowly going insane, she stayed.

The apartment building was not too far from the Juilliard school, and Jude both hated and loved this about her place. Of course all she had ever wanted to do was make music, but she was raised by a single father who remarried a woman who hated her, and a performing arts school was just never in the cards for her. She hadn’t even finished high school- left home young, went somewhere she could be surrounded art, and tried to be content living life among artists even if all she could do was wait tables for snotty rich conservatory students.

The worst of all of them was Cardan.

Cardan lived in the apartment above hers, and of course he was gorgeous and talented and stupid wealthy. From the titter around the local diner, Cardan was supposed to be some kind of wunderkind, even among the Juilliard crowd. This part, Jude did not dispute. She had listened to him practice on his grand piano at home, countless nights. What she despised was that he only seemed to play between the hours of 8pm and 4am, as if being skilled meant that one did not have to adhere to social rules of common courtesy.

What he did the rest of the day appeared, from the noises above her and from her not infrequent sightings of him around the building, was wake late, drink heavily, and sleep around. Jude was fairly sure his parents were bankrolling everything, from rent to booze, and it infuriated her.

Here she was, working three jobs just to exist near music. Sure, Cardan put the piano hours in. But if he was good now, what would he be like if he actually put effort in? What could he create if he wasn’t drunk or high all the time? How could his career fly if he was trying to make actual network connections instead of just talking girls into bed? Talent and money were wasted on Cardan and Jude hated him for it.

And then of course there was the fact that Cardan was just plain rude.

Jude told herself that this is the real reason she is typing out her eleventh email to the landlord, citing her tenant’s right to quiet enjoyment while half delirious at 2am. There were three and a half hours until she was supposed to be getting up for her first shift, and Cardan was playing like he’s got an extra pair of hands. Jude had tried to talk to other residents about this, but every time she brought up his name they just beamed and said “Yes, aren’t we lucky that Juilliard’s best student lives here, right in our apartment building!”

And so night after night, Jude lay in bed with a headache building between her eyes, composing letters of complaint in her head and only only very special occasions actually sending them.

On this particular night, Cardan played in bursts. Classical music that Jude didn’t recognise at a furious speed, then breaking off half way as if forgetting. Bright show tunes, then nothing again. Dramatic cinematic soundscapes, and then lapsing into silence. The jarring lurching was worse than when he played non-stop.

Jude found that the background light of her laptop hurt her eyes, and eventually she hit send and then went back to bed, where she pulled her pillow over her head. Every time Cardan stopped, she would just fall asleep only to be woken again, until he finally stopped altogether but Jude could no longer relax because she didn’t trust the silence.

In the end, she started doing what always helped her fall asleep. Sang her mother’s old lullabies quietly to herself, until she had calmed down enough to drift off.

///////

Cardan couldn’t sleep.

Cardan could never sleep, had had insomnia for as long as he could remember. When he was younger, it was sort of fun. He would stay up and read books under his covers with a flashlight, or write songs when everyone else was asleep.

As an adult, it just felt horrendous. All the time. He was always exhausted, his eyes always hurt, and when he tried to sleep he just lay in the dark with his thoughts running too fast around and around his head.

The alcohol used to help. A few glasses of wine before bed would make him drowsy, even if it did mean he woke up half way through the night feeling slightly dizzy. Now, it didn’t help him sleep as such, but being drunk was still better than being awake, and worse came to worse he would eventually pass out if he kept on drinking. Which was almost like sleep.

Tonight was particularly bad. His parents had let him know that they would be in town for the end of term concert, which was never good. His older siblings were all in high up and important roles- a senator, a partner in a law firm, a surgeon. And then there was him- the youngest and the dumbest and the novelty child of the family.

It didn’t actually matter that he was good and he knew it. Didn’t matter that he had started receiving media attention for his talent. He was still just playing at being musician and his parents were indulging him until he grew up and got a real job.

Cardan had tried to distract himself by spending the evening at Nicasia’s place, but she was smoking joints and he couldn’t stand the smell. So eventually he left and sat at the piano for a few hours, but nothing was coming together. Usually, his fingers remembered even if his brain didn’t, but today he was getting half way through pieces and then finding that he just… couldn’t be bothered.

Eventually, he dragged himself back to his infernal bed, with its tauntingly soft sheets but no rest to be found anywhere. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, and willing the hours away.

Until suddenly, his ears caught a whisper of a song so soft and sweet he was sure he was hallucinating. He did that sometimes, when he hadn’t slept in a few days.

But no, it was coming from somewhere below him.

Cardan got to the floor and peeled the rug back. Pressed his ear to the vent there and sure enough, he could hear a woman singing. He strained and couldn’t quite make out the words, but there was something sad and lovely about that voice.

Moving as little as possible, so as to not rustle over the sound, Cardan adjusted his position until he was lying more comfortably on the ground, and let himself relax into the song.

The next day, Cardan would not recall how long he lay there before he fell asleep, and it was a shock to be woken by the sun, still sprawled there on the carpet.

****

Literally nothing planned, no idea where this is going just thought I'd start and see where we end up! Then again, that's me almost all the time isn't it...

Also, I am Quite Stressed today so I apologise if a) I don’t make sense and b) if this story doesn’t progress as fast as we would like it to.

JURDAN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @asteria-of-mars @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreams @feysand-loml @cityofbookish

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story - Part 34

The Christmas of 2003. My Uncle Bob and Aunt Marty came from Florida to visit the family. Because of the guests, everyone is in a good mood. And I can't necessarily be out getting bad grades or talking to boys so my father has no animosity towards me for those two weeks. Everyone is more or less in positive Christmas cheer. I really don't remember much of what I got that Christmas, other than I was very happy with it. Perhaps I was living in the endorphin high of thinking back on all the positive exchanges between Zack and I. I was being eaten alive by this good kind of stress that is associated with being in love. It hurts. It's all consuming. You can do painful physical tasks without pain or complaint. Temporarily, everything you do seems to have purpose, but at the same time nothing makes any sense at all. There is nothing you can do with it. It's simply there. And it can actually get in the way of actually living if you let it. I could not wait to go back to school to see him.

The only thing I do remember getting that Christmas, is my father for some strange reason decided to buy me this Guns n' Roses music video DVD. Why he bought me this I don't really know. I told him I didn't like Guns n' Roses. He himself never cared too much for Guns n' Roses either. I think he bought me this completely random unneeded gift because he had spent the last year associating me with my eldest sister Maria, who actually was out doing the drugs and having all the sex at my age. Her young wild years had been during the time of Guns n' Roses. She had the big hair, this sort of snotty almost L.A. Cheesy 80's teenage attitude. When my father bought me the DVD, I was thankful, and I even watched all the silly music videos, mostly I remember watching Axl walking down a dark hot looking sidewalk with his bandanna. Later, my father apologized for having gotten me that DVD. He said he had no idea what had gone through his mind when he was picking out gifts in the store.

I got this 50$ Hastings gift card (RIP), and I was so stoked. Sarah had also received some money and we made plans to go into Lewiston (bigger town 45 miles west) together and go shopping. Lewiston doesn't snow much, but it was dry and cold. There was snow on the surrounding valley hills. I remember walking in to the store and seeing all these possibilities that I hadn't really noticed before. It was probably the first time I ever took a real interest in what Hastings had to offer, at least the book or music sections. Previous to this, the only thing I ever had truly enjoyed about going to Hastings was that back in the 90's, I used to get over dubbed obscure foreign fantasy movies from the 80's and B movies for kids. A lot of movies from Moonbeam entertainment. After searching around for some time, I found the new White Stripes album, Elephant. I also found and purchased the biography of Kurt Cobain's, 'Heavier Than Heaven'. I read it over the course of that winter break, and I felt rather cool about it. Now I for sure knew more than anyone else did about Kurt Cobain.

After that, we went to the Lewiston mall, not a very big or good mall, but we were with Sarah's grandma Tutu, and we had to go to a bunch of old lady oriented stores that sold get well cards and soap and old lady jewelry. As we were walking down the mall absently, when suddenly I saw someone sitting at a bench back turned. It was unmistakable who it was, an all too familiar hunch and an all too familiar flannel, but I couldn't believe it. Zack was sitting there on the bench. I walked passed him, and we stopped and said hi. I didn't want to act as pleased as I was, so I swallowed it up. He was with his sister and some visiting cousins. He looked shocked and happy to see me as well. At some point we sat at the A&W, and he, his sister and his cousins were sitting behind us. He and I began throwing things back and forth. His sister and cousins seemed slightly alarmed. I was magical and fun, and I of course could not help but see this as a huge sign. It really did seem to me like the universe wanted us to meet. I could never explain it, but there were just so many coincidences.

I ended up listening to The White Stripes 'Elephant' over and over again. Up to that point, I had to say, it was my favorite album of all time. My father hated it. He would come into my room and accused Jack White of being a talentless guitarist. He made it out to be some aggressive juvinile noise album with no melody. He made out The White Stripes like they were a hardcore punk group, or like Black Flag or something. Later on, after he read reviews, he suddenly became highly interested in Jack White, particularly after the documentary, It Might Get Loud. It was kind of unfair, but it happens from time to time. Particular with front men and guitarists. They become icons for older middle class white dudes who want to start being musicians and think of themselves as 'bluesy'. They always end up spending a bunch of money on P.A equipment and specialty guitars and such.

Most of the time they don't really progress too much as guitarists. For them, it's more about what they can buy than it is what they can do. They always latch on to either Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, a number of various blues musicians, and most importantly, The Who. You can find these men in almost every guitar shop across the USA. They are generally dentists or real estate agents. Some of them are retired. They are bored. Their wives pretend to get into it as well, but actually they only like a few of the love songs and otherwise don't care. This sounds as though I am demonizing this, and it's really not the worst thing someone can do. There is nothing really wrong with it, only older middle class white people (if someone tries to tell me I am being racist against whites I am going to laugh) are the most universally typical group of people. If you don't believe me, you have never worked in the service industry. I really don't want to come off like I am discouraging artistic endeavors either. But it's funny to me because it's so universally the same. All these men are identical in my perspective.

Anyway, I mention these sorts of fellows because I feel like this crowd of people kind of took Jack White and claimed him as their own. And yeah, I know these sorts of people are not terrible, deep deep down they as individuals they are intricate human beings with their own unique qualities, our economy depends on their bored mindless spending habits. But they ruin everything. They just do. When they get into music, they take on music like it's an Olympic event. They think the fastest musicians are the best, or the oldest. They are looking for some kind of authenticity that they lost five years into their practicing medicine or whatever. They try to be seen at the right concerts. They are shameless posers. They brag about what they own. They have to essentially be told what to like. When The White Stripes were wholly a thing unto themselves and appealed to minimalism, childhood nostalgia, and abstract perspective they really just took the Jack White is an acclaimed guitarist with blues influence. Meg was a minimalist drummer, and these guys are all vaguely sexist and skeptical if they should like female musicians so she gets ignored.

My father later in time kind of became one of these older people who want to be cool in time, and he took Jack White and made it seem really uncool. He went from complaining about The White Stripes like they were an example of what's wrong with young folk these days to using it as a prop to seem edgy himself. And of course, he never really listened to it. But he would brag to other people like he did.

I have digressed, and should get back to what I was saying. As I go along in my life story, I am probably going to here and there explain my take on slightly off subjects simply because as I got older I formed more personal opinions about the world. It shapes the story to a degree.

There was a slumber party at Ava's that winter break. We invited Teal, whom I still didn't really trust. She was Ava's friend, not mine. And as I have stated before, she shoved me hard in 6th grade, and there was something really revealing about that shove. I didn't think she was a nice person. Basically, all of us sat around (I mostly just listened), and Teal and Samantha talked about their sex lives. Teal had slept with her babysitter, which I thought was kind of disturbing and weird. Her mom had trusted this high school guy to watch Teal as a junior high school student, and this insignificant dopy foolish creep had covered Teal's naked body with whipped cream and licked it off. I remember this story very vividly. This guy was super dull. I felt like Teal liked him on the grounds that he was older than her. And I just could not imagine letting his greasy boring face near me. Of course, that is just me.

At some point in the night, my friends all put on this Andrew WK song and started dancing. I liked Andrew WK, but dancing seemed weird to me. I was starting to notice group psychology a little more. Sarah and Samantha didn't want to do it, but they felt they had to. Teal and Ava were genuinely into it, and everyone was trying to impress Teal. I decided I didn't want to dance. They ended up putting on some boy band music on and I told them with honesty that I didn't want to dance. I told them I didn't like the songs. I wasn't like rude about it, and I wasn't trying to judge them. I just felt like it was 50% phony. Sarah later admitted that it was, and she was confused as to why she danced. And maybe to a certain extent, Zack labeling me as the 'anticonformist' was beginning to get to my head just a little. I was beginning to live up to the hype.

My Uncle Bob had bought us kids the movie 'Spirited Away' for Christmas. It was really good and I ended up watching it frequently. But then Ava came over, and she became this whole other level of obsessed with that movie. She ended up coming to my house off and on from winter break to Februrary just to watch Spirited Away. She talked about how she was the main character Chio, and how Tyeson was the character Haku – none of which makes any sense at all – particularly Tyeson who was mostly stoned at all times and had little ambition or personality to speak of. And I didn't want to address it, but Ava reminded me of Noface when he was manically creating gold more than anyone in the movie. When she went to sleep I had to tip toe over her and turn the television off, and eventually I got tired of watching this movie over and over again with her, but would do it anyway to be nice.

Eventually Christmas break ended, and we were back in school. My uncle and aunt went home. Ava was acting spongtaneous and crazy. She seemed desperate and moody. She had hoped that Tyeson would come back for the second semester, but he never really did. She was in despair. Sarah had just bought herself a lot of Him and CKY merchandise, but other than that, we were all back in the frying pan.

I mentioned Billy Arnett a while ago. He was the guy that I often saw in detention, whom all the girls thought was super hot. By age 18, he had slept with well over 50 girls, not just in our town, but in neighboring ones as well. I really didn't like him because he was starting to take advantage of girls who were way too young for him, and the only thing that stopped me from being outwardly against him as a person was the sad fact that Zack and him were buddies. But a few of the more popular girls in my class were obsessed with him. I guess these two girls who were already enemies both wanted to fuck him, and try to be the girl that could tame the bad boy, as if that were something anyone could ever do. Billy of course didn't care, so long as he was getting laid. He thought these fights were hilarious and he didn't take any of these young girls seriously. There was some kind of cold-war style mutually assured destruction realization between these two girls, Erica and Amanda. One little move would make the whole thing blow up.

Ava, having watched this whole fight go down from afar, decided to see what would happen if she wrote in black sharpie “Erica is a fucking slut who fucked Billy Arnett” in the bathroom stalls. This ended up causing Erica to think that Amanda wrote it. Amanda of course was innocent, but Erica decided to confront her on it, and this all escalated into a fist fight of scratching and punching and physically attacking one another in the girl's locker rooms. All for the love of stupid Billy who didn't even bother to brush his teeth. Meanwhile, Ava and I sat on the bench out in the gym – though we didn't actually see the fight, we watched them both have to be physically separated. It was 100%. I know that sounds bad – it really isn't in keeping with my feminist values, but both of these girls were stuck up, and pretentiously full of themselves and after being in their class for the last eight and a half years, it felt fun to watch this happen. And I hadn't done it personally. It was all Ava. Besides, the two of them ended up becoming friends because of the incident, so I don't feel too badly.

I ended up doing something similarly a few months later. I wrote YOU WILL DIE SOON 666!!! on a sheet of paper, opened up someone's locker – I didn't know who's, and put it in. It ended up going to this ultra sweet girl named Britney. She was one of the few people who was both popular, and truly a wonderful kind human being. She was always nice to everyone equally and didn't judge other people at all. When she opened her locker and saw what was written, she became frightened that someone was after her. And everyone was baffled. Who would ever want to come after Britney? I felt really guilty. I would say sorry today, but that wasn't how I responded then. I just shut my mouth and looked down at my desk as everyone spoke about it for the rest of the year.

I ended up getting kicked out of math class. My math teacher was named Mrs. Rush. She lost it. As is to be expected, it was the first year of alebra, and I was so confused by this part of the years as to what was being taught. I felt like the things you learned one day were contradicted by the lesson of the next, and I could not follow it. I have always needed more time with math. I can't digest a lesson that quickly. There was this rush, and for whatever reason, I simply could not follow even if I had the right attitude. They might has well have been speaking Latin for the entire hour of math. I didn't do my homework ever anymore. I used to stress about it, but now I didn't see the need to stress if the outcome would be the same regardless if I stressed out or if I didn't. Which teachers hate this attitude. I tried in the beginning, and then I simply stopped. I would instead look out the window and brush my hair with my fingers and think about Zack, and song lyrics and daydream about the future. It was on such a day that Mrs. Rush asked me a question abruptly in class. I didn't even know what she had said, let alone the answer. I had been very deep in thought, a strand of my long curly brown hair was in my hands. She flew into a rage. She called me a lazy worthless human being and she demanded I follow her to the office, she was screaming at me the whole time, I don't remember what. She told me I was never allowed in her classroom again.

I was taken into the office, and she yelled at the office woman, and the counselor telling them I was absolutely under no circumstances allowed to be in her classroom ever again. I was a little besides myself, but a little proud in a way. Zack had also been kicked out of math class after all, and now was taking a really dumbed down math class called practical math. I was hoping they would put me in there instead with him. The office women didn't know what to do with me. They had me sit in a chair. The next day I came to the office at that time and asked them what I should do instead of math, and they told me that I had no choice but to go to math class anyway. So I sheepishly went back to Mrs. Rush's class. She glared at me, but said nothing. Perhaps the principal had shot down her ambitions to have me sent somewhere else.

And to be fair to her, I was a miserable student. I really was. I think she was a small minded judgmental woman, but she was passionate about mathematics. More than anyone else I have ever met. I really don't understand that passion fully, but I have to respect it for what it is. She knew a great deal more about things I have never had the discipline to sit down and learn. I do imagine it was hard to have someone like me in her class, essentially disrespecting everything she was passionate about and undermining her determination to teach. And it had to seem dumb, me twirling my hair with hearts for eyes looking out the window all lobotomized by petty teenage fantasies of romance and rebellion against 'the system'. The again, she was getting paid. And she never did anything when she saw I had been beaten by my dad. Cognitive dissonance kicked in and she decided that I deserved it, whatever it was that had happened.

And she got her revenge. Three months later, nearing the end of the school year she had worn this very boring tan pant suit type outfit, and one of the girls in my class complimented her attire. She gushed and started talking about how it looked good on her because she had a certain body type. I wasn't really paying attention to this conversation because it was boring to me, but she then had started to talk about how some women don't look good in pantsuits and should never ever wear them. She then told me to stand up. I didn't really register that this was connected in any way to her conversation, and thought it had to be something more straight forward. I stood up confused. She then started pointing out what was wrong with my body piece by piece, and why I could never wear a whole bunch of different kinds of outfits that she could wear. I realized eventually that she was standing me up in front of the class to essentially point out that I was chunky. She didn't say I was fat, but that was essentially what she was getting at. I sat down, more baffled than anything. It was extremely unprofessional and inappropriate. Good student or no.

Mrs. Rush ended up dying of lung cancer three years later. She smoked like a chimney and it eventually got to her. The town had a huge fund raising thing, and they raised the 120,000$ needed for this operation that had a chance of saving her life, but then she died a week later, and the money went to another person. I was sad about it. She wasn't a bad woman, and despite our problems she didn't deserve death. My father laughed and called it karma – having heard eventually some of the things she said and did. It is one of the many things I don't really like about him, that kind of dumb reactionary bullshit. I knew she also had a very good side. Her husband was a very friendly and warm person, and you could tell they were very much in love. And at one point the next year she had been teaching a class that Sarah was in, and she had a very strange younger girl in her class that was easy to bully, that she kind of assisted the other students at picking on in the class room. Sarah actually went up to her desk after class and told her that she was tired of the bullying and felt that Mrs. Rush herself was provoking it. Mrs. Rush actually listened to what Sarah had to say, and seemed genuinely concerned, having not even realized her own behavior. It isn't actually an excuse, but there is something to be said for a person who is willing to take criticism and learn from their mistakes.

One day in mid January – I actually think it was January 17th, the day was the day to end all days and that date is forever carved into the aged tree trunk of my memory chamber. Zack had taken me aside after FFA, the sky overcast and grey, the outside air brisk, and other than the river the world was very silent, and he had told me that he thought I was a very special person. He looked me in the eyes and said 'You are a very special person Renee'. He took me aside and told me he really really did love me. I was dear to him. And I didn't react, I don't think I could. I was shaking and in shock. And I had to get to my next class.

I honestly would react so differently now, that it hard for me to put myself in the shoes of someone who simply wouldn't react to this. This would not be a situation that would come up now, but if something like this happened to the person I am now, I would have suggested we skip the rest of class and talk by the river. And I would have figured it out that day. Either he loves me and we should date, or he doesn't love me like that and we don't. I now have this internal person who would know how to naturally be in those shoes. But then, I feel like a part of me that should have been there was a blank slate. Maybe I really had no self esteem, or it had been wiped away by my upbringing, a sort of confience that most everyone has that I don't. Or maybe I am naturally someone with a lot of voids in my personality. I think all three are the case.

I was an empty glass. I hadn't been told I was loved in years. I hadn't felt loved for years. I had become so accustomed to being the bottomfeeder that it didn't even hurt anymore. It was hard for me to accept that someone could love me. Each time he stated it, a part of me felt like it was internally being made whole again by an act of magic. Like I was being put back together better than I had been before. I was getting very close to being emotionally able to react, the glass was close to being full, but it was taking me some time still.

I also had no experience with boys really to speak of, outside of throwing things at them and saying flirtation comebacks. If he tried to kiss me and I totally messed up, which would be likely, then what then? And maybe I lacked the courage to reach out. It's hard to be vulnerable, and I had a lot to lose. A lot of my self esteem rode entirely on his daily encouragement. He really was the only thing in the world I cared about. If I did reach back, what if he realized it had been a mistake all along, and I might lose the one thing in life I cared about. I could not afford to lose him for good.

I tried to tell my friends about it. But they didn't really get it. They took it as a typical reporting, even though the situation was a little different than the others. Like, it was practically a confession. After lunch, we were indoors in the gym watching various sport games being played on the gym floor by oblivious students a million light years away from my emotional state. Zack came up to me, and he sat right next to me. He was acting very strangely, and I didn't know what he was doing. He scooted up so close to me he was practically sitting on me, and he grabbed my head. And he began singing 'Creep' by Radiohead in my ear. It was really kind of sporadic and crazy, and hard to explain. It was awkward and atypical, but that had never been anything to stop Zack. I just sort of melted. My friends all looked baffled. I tried to resist him at first, but then just gave in and let go of my ego entirely. He really was kind of off key a bit in his singing, but it didn't matter either. Eventually I just closed my eyes.

Probably for the first time since some doctor had pulled me of my mom's stomach, I felt at peace. I have ASMR so it had a strong affect on me. It's the kind of peace I fully expect at death. I leaned on him and just stopped even worrying about anything. I could have died right then, and the peace I felt would have made it worth it. He finished singing and I was dazed. I couldn't even tell where I was anymore. The whole world around me looked like a new place. The colors had changed and everything. Everything was new again. I was a new person. I was just about to tell him I loved him back. This was it, and I was mustering the right way to say it. I heard him distantly in the outside world of my thoughts saying to Ava that he could tell that I really did love him – as I am sure I was at this point concealing absolutely nothing. And I was about to tell him how I felt and everything at that moment, but then the bell rang and he walked away. I felt like putty and I was unable to reach him. I decided I would tell him how I felt the next day.

But the next day he didn't come to school. Or the next day, or the next. He was gone. My stomach felt sick. Where was he? Why was he gone? Did this have something to do with me? During this time, Ava acted very annoyed with me. Everyone was slightly annoyed with me, I was pining pathetically, barely able to make it through my day without him. Nothing else in the world was real to me. Was it over before it even began? He was gone for two and a half weeks, and there was never a clear definition other than his father came into the office stating that Zack was sick on day three of his absence. How could this happen?

It was around this time that everyone in my class was signing up for driver's ed. It was something I needed to go to, but the idea of driving seemed daunting and unrealistic to me at the time. I didn't really care if I went or not. Nobody really asked me about it either. I ignored all the papers that got passed around, or the office lady talking over the intercom that it was our last day to sign up. It just didn't seem real to me at all. It was all part of that fake world out there that demanded I know things and do things. All that was real was Zack's blue eyes. And he was somehow gone. Because of my drunken haze, and my unclear judgment, I never ended up signing up for driver ed. And I didn't end up learning to drive that year. Or the next, or the next, or the next. And to this day, this is why I don't have a license and can't really drive. Sure, I can turn on a car. I have even driven rural roads of Idaho, which is fairly easy. But other than that, I don't really know. All because Zack sang Creep by Radiohead to me in my ear and I lost my mind.

PART 33 - http://tinyurl.com/y87449dz

PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep

PART 31 - http://tinyurl.com/yae3o4rd

PART 30 - http://tinyurl.com/ybht9aul

PART 29 - http://tinyurl.com/ybfcr9j2

PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47

PART 27 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcj5fgf

PART 26 - http://tinyurl.com/y73nvl73

PART 25 -  http://tinyurl.com/y6v6pgoj

PART 24 - http://tinyurl.com/ycak5d8r

PART 23 - http://tinyurl.com/yac6sk3g

PART 22 -  http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw

PART 21 -  http://tinyurl.com/y783egno

PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt

PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8

PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk

PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng

PART 16 - http://tinyurl.com/yadpsv8c

PART 15 - http://tinyurl.com/yb3lt6k5

PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq

PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s

PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94

PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84

PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw  

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8