Ripped
Page 78
“I’ll be waiting.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll be hunting her down.”
TWENTY-TWO
MY FRIEND MELANIE SAYS NOT TO WAIT FOR PRINCE CHARMING—HE COULD BE STUCK AT A CONCERT
Pandora
So I heed her advice.
The flight triples my anxiety, but I’m starting to become a pro at this. Once on board, I pop my clonazepam and apologize to the guy in the seat next to mine, saying, “If you need to use the toilet, just wiggle past me, ’cause I sleep like the dead,” and he laughs and says, “No need.”
Next thing I know I’m being shaken—rather violently—by the flight attendant, letting me know we’ve arrived in New York.
New York.
Madison Square Garden.
And Mackenna Fucking I-love-you-you-delicious-motherfucker Jones.
I hail a cab at the airport, lugging my roll-on suitcase behind me. I packed enough for a week, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t really know anything except that he didn’t walk away. That he came back for me.
The minutes stretch as we head toward the concert. I drum my fingers on my thighs, fidget with my fingers, my hair, peer restlessly out the windows. We’ve barely moved three feet in the last half hour.
“Oh my god, this traffic,” I tell the cabdriver, my legs aching with some first-time impulse to run. Just run to him, get him back, talk to him. Come clean at long last . . .
“There’s a concert happening . . . hard to get close.”
“I’ll walk from here,” I tell the driver, slipping him a couple of bills and then, regretfully, hauling out my luggage and looking toward the entrance to Madison Square Garden.
The stage is set up and lit with warm light. I spot one of the roadies and rush forward. “I need to get in,” I say, breathless. He instantly recognizes me—I can tell by the twinkle in his eye as he pulls open the rope and ushers me inside. “Head to the back. I’ll take care of this for you,” he says, gesturing at my suitcase.
“Thank you.”
“Opening act’s about to be done,” he says.
That very instant, the wild music playing in the background shuts off, the lights shut down, and I shuffle to the lower side of the stage, holding my breath as I hear a violin playing in the dark. My flesh pebbles as a soft, haunting tune begins, and when the lights turn on, my eyes fixate on the exact figure they illuminate.
Gah, I love him so much my heart aches in my chest.
He’s down on one knee, a headset with mic curled around his jawline, his head down, and as the rest of the orchestra begins to follow the tune of that haunting, slow violin, Mackenna starts singing.
Like a sleepwalker, I take a step closer to the stage, not close enough to be seen, for he’s in the opposite corner, lost in his own world as he starts a slow and mournful verse.
You flick the candy cotton pink strand in your hair
And I pray to the gods that you’ll be there
In my dreams, fantasies, and nightmares
I’m so scared I’ll never see you again
His words start building with the music, now sounding hopeful.
And you can try hiding behind your anger
And I can try running away
But at night as I sleep, you come crashing in on me
And I’m scared, ’cos you’re the only girl for me
And a big instrumental climax joins in as he sings, louder this time.
You’re my girl
You’re my girl
Pandora, you’re my girl
I can’t ignore ya
I’ve always adored ya
Pandora
I implore ya
You’re the only girl for me
It’s written, it’s meant to be
You’re my girl
You’re my girl
Pandora, you’re my girl
Sky high, thigh-high leather, in all kinds of weather
Tonight, now, then and forever
Come on over, my girl, sink your claws into me
I’m not scared, ’cos you’re the one and it’s meant to be
You’re my girl
You’re my girl
Pandora, you’re my girl
I can’t ignore ya
I’ve always adored ya
Pandora
I implore ya
You’re the only girl for me
It’s written, it’s meant to be
You’re my girl
You’re my girl
Pandora, you’re my girl
The rest sounds almost improvised, chaotic even, as the sound comes to an end.
I should never have dissed ya
Lied about how much I missed ya
I need your sexy fire in my life
No one else can hold a match
To the candle that’s you, you’re a catch
You make me mad
You drive me nuts
You fill my heart
And kick my guts
There’s nowhere I’d rather be
My vampire queen
Yelling, touching, kissing, fucking
Pandora, you’re my girl
When the song ends, there’s a beautiful silence while thousands and thousands of lighters shine in the darkness, the last verse echoing throughout the stadium.
Emotions tighten my windpipe to the point where it’s hard to breathe. This is why he wanted me here.
You think I’ll show up, you’ll sing to me, and we’ll live happily ever after?
That’s what I’m going for . . .
Happiness and love curl like partners in my tummy. I could be seventeen right now. I’m chronologically older and outwardly bitter, but inside, I’m still his girl.
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll be hunting her down.”
TWENTY-TWO
MY FRIEND MELANIE SAYS NOT TO WAIT FOR PRINCE CHARMING—HE COULD BE STUCK AT A CONCERT
Pandora
So I heed her advice.
The flight triples my anxiety, but I’m starting to become a pro at this. Once on board, I pop my clonazepam and apologize to the guy in the seat next to mine, saying, “If you need to use the toilet, just wiggle past me, ’cause I sleep like the dead,” and he laughs and says, “No need.”
Next thing I know I’m being shaken—rather violently—by the flight attendant, letting me know we’ve arrived in New York.
New York.
Madison Square Garden.
And Mackenna Fucking I-love-you-you-delicious-motherfucker Jones.
I hail a cab at the airport, lugging my roll-on suitcase behind me. I packed enough for a week, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t really know anything except that he didn’t walk away. That he came back for me.
The minutes stretch as we head toward the concert. I drum my fingers on my thighs, fidget with my fingers, my hair, peer restlessly out the windows. We’ve barely moved three feet in the last half hour.
“Oh my god, this traffic,” I tell the cabdriver, my legs aching with some first-time impulse to run. Just run to him, get him back, talk to him. Come clean at long last . . .
“There’s a concert happening . . . hard to get close.”
“I’ll walk from here,” I tell the driver, slipping him a couple of bills and then, regretfully, hauling out my luggage and looking toward the entrance to Madison Square Garden.
The stage is set up and lit with warm light. I spot one of the roadies and rush forward. “I need to get in,” I say, breathless. He instantly recognizes me—I can tell by the twinkle in his eye as he pulls open the rope and ushers me inside. “Head to the back. I’ll take care of this for you,” he says, gesturing at my suitcase.
“Thank you.”
“Opening act’s about to be done,” he says.
That very instant, the wild music playing in the background shuts off, the lights shut down, and I shuffle to the lower side of the stage, holding my breath as I hear a violin playing in the dark. My flesh pebbles as a soft, haunting tune begins, and when the lights turn on, my eyes fixate on the exact figure they illuminate.
Gah, I love him so much my heart aches in my chest.
He’s down on one knee, a headset with mic curled around his jawline, his head down, and as the rest of the orchestra begins to follow the tune of that haunting, slow violin, Mackenna starts singing.
Like a sleepwalker, I take a step closer to the stage, not close enough to be seen, for he’s in the opposite corner, lost in his own world as he starts a slow and mournful verse.
You flick the candy cotton pink strand in your hair
And I pray to the gods that you’ll be there
In my dreams, fantasies, and nightmares
I’m so scared I’ll never see you again
His words start building with the music, now sounding hopeful.
And you can try hiding behind your anger
And I can try running away
But at night as I sleep, you come crashing in on me
And I’m scared, ’cos you’re the only girl for me
And a big instrumental climax joins in as he sings, louder this time.
You’re my girl
You’re my girl
Pandora, you’re my girl
I can’t ignore ya
I’ve always adored ya
Pandora
I implore ya
You’re the only girl for me
It’s written, it’s meant to be
You’re my girl
You’re my girl
Pandora, you’re my girl
Sky high, thigh-high leather, in all kinds of weather
Tonight, now, then and forever
Come on over, my girl, sink your claws into me
I’m not scared, ’cos you’re the one and it’s meant to be
You’re my girl
You’re my girl
Pandora, you’re my girl
I can’t ignore ya
I’ve always adored ya
Pandora
I implore ya
You’re the only girl for me
It’s written, it’s meant to be
You’re my girl
You’re my girl
Pandora, you’re my girl
The rest sounds almost improvised, chaotic even, as the sound comes to an end.
I should never have dissed ya
Lied about how much I missed ya
I need your sexy fire in my life
No one else can hold a match
To the candle that’s you, you’re a catch
You make me mad
You drive me nuts
You fill my heart
And kick my guts
There’s nowhere I’d rather be
My vampire queen
Yelling, touching, kissing, fucking
Pandora, you’re my girl
When the song ends, there’s a beautiful silence while thousands and thousands of lighters shine in the darkness, the last verse echoing throughout the stadium.
Emotions tighten my windpipe to the point where it’s hard to breathe. This is why he wanted me here.
You think I’ll show up, you’ll sing to me, and we’ll live happily ever after?
That’s what I’m going for . . .
Happiness and love curl like partners in my tummy. I could be seventeen right now. I’m chronologically older and outwardly bitter, but inside, I’m still his girl.
