2017, Spring
Marie and Evelyn sit on the rooftop of their hotel, sharing a bottle of whiskey, alone.
A draft begins, as it always does, a conversation starter of nonsense neither girls care too much about. Speak of nails and grades, hair and boys.
“Do you remember that one time, back home, when we stole a bottle of whiskey from that gas station and sat in an alley laughing about it?” Marie couldn’t help but be reminded of the night as she stares into the stars with so much to say and such little motivation to actually say it. Evelyn, sitting on the floor of the rooftop, laying her back against a generator replies, “Don’t think too much about the past, it’s not good for you. We’re here so, think about now.” Evelyn and Marie would take a bullet for each other, but they don’t talk about that kind of stuff, it would be too awkward.
Marie looks at Ev, as if she’s said something brilliant, out of this world, but this happens often. Everything Evelyn says sounds brilliant in Marie’s ears, everything.
Marie doesn’t know how to say what she’s thinking, so she continues to stare. She lays her head against her own shoulder, thinking that maybe if she makes it obvious enough, Evelyn will make the first move. Evelyn will notice.
“I really care about you.” Evelyn comforts, while she takes the last swig of the bottle, before it’s once full and worthwhile contents drain out to something empty, and wasted. Marie’s gaze breaks and she traces her eyes down to the glass, and wonders if it craves to be full again.
Evelyn puts her hand on Marie’s shoulder, and their eyes meet each other. For the first time of the night, they’re really seeing each other.
Evelyn opens her mouth, about to speak, “What are you doing?” Blurts Marie, who can’t feel her torso. She’s never felt like this before, so helpless, so vulnerable.
“You’re just, my best friend, M. I want you to know that you can feel comfortable around me, I want you to feel comfortable around me.” Marie has never longed to melt into the concrete below her more than ever. Or cry, she’s never wanted to cry more than ever. She continues to stare at Ev, but begins to shake her head. At first she makes small, unnoticeable movements, but after a few seconds, her shoulders are moving in attempt to catch up with the lefts and rights her head leads. “You know I don’t want to hear that— you know I can’t hear that.” Marie shouts. She can’t hold it in.
It could be the whiskey or the nostalgia, but maybe, just maybe, it’s the fact that she’s held it in that she’s been in love with her best friend for 3 years.
Evelyn still locks her eyes on Marie, but the expression in them has changed. She doesn’t know what to do.
“I love you, I love you, and I can’t understand why.” Marie cries out, louder than she expected. By now she’s done looking at Evelyn, she’s all over the place, finding importance in lines on the floor, satellites in the sky.
“M,” Evelyn starts, but as soon as she lets it out, Marie jumps up from Evelyn’s side and heads toward the door downstairs. She’s embarrassed. Evelyn jogs over to her and grabs her arm “You’re not wrong for feeling this way, it’s just—“ Evelyn can’t figure out how to not hurt her friend, so she just speaks, “I love you and I hope you know that, but, I can’t love you in that way.” She let’s go of her arm and they share a last glance, both of regret and guilt, as Marie opens the door. She slowly turns her head back, one foot in the hallway and one still on the roof, “I’m sorry for ruining this.” She closes the door.
September 19, 2004 New York. I’m finally here. Four years of high school, four years of convincing my parents I’m not insane for wanting to peruse acting. “It’s not realistic, David.” “You need to have a real job David, it won’t pay.” They haven’t supported my decision, but it’s not theirs to make. I’m an artist, full and through. I have an audition tomorrow morning. An indie film, about a teenager named Hades growing up in a lower class family. He has undiagnosed bipolar disorder and can’t understand why he acts the way he does. He tries his hardest to be his best self, but can never figure out why his best self isn’t good enough. I understand him. I see him. I know I can do him justice, I can do it.
September 20, 2004 This morning has been so eventful, I just can’t explain it! I woke up to my alarm as usual extremely well rested. The best part is, I was excited! I wasn’t dragging or dreading, but genuinely excited. After cooking a meal on my portable stovetop I got last month, when I moved in, I got ready for my audition. I put on my outfit I had picked days before, not wanting to stress about anything on the important morning. I left my apartment and began my walk to the audition building. Only 3 miles. Last week, I walked 5 miles to try for a commercial lead. I wasn’t feeling it like I’m feeling this. I’m feeling this. I see the building. Twisting the polished handle on the tall wooden door, I stepped into the stone premises of unending opportunity.
September 20, 2004 I ace it. I remember all my lines, I give my heart to the judges. They tell me, I did well. I did well! I know I’ve landed it. The first thing I do once I run home is call my parents. They’ve always doubted my career choice, never know my talent. This’ll make ‘em love me. I know it. September 25, 2004 I’ve been busy. I’m Hades. I know I am. I spend the last bills in my savings on a new wardrobe, black hair dye, and a new haircut. I need to get in character. Once they call me and finalize my role, tell me I’m the best actor they’ve seen, tell me I’m the best, they’ll be delighted to see how prepared I am. Shooting starts on November 2nd, but maybe they’ll move it up, I don’t need anytime to prepare anymore, I’m ready!
September 30, 2004 Maybe I put my number down wrong, maybe my apartments phone isn’t working. This dirty apartment, this poor apartment. It’s probably nothing, maybe they’re just letting people down first, give them time to heal before they announce the winner.
October 10, 2004 This crummy apartment. These useless landlords. I call, I say my phone isn’t working, they say it it, I say I Know it isn’t. They don’t get it. They’re trying to call me. Tell me my news. I need to go there. Tell them they don’t have to worry anymore, I know I got the role.
October 11, 2004 I run back to the building I stepped into 21 days earlier. Twist the same polished door knob, stride into the first door to the left on the hallway to the right. “I’m here!” There’s nobody there. I see a poster on the wall, “Shooting November 2nd.” They knew I’d come. This is for me.
Present (November 2, 2004) David throws on his most expensive outfit, a light purple tux that fits slightly baggy on his legs, but he doesn’t notice. He sprints 6 miles to 277 Oscar Road in Midtown and rips the knees of his pants when he trips on a empty pizza box, but he doesn’t notice. He arrives. There’s security. He has no nerves. “I’m the lead actor for the movie, you can let me in.” The tall security guard laughs at the skinny boy in a ripped purple suit. “Leave or I’m calling the cops, kid.” “I’m telling you sir, I’m the lead, Hades, I’m Hades.” This is the last time I’m gonna tell you, kid.” David feels the need to prove to this guard that he’s who he says he is. He runs around the guard and leaps in front of the camera. “I’m here! You all, I’m finally here!” Security runs at him, he grabs a camera, and hits him in the head. Hard.
“Look at me! I need you to listen!” My pulse is pounding through my veins. I can’t focus on anything but the blood pumping through me. I can feel it: in my arms, and my thighs, my heart. “Look at me, you monster!” My ears attempt to listen, but the silence is so loud it blocks out his noise. I know he’s in front of me, but I can’t see him. “Where is he, David? Where is he?” I sense a hint of desperation in his voice. It’s comical in a way, the strong man with the deep voice; desperate. I drag my eyes upwards, and lock them on the police officers face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir.” I’m not lying. I don’t know what happened. I know I went to sleep an innocent man, and woke up a criminal. I know I killed that boy. But truly— I don’t know what happened.
