Tracks (Rock Bottom) (2 page)

“We’re here!” she screeches in my e
ar. I smile at her enthusiasm.

“It’s so beautiful!” I try to match her
excitement. “Let’s go inside!”

We run up the stairs and open the door with our brand new keys. Pushing the door open, we enter into the foyer of our completely furnished new home. Looking at all of the furniture and art, it was obvious th
at it had all cost a fortune, and I wondered why anyone would want to leave it behind. I concluded that the kind of people who could normally afford a home like this would probably want to buy all new furniture that “fit” their new home. Must be nice. Even when I graduate Harvard, assuming I actually acquire the position I want as a state prosecutor, I probably still won’t be able to afford furniture like this.

After
oohing and aweing at our new place and claiming our rooms, we begin the tedious work of unpacking. The hours seemed to pass quickly, but we managed to get a lot done. By the time evening passes and the dark night falls over the city, we had unpacked everything and had it organized appropriately. We even had the phone and cable company out to set everything up. The only chore we really had left to do was go to the grocery store. Theresa is the cook between the two of us, so she graciously agreed to go for us tomorrow.

Exhausted, Theresa
flops her skinny body down on our couch and reaches for the remote. The TV hanging on the wall in front of her is one of the rare items that didn’t come with the home, but was a housewarming gift from my father. He went into detail about how nice the flat screen was when I had opened it a few days ago, saying a bunch of letters and numbers that were supposed to impress me, I guess. It just looked like a nice TV to me, and that was fine.

I offer to grab Theresa
a glass of white wine to celebrate, walking into the kitchen and looking through the already crowded drawers to find a bottle opener. Successful, I twist the opener into the cork, popping it with a loud sound as Theresa flips mindlessly through the cable guide.

“I have to get used to all the new station numbers…” she mutters, still flipping through the guide as I place two wine glasses on the counter and pour in the liquid. “Oooh!” Theresa exclaims excitedly, throwing the remote
down on the couch in triumph.

I walk over to her, holding a glass out to her as I sit on the opposite side of the long couch. She takes it out of my hand
while not looking at me, her eyes glued to the TV.

I notice she had put
on some music backstory show.

I look at her, warily. She finally turns her head to make eye contact with me. “It’s on Jerem
y Mason! You know I love him!”

I snort at her, sipping my wine. I turn my attention
reluctantly back to the television.

A serious woman’s voice narrates as pictures flash across the screen, “…musical boy genius, turned heartthrob. Even still, for all of his talent and fortune, over the years he couldn’t quite seem to stay out of trouble. Mr. Mason found himself arrested several times for assault, possession of marijuana and cocaine, and disorderly conduct…”

Pictures of him continue to fade on and off the screen. One was him as a boy, not older than 5, as he played the piano for an enormous crowd of people. The next showed him a bit older, dressed in a suit at Buckingham Palace in front of a piano. Another was recent, his hair tossed in all different directions on his head, sweat running down his bare, lean chest. He had a serious expression on his face in all of them- his eyes, although striking blue and beautiful, almost seemed empty or devoid somehow. It was strange to me that a boy living this fantastic, exciting life would be so miserable looking in all of these photos.

I must have had a puzzled look on my face, as Theres
a said, “What’s on your mind?”

I snapped out of my trance. “Nothing,” I
said, sipping again on my wine.

I saw Theresa smile out of my peripheral vision. “Isn’t it awesome that we’re seeing him tomorro
w night?! Front freaking row!”

“Yeah.
Awesome,” I concurred. It was exciting, I must admit. I’m not the kind of person that ever dreamed I’d be front row of any concert, especially the sold out concert of the year. These tickets were worth amazing money. Like, thousands. Each. They were a very gracious and thoughtful (I couldn’t help but rolls my eyes) housewarming present from Theresa’s parents.

“Don’t start on the usefulness of the gift, buzz kill,” Theresa scolded me, obviously seeing my eye roll.
But I mean, honestly, what kind of housewarming gift was that?

Finally I decided I couldn’t keep my eyes open much longer, exhausted from the long and eventful day. Standing up, I stretched and walked over to place my wine glass in the sink. “I’m off to shower, Therese,” I say over my should
er as I walk down the hallway.

She mutters something
unrecognizable as I open the door to the bathroom, still fixated on her show. I shake my head and shut the door behind me, turning the water on before I undress. Next to coffee, showering was my greatest obsession. I was convinced that any problem or sickness could be solved by a nice, long shower. In the shower, I was able to let my mind wander, and even when bad thoughts or memorize arose, at least no one was around to see me cry. Or have a panic attack.

Sadly my shower has to be cut short, as my eyelids slowly begin to grow heavier the second I enter the white tub and close the curtain. I manage to wash my body and hair, at least, and step out to dry off. I walk over to the sink and brush out my hair and brush my teeth, wobbly on my feet. Throwing open the bathroom door, I stumble across the h
allway into my new room.

The white bed with unfamiliar sheets looked more inviting than any bed I had ever seen.
I barely remember opening the drawer to my new light wood dresser, grabbing shorts and a big t-shirt, and throwing them on myself before collapsing on the bed and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I begin to stir as the light hits my eyes, an unfamiliar feeling as my window at home was in a different position in the room, blocking the morning light from entering so directly. I rub my eyes, still hazy with sleep. Stretching, I open them slowly and turn to look at my bedside table. Wow, 11:00 a.m. I’m surprised I’m still so exhausted.

I sit up just in time for my door to fling open. As the adrenaline rus
hes to my heart, I see Theresa scamper into the room. “Good morning!” she sings.

“Thanks for scaring the shit out of me!” I sing back. I’d ask her why she is in such a good mood, but that’s how Theresa is pretty much all the time.

She ignores my snark, as usual, and sits on the side of my bed, smiling widely. “Are you ready to get up and get ready?”

“Ready?
The concert isn’t until six.”

Theresa looks at me confused.
“Yeah, and it’s almost noon.”

“Yeah?”
I give her a confused look back. We sit for a moment in silence.

She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, time to get up and eat!”
She pats my leg before getting up and loping back through the door and down the hallway.

Hopeful that Theresa means she cooked a nice, big breakfast, I manage to pull myself out of bed and follow her out the door. I walk to our kitchen, smiling when I see pans on the stove with eggs and pancakes in them. “Already went to the store?” I ask her, plopping down on one of the wooden chai
rs of our new dining room set.

I hear Theresa grab the plates from the cabinet above her head. “Yes! I woke up early this morning. I barely slept last night. I’m so excited for this concert!” she said, as she plated food for me and sat in down on the table in front of me. After she handed me a fork, I gratefully began to eat, feeling ravenous due to not eating properly the past day or so.

Right
,
the concert
. I mentally sigh, thinking about how I’d rather be at home in my sweats reading a book. What’s the big deal with concerts, anyway? People spend a fortune on tickets to see someone so far away they probably could use a body double and no one would notice. You hear the same songs on the radio. Why not watch them perform on a talk show or something? You’d see better and save a bunch of cash.

Of course, explaining my opinion to Theresa would
n’t help in the slightest. Of this, I was sure. She reaffirmed my belief by relentlessly talking for the rest of the day about the concert. I tried to smile and play along with her enthusiasm, because that’s what best friends do. I was really hoping she’d be able to stay sober and come home by herself tonight. I wasn’t mentally prepared to handle Theresa coming home with a man yet. How was I supposed to drown that out? And seeing these men come home one night and be put out the next morning on the curb like a pile of trash was going to be more than awkward. Theresa, you see, is what some people would call a “player” if she was a man. Because she’s a woman, a lot of people in our high school and college had another word for it.

Of course, they would never call her that to her face, or she’d make their social life hell
, as popular as she is. They would never say it to me, either, or they’d get a fist full of my fingers in their mouth. I really am more of a lover than a fighter, but I’d be God damned before someone would bad mouth Theresa. In fact, I know she did the same for me after people found out how my mom died. No one ever bothered me about that at all, and I know I had Theresa, in part, to thank.

Although her parents had given her a strict talking to about protecting her reputation once she got to Harvard, I don’t actually believe she will settle down. The one hope I have is that it is a Jeremy Mason concert, so at least 75% of the audience has to be women. Right?
That puts the odds a bit in my favor.

Theresa had spent most of the day getting ready. She redid her hair, tried on many outfits, painted her nails, etc. I, on the other hand, did practical things instead. I looked up directions to the venue, ensured our tickets were in our purses, stocked our bags with things we may need, and did an ATM run for cash. That
’s why our partnership worked.

When I finally had time to get dressed, I had to do it quickly. Walking out of the bedroom afterwards, I look up to find Theresa standing in the hallway, looking at me disappointedly. She looked amazing i
n a short, plum colored dress.

“What?” I asked her,
smoothing my shirt.

“Jeans and a blouse
?” she asked me, dissatisfied.

I shrugged. “What’s there to fuss about? It’s a concert. I’ll probably get thrown up on or something. I’m not looking to meet anyone or anything.” I continued walking down the hallway with Theresa by my side. I could see her rolling her eyes out of the corner of my vision, but I decide to drop it, as does she. She knows me and I’m not about to suddenly change overnight.

Grabbing our things, we exit the front of our new home and lock the door behind us, running down the stairs. We hop into my little red car, and before we know it, we’re off to the venue.

It wasn’t a hard place to find, especially because there was a line of cars lined up in dead stop traffic to try to get into the lot.

After 45 minutes in line, we finally pull up to the entrance of the lot. I read the sign before we get up to the cashier. “30 dollars for parking?” I say, exacerbated.
Theresa digs cash out of her wallet and hands it to me. I toss it into the cashier’s hand and he hands me a ticket to put on my dash in exchange. I place it there as I begin to drive away, finding a spot relatively easily and pulling into it.

At this point, Theresa is
bouncing excitedly on my seat- like a 15-year-old boy band fan. At least she’s having fun. “Let’s go!” I said, opening my door. We walk to the font of the venue and through the door, handing our tickets to the man stationed to collect them. When he sees our tickets, his eyes widen and he smiles at us. “Lucky girls,” he says, waving us through.

Yeah.
Yay me.

We enter make our way through the crowded hall, with vendors selling t-shirts adorned with his picture and food and beer. After finding the door that leads to the floor seats, we enter it and hand our tickets to security, who leads us directly to front-row center.

The only thing separating us from the stage is a big, metal gate. We’re so close, I can see dust particles on the curtains. “Wow,” I say, amazed despite myself. This is pretty neat.

Theresa is so flabbergasted she can’t even speak.
I think she mumbles something about how she can’t believe how close he’s going to be, but I can’t be sure of her exact words.

I turn to look at the rows of people behind us. The venue is filled to the breaking point. I am relieved to see that my initial instincts were correct, and most of the crowd seemed to be occupied by women. The girls within the first few rows of us seemed to be around our age, some younger and some older perhaps. They were definitely hard core fans like
Theresa; they were already screaming and chanting. Some, I noticed, were even crying. Crying! As if Jesus had appeared for the second coming.

I snorted at them and turned back around towards the stage just as the lights began to dim. The crowd began to roar almost immediately, the arena once again blazing with lights from cameras and cell phones.
I put my hands over my ears, the sound deafening. Especially coming from the left of me where Theresa stood.