Even just saying her name today, I feel amazing. Something flows through my veins that I can’t describe. Like fire, like comfort. Like bliss. I don’t even know.
Fern.
I met Fern that spring. I’d enjoyed the winter: the days ending early, the long darkness. It was the perfect environment for me to write and fantasize about the bands on my wall who felt like a group of friends to me. I spent time with Josephine, and while I truly appreciated her, now that I was comfortable with the idea of making friends and having fun and going shopping and all that crap, I wanted something more. Josephine was wonderful, but we weren’t connected. We didn’t share a common view. There was no passion in it.
And before anyone gets carried away, I’m not talking about sex. I wasn’t looking to Josephine to satisfy any sort of romantic need, or lust. What I wanted was more important than that. Sex is stupid, and it could not have been any less important to what I needed. To describe it in a romantic way would be to cheapen and trivialize my feelings. I wanted a bond. I wanted to truly feel close to someone.
Still, I continued through the school year with Josephine by my side, hemp shoulder bag and all. There was some boy she liked, and we did all the same things that we’d done with the Guy: she walked by him, I dutifully watched to see if he turned his head. I did my halfhearted best to find out his name for her. But it was all so silly. Having a boyfriend seemed completely insignificant next to the more important goals I had: to write. To be creative. But I humoured her.
And I have to admit that whenever I saw the Guy, I still felt stupid. Even after months had passed. I’d tell myself, Fuck him if he doesn’t understand the world. Let him live in his little box. How pathetic, to wear a Bloodvomit shirt and not even understand the message. It was almost comical. Not comical enough, mind you, that I was able to erase from my mind the memory of my voice croaking, “Oh, through the grapevine.”
When the snow began to melt and the little buds on the trees were providing me with plenty of fodder for Ms. Voree’s class, Josephine invited me to yet another party. She was still close to her Our Lady friends and would natter about them from time to time.
I don’t know what it was this time that made me agree to go. She was surprised, but it was all set. The party was on Friday night, and we’d meet in the park and head over. Which left me with a couple of days to regret my decision.
There was so much to worry about. My fear of her friends disliking me and being forced to either endure the awkwardness or think up some lame excuse so I could leave; of Josephine ditching me and realizing how pointless I was; and, obviously, of the normal institutions of drinking and drugs. I hadn’t had a drink before, and I certainly hadn’t smoked weed, but Josephine had, and when she’d brought it up, I’d implied that I had also. Well, not so much as implied as I definitely let her know that I had. I mean, I was cool, right? So now I would likely be faced with a situation where my extensive coolness would be put to the test. I’d have to act like I knew what I was doing. And I fucking didn’t even want to drink or smoke weed. So how the fuck was I going to fit in at this badass party?
Friday evening I let my parents know I was going to go to a party. It was the first time I had ever gone to a party, or gone out at all for that matter, on a Friday night. I approached them after dinner; Mom was in a good mood having just finished a painting.
“With who?”
“Josephine,” I said, and immediately they both visibly relaxed. I guess they were pretty worried that one of these days I was going to fall in with the satanic criminal crowd.
“Oh, that’s good,” Mom said. “Whose party is it?”
“I don’t know. Some friend of hers.”
“What friend?” Dad said.