Paper Ghosts

Paper Ghosts

  Vanessa Deroo

  Copyright 2013 Vanessa Deroo

  Cover by Luke Bassett (Copyright 2013 Luke Bassett)

  TRACK LIST

  Quiet City

  Future Girl

  Live Fast (Beth)

  Max & Sally

  Pen and Paper Girl

  BONUS TRACK: Haunts (The End and Everything After)

  Author’s Notes

  Quiet City

  I have hundreds of stories about girls who broke my heart. Mum always said I was too sensitive.

  I loved riding my bike back from work at night. I loved the lights, the almost silence. The smell of the town. Half-asleep, half-dangerous.

  My house was a mile away from the record store. I spent my weekends behind the counter, providing advice and selling rare and not so rare LPs to people who were as passionate as I was. I was a twenty-one-year-old indie boy, and I thought my life was perfect, in a Rob Flemming way. Heartbreaks included. They were like my favourite songs: overplayed and overloved, they never left me.

  Oh Macie, remember me? Your sad grey eyes when you said we'd work better as friends.

  Jenni, you moved five hundred miles away from me, and all I got left were postcards and my name tagged on some old Facebook pictures.

  Laura, beautiful and mysterious Laura, your chocolate eyes were another dream of mine. Too bad you never even got to know my name.

  Cut to that particular summer night. I was on my way home, smelling a barbecue somewhere as I rode past kids playing on the pavement. My mp3 player had broken a few days before, so the lights and the shadows of the city were going to be my only company for quite some time. And all the while my mind was rushing, rushing through my teenage loves and memories.

  I rode through Middle Street before racing down to the seafront. I saw the bench, and the memories connected, once again.

  Track one, when I hugged Jenni goodbye.

  We never really dated. She was fourteen, I was fifteen, and I used to dream about running my hand in the softness of her blonde hair. She invited me over to her birthday party and that was how it started, us. She loved The Rakes and Jaffa Cakes.

  She called me on a Sunday afternoon to tell me she was moving back to her dad's. I made her a Goodbye Mixtape, and gave it to her on that bench. She cried a little. The first track was ‘We Danced Together’ by The Rakes, of course.

  We never kissed.

  As I pedalled past The Pier, I remembered Macie, the fierce redhead with a fondness for funfairs and cheap toys.

  Track two. Macie Johnson, my first kiss. She was a funny girl of sixteen, crazy about Johnny Cash. I think I was in love with her. She left me for Larry Hammonds a little less than two months later. She said I was more like a best friend than a “true boyfriend”. I spent the following six months listening to ‘Love's Been Good To Me’, and then bought my first guitar. I heard her friend Katie fancied me.

  Macie and Larry got married during Uni. I wasn’t invited.

  I decided to ride back into town. Kemp Town was noisy and joyful, but then I rode to St Georges and weirdly enough, things got quieter over there.

  Track three. My memories took me back to that sunny day after A-levels, when we all went out to celebrate. Six guys, seven girls, my best mate Alex, Ross and his girlfriend Karen, some other people from school.

  And Laura.

  I never knew her surname. She was the most fascinating girl I had ever met. Beautiful brown eyes, jewels everywhere, and a pierced nose. We’d never talked to each other before that day, but on that afternoon, between a Tesco raid for ginger beers and a massive fight between Ross and Karen, that afternoon I got to talk to Laura.

  She explained she was going to Sussex University in the fall – Film Studies – and she asked for my favourite movies. I mumbled High Fidelity, even if I was more inspired by the book than the movie in itself. She then referred to me as ‘music nerd’ and wanted to know about my favourite songs. I wasn't used to talking about myself. I just wanted to listen to her voice. She was a Tori Amos fan and played piano just for fun. I really wanted to ask her out.

  Later that evening, we all gathered at a guy's A-Levels party, and Lady Gaga was blasting on the speakers, and Laura kissed Alex in the kitchen. I sat there, drinking JD & Coke and thinking about cool movies and bad romances. And I put on The Cars' ‘My Best Friend’s Girl’ before I left.

  11pm. Almost home. My street was quiet as ever. I was alone tonight. I knew Alex was out in town, and Katie texted me a bit earlier. Maybe I'd meet her for a drink and more.

  Maybe.

  My guitar was in my room, waiting for me. Everything was quiet, but my mind was racing.

  Mum always said I should write songs about girls who broke my heart.

  Future Girl

  I'm sitting here on a red sofa, right in front of you, listening to you go on about your life, about how you don't want to miss a beat ever again, how you think it will be different this time. How you think you've changed, and you keep drinking cheap white wine. You talk about second chances a lot, and you laugh when your friends talk about love.

  We're still days away from the crash. You have no idea.

  He's going to call you. Your friends will give it a week before you give in. Because he's that kind of man, the kind of man you could die for.

  He'll win you over in a night, screaming your name in the dark. The magic in this. He's going to love you. You could die for him.

  He will watch you. ‘Is this love?’ you'll wonder. All those nights, all those days. The friends will say you've changed, in a good way. Because people always believe love is the best of remedies.

  Two years from now, a wedding. He'll say your name like he won't ever forget.

  Three years, a baby girl. He's still calling your name, and her name, too. And this is happiness, you’ll think. This is what you were thinking about on that night, on the red sofa.

  The friends will drift away, because this is life, and you have love. All those nights, all those days.

  Three years and a half, your name is fading. He won't say it anymore. ‘Is this love?’ you'll wonder.

  It will make you sick to see him drift away, but you'll hold on to the sparks. What's left of love when love goes away.

  Four years before the screams, five before the blood. Screaming your name in the dark. There's no magic in this.

  Your skin will age and bruise and bruise again, and you won't wonder about love anymore. You'll say you had your chance, but you'll stay. You'll watch baby girl grow, hoping she won't make the mistakes you've made. And soon enough, she will drift away, too, because this is life, and her life will tell her to run.

  You could die for this.

  You do.

  Flashback to that night, when it was all about hope. I'm watching you, your immaculate skin, and I remember that laugh of yours, but where I come from, we don't laugh like this ever again. We smile sometimes, a sad grin when we think about the past, drinking cheap white wine. I remember I used to think about second chances a lot.

  I should tell you to run, too.

  You're with your friends, and they say there's a letter for you on the table.

  Drink the wine, and open this letter.

  ‘I'm sitting here on a red sofa, right in front of you, listening to you go on about your life, about how you don't want to miss a beat ever again. How you think it will be different this time’

  Live Fast (Beth)

  You see. You feel. You touch.

  You miss.

  On repeat.

  I remember the butterflies, I want them all the time, the exquisite pain of knowing you're around and yet so far.

  So far.

  They say I should slow down, but what's left when you stand still?
<
br />   They say I should get some rest, but you're not around to let me rest, and there's no time left.

  I don't want to let you go.

  Not this time.

  Funny how memories build themselves on ashes, on almost nothing. Funny how they stick with you, all this time, following you until they die.

  On repeat.

  I hate the heartache, I hate the emptiness, I hate the silence and I hate the loss.

  So I'm moving on, and I keep on living, I keep on burning pictures, hoping the ashes will create new memories, because I'm tired of letting you go, and you're just a silhouette now, and I can't stand still, because it feels too real.

  I see, I feel, I touch.

  I miss.

  On repeat.

  I let paper ghosts burn inside my head, and now you're one of them.

  Max & Sally

  Max was a lonely boy. No friends to talk to after school, no brother or sister to share stories with. No pets, either – he was allergic. So he soon replaced friends with words: books were his best friends, and the school library his playground. And on weekends, when the school was closed, Max spent his time in his second favourite place after home: the cemetery.

  He loved going there and reading on a bench, near the graves. It was so silent. Not a creepy silence, more like a serene one. Max felt like he was alone in his kingdom. No one would pay attention to that tall twelve-year-old with scruffy hair reading fantasy books and eating chocolate on cold Saturday afternoons. There weren't many people around anyway. You don't mourn a lot of people in January.

  Max met Sally in January.

  He was reading Harry Potter & The Goblet Of Fire. His favourite character was Neville Longbottom, the shy, awkward Gryffindor student, someone he could relate to.

  He was reading the scene at the Hogwarts ball, when suddenly...

  ‘Are you a ghost? I've never seen you before!’

  Max jumped so hard that his book and his empty box of chocolates fell off the bench, scaring some pigeons away. A young girl was standing right in front of him, a little smiling brunette with blue eyes and pale cheeks. Sally.

  ‘Who...who are you?’ Max mumbled, picking his things up from the ground.

  Ignoring his bad mood, Sally sat on the bench and said:

  ‘You’re reading Harry Potter! I love Harry Potter. I think my favourite character is Neville Longbottom. Who's yours?’

  Max looked at her. He was no longer mad. They began to talk. Sally was twelve too, she liked books and video games, and loved chocolate. She lived ‘really close’ and played and sang there every day.

  ‘On your own?’ Max asked.

  ‘You're never really alone here’, she replied with a smile.

  When Max went back home that evening, he was so happy to tell his parents he’d been with a friend.

  They spent their Saturdays and after-school afternoons together, singing songs and sharing chocolate and books. Neil Gaiman, RL Stine, Sally's collection was impressive. That girl was definitely special.

  So special in fact, that Max decided to do something for her for Valentine's Day. That Thursday after school, he stole a bottle of pink champagne from his Mum's closet, grabbed his favourite chocolates, put them in a box and ran to their spot, an old grave under a tree.

  And he waited.

  He waited all afternoon. Darkness was slowly covering the cemetery when he decided it was time to leave. And then, he heard a voice. It was Sally's for sure. She was down the hill, singing...with people. Ghosts.

  You're never really alone here.

  Max ran up to Sally and, without a word, gave her the chocolate box.

  She caught Max's eyes, and her smile was brighter than the moon.

  Pen & Paper Girl

  Finally she was here, taking orders and smiling. After days of worrying and being on the road, she had found her place at last: a town in North Carolina, a hotel room, and a new diner looking for more staff. A new life on the go.

  Emily Jean Levene (or Emma, as her rare friends would call her) was twenty-five. She was brilliant, fun, sometimes a bit shy, really literate. Redhead. Snow white skin. She had freckles and green eyes. And scars on her body.

  She had spent the past six months in a hospital. Six months full of darkness and coloured nightmares at night. And then, the lights. And she knew there was something for her, somewhere.

  When the doctors finally released her, Emma took a bus. There was nothing there for her anymore.

  The journey was amazing. It was fall, and all the colours were bursting under the fading sun. Emma loved the autumn season, because everything was beautifully falling apart. Just like her mind.

  She stopped in Wilson because it was named ‘The City of Beautiful Trees’. She found a room in an America’s Best Value Inn, and a job at Parker’s. The future was taking shape.

  There was something beautiful about new beginnings. There was the promise of hope, of dreams to be lived, of hearts to be fulfilled. Even if right now, it only meant pouring black coffee to workers and neighbourhood mamas. She would take anything to forget, anything to come clean, again.

  The job was somehow relaxing. Locals were curious to know about that new girl in town and Emma created a story where she was a young woman from Arizona looking for a new life. Little white lies. Customers loved her croaky voice. Emma loved their stories and their everyday routine. There was Mo, 8.30 am sharp, orange juice and pancakes. Alvin, 10 am, coffee and refill. Eliza, sweet tea and coleslaw at 11 am, and her children, twins Avery and Ella. These people waiting to confide their secrets, and Emma watching them live a life she often dreamt of.

  A quiet, simple life, without storms.

  Back in her hotel room, she would take her diary, to write her people’s secrets. It was her therapy. She remembered what her psychiatrist would say: “You need to find distractions”. New faces, new stories to tell, to forget her own pain. Giving life through words was her favourite hobby. Sometimes, Emma would write poems for her new friends. She gained a nickname, “pen & paper girl”. Eliza asked for her to come at the school party to read one of the children stories she wrote.

  One day, it was Spring, Emma left. No one knew what happened to the Pen & Paper girl, but one of her poems is still behind the counter at Parker’s. It reads:

  There are words I’ll never forget

  Fragile days and stormy nights

  Filling hearts with fantasies

  So many scars to hide

  So many smiles to see

  Falling

  Beautifully

  BONUS TRACK

  Haunts (the end and everything after)

  ‘This is a brief love story. Kind of. What did you expect?’

 

  This city would never let her sleep, let alone think. At two in the morning she was still surrounded by noises. It was hopeless.

  She looked out the window. Several years before, these lights and never-ending songs of the streets were burning her mind. Never-ending fun, everywhere…now it was just cold sounds and empty gestures. She sighed, and went back to the kitchen to have a beer. Simple things still pleased her.

  A quick look around. ‘Will you ever grow up?’ her mother asked frequently, annoyed by her mess of a teenager. ‘You’re almost twenty-five for God’s sake!’ And then, inevitably, she would roll her eyes, sigh and ask her husband why oh why did their only child turn out to be a redheaded punk rather than a sensible and charming housewife, please don’t you want to settle down, or at least give it a try? Well, she didn’t say that part out loud, but that was the idea. Poor Mum, if only she knew.

  There was a framed picture on top of the cupboard. She’d never had the courage to throw it away. She stared at it for a moment, while drinking her cheap, cherry-flavoured beer. Two people, holding hands and smiling. A redheaded pixie and a huge ocean-eyed guy. The handwritten caption read:

  ‘L, 9/5/2005. You.Where?’

  Images of the road flashing, guitar sounds, his voice falling a
nd his eyes looking into hers the whole way through.

  She reached out and turned the picture down on its frame.

  Time to forget.

  She spent the rest of the night watching lame re-runs on TV, hoping for an old Top Of The Pops episode to emerge at some point (because she’d never seen the one with Pulp performing, and wanted to change that). Then the alarm rang. An old Dead Kennedys song, ‘Your Emotions’.

  7 a.m. Ghosts from the past. Everywhere.

  *

  ‘So…’

  ‘Anna’

  ‘Yeah, Anna. A copy of today’s lesson will be in the database soon. See you next week?’

  The 17 year-old girl gave Lewes a puzzled look before leaving the classroom. It wasn’t lost on him, and he wondered how he could not know her name. He had been her teacher for six months now. Teachers were supposed to know their students’ names, right? Oh well. At the end of the day he was only a literature teacher, not her ‘best friend forever’.

  He looked at his watch. It was nearly lunch time. Tom-avoiding time.

  Tom had been his first friendly colleague here. No, let’s rephrase that. Tom had been his first fanboy here. Really, who would have guessed that in an average college located in an equally average town, someone actually knew about him?

  Before he realised, Tom was leaning against the door, smiling.

  ‘Hey Rockstar! Ready to go out?’

  Too late, again.

  ‘Do you have any B-sides left?’ he asked with a prying smile.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Demos?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about some rare recordings? Oh my god, tell me you still have a version of ‘She.Were?’ lying around!’

  ‘NO!’

  Tom looked a bit confused. ‘Sorry mate’ he muttered. ‘It’s just…man, you were in my favourite band! The first band I saw play in this town! It’s crazy to have you here, you know?’

  Oh, he knew all right. He probably would have felt the same way if someone like Robert Smith or Thom Yorke had walked by and said ‘Hi! I’m a new colleague of yours, nice to meet you’. Trouble was, he was no Robert Smith or Thom Yorke, not at all. He was just Lewes, the guy who, five years before, had recorded a cover of The Dead Kennedys’ ‘Your Emotions’ with his band. Just for fun. To his surprise, the cover became famous, overplayed around the country. His band soon became the favourite soundtrack of a bunch of young people, students and dreamers who wanted more. Then the band recorded an album called Entity featuring the song ‘She.Were?’. As a matter of fact it should have been ‘She. Where?’ but the printer had probably been too drunk to care, or just plain stupid. Anyway, it became ‘She.Were?’, and, although it wasn’t a single, people went mad about that track. Every night, for three and a half years, Lewes took his guitar, opening the gig with these words: