love and understand

But now they’re grown ups and it’s been years since they’ve spoken and, after a long time of pretending, she’s forgotten what role she plays  around him. It’s stressful. She tries to act general for the most part,  allowing herself quick wit here and there, hoping that traces of the Jo he once knew are still left in the bones of the Jo he’s just met. 

              “Oh, don’t say that about yourself,” she                  teases with a shake of her head, a grin                  ever-living on her face. She hopes it’s                  comfortable. “Make yourself home, by                  the way. I know I don’t have much, but…”

             She trails off to take a seat on the couch.               They’re supposed to be in college now,               right? At this age? “So, what are you doing              now? Like, what’s your major… what’s your              job?”

But she forgot that. It made sense. Why would she even remember Grayson? She was a super star of sorts, always too involved with other people, other things at the end of their senior year. He was left in the dirt, but he couldn’t complain then. She seemed happy, and how could anyone complain about that? But it was still a little disappointing that, despite his terrible memory, he seemed to remember all the little details about Jo. Maybe he was a ghost, after all.

             “Oh, no… I didn’t go to college,” he tells her               then musters a smile before taking a seat. “I just work               at a garage downtown and at the aquarium.” Embarrassing.               He holds back the urge to sigh then nods towards               her. “What about you? Last time I saw you, you               were heading off to art school. Did ya graduate?”

She doesn’t mind much, except for when she decides to have people over and she turns the whole place upside down. After her shift at the crafts store, she finds herself shuffling to tear away all the newspapers and pick up all the shit she’s got on the floor, tossing it all into the giant closet that was her studio before shutting the door. The living room, kitchen, and  bathroom worked cohesively to form the apartment she had hiding under- neath the chaos of her work ethic. 

In the middle of her desperate attempt to not look like such a nun, she  finds a happy medium resting on the spectrum of her style and opens the door with a warm smile. She makes a mental note to get a jacket later. Goddamn shoulders. 

                         “Hey, Gray. You can, uh, come right in.                           I ordered pizza and Chinese. Can’t really                          cook anything, so I figured that was                           second best. And - and it hasn’t come                          yet, but I have some nachos and this                           guacamole that I legitimately made.”

                          “Sounds amazing, Jo. You know I love junk                           food just the same.” It had been a while                           since he got the opportunity to cook a                           nice meal. If this night went well, then                           maybe he’d set a date to cook for her                           some time.

He steps inside her place and smiles at the familiarity- the same small layout of his own apartment. Except hers felt just like Jo and all her glory. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that she cleaned up a little before he came over. There were spots of paint on the floorboards and overall creative tone to the whole place. It was fitting.

                          “I like your place,” he says almost                           absentmindedly before looking over                           with a smile. “I mean, we basically have                           the same apartment, but mine looks like                           a damn ghost lives in it.”

And now comes the obvious time to part, with her music turned down and their encounter lingering in her mind. 

                  “Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” she chuckles with                    the wave of her hand. She tucks her hair back with                   a free hand, wet paint smearing on her temple,                    unbeknownst to her. 

                  “I’ll, um,” she begins, licking her lips for a moment                    before a sly smile appears on them. “I’ll see you                    tomorrow though, right? At seven. I’ll be off work                    then, if you’re free.” 

Time changes everything. Even now that it’s years later, Grayson practically a full grown man. There was still that distance between them. The distance he didn’t want and was so quick to forget about. Just like when he reached over with a chuckle to wipe the paint off her temple. It was something he so often did to her when she walked out of art class seventh period.

                  He returns his hand to his pocket, clenching the                   material inside as if it was a reminder to keep                   his hands to himself. He runs his tongue over his                   bottom lip, a habit he will never break, and gave                   her a nod. “Yeah, I get off around 6 or so. I’ll stop                   on by.”

                  And with that, he gives her a small nod before                   backing up slowly. “It was good seeing, Jo.” Really                   good.

Gingerly, her hand falls from his beard, and back down to her side. She notices the traces of paint on the pads of her fingers and prays to some God that she didn’t manage to somehow get any in Grayson’s  hair. He’s so handsome, though. Inwardly, she swoons. 

                       “If you’re, um.” She goes out on a limb for this                         one. She doesn’t know if it’s exactly alright to                         invite him in. Whether they’re on good terms is                         extremely beyond her. But she hopes deep down,                         he can spare her some forgiveness for the distance                         between them. 

                       “If you’re not doing anything one of these days,”                         she begins, a soft smile on her lips. Maybe it’s a                         little sad too, sympathy for the wear on his soul.                        “You should come down for drinks sometime.                         I don’t know about dinner, but definitely drinks.                         I’d invite you tonight, but, you know, you’re tired,                         and everything…” 

So he backs away once she does, feeling a little strange and saddened. This wasn’t her biology class he always walked her to back in high school. This was her apartment where she lived a whole different life, a life that he no longer knew. But, then again, did he ever really know her life?

                        He can’t help but feel like the invitation is an                         obligation rather than something she actually                         desired. But he keeps his smile, shoves his                         hands deep into his pockets before nodding.                         “Yeah, I’d love that,” he tells her lowering his                         head. “It’d be really nice to catch up with you,                         Jo.”

                        And with that, he doesn’t know what else to                         say. Of course a part of him wanted to let her                         know how suddenly awake he felt, but he figured                         he’d leave her be. That’s what he did best, any-                         how. “Well, I’d say sorry for bothering you, but                         I’m kind of happy I did.”

It’s disorienting and surreal, but something about him always feels like  home. He’s a man now, and if he was any less of a man when she last saw him, she can’t begin to fathom what all that’s changed for him. He must  have it quite good. Perhaps as good as good goes whenever you’re living in a shitty place like their complex, but… she doesn’t know. She always  figured Grayson would go places being the hardworking man he was. It makes her shift in her place a little; now she has to think of some sort of exciting story to tell him if they decide to make small talk. She stuffs her  hands into the pockets of her overalls. 

                         She gazes behind herself as he mentions                           something about being a zombie, looking back                          over to him to chuckle. “You’re not going to                           bite me, are you?” Traces of a cheeky smile                          adorn her face.

                         Then the smile comes full fledged a moment                           later. “Just a little there. I always knew you’d                          turn out to be old and Gray,” she teases,                           bringing one painted hand out of her pocket                          to reach over to touch his beard. 

He knew he was looking twice his age, acting almost three times more. It was a little sad, considering he didn’t think about it too often. Now it was all he could see, all he could feel. The ache in his bones, his tired soul. He mirrors her stance and digs his hands into his pockets before leaning his head against the side of the doorframe. The warm smile never falters and he can’t help but laugh at her little jokes. Typical Jo.

                          “Don’t worry,” he laughs, “I won’t bite you.                           The last thing you need to be is a zombie                           like me.”

                          He can’t help but to grin when her hand                           reaches out to touch his beard. Back then                           he was always particularly clean, but the                           years of stress had caught up to him.                           “I thought it was about time to embrace                           my inner grandpa.”

Long story short, he’s done a lot of growing up over the past handful of  years, and it brings her to inevitably wonder if she’s done the same.  But living in a run down place like this, in such a shoddy area of town -  it’s hard to say anything all too impressive. 

                  “You live down the hall and I never noticed?”                   She chuckles, embarrassed. It’s difficult to make                   eye contact with him for many reasons.                   “God, I’m an idiot.”

When he mentions her music, she hides her face, laughing a little. 

                 “Ah, shit, right. I’m so sorry,” she apologizes sincerely,                    shaking her head. “I was just… kind of in my own world,                   you know how it goes. But, uh, yeah - I’ll turn it off. I’m                    sorry.”

She doesn’t know if she’s reacting the way she should, but in her mind  she’s acting like they hadn’t not seen each other in so long. Sort of like  they just saw each other the other day. Is that healthy?

He’s not too sure what to say, not sure if it’s better for him to go back to bed or attempt to bring up some sort of conversation. Though it was nice seeing her, it kind of felt like seeing a ghost. He wasn’t used to seeing too familiar faces. Everyone he ever knew took off after high school and made a name out of themselves. Of all the people, he always expected to see Jo’s name in lights. She was always a superstar in his eyes, and maybe that’s exactly why he seemed to back off before she left. She didn’t need any dead weight like him.

                 “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s my                   own,” he explains with a                   chuckle. “I’m like a zombie                   around here. Barely notice                   anything other than my bed.”

Ah, maybe that was a little sad to admit, but it was true. If he paid attention from time to time, he might have been able to run into an old friend in a much more reasonable hour.

                 “Don’t even worry about it.                   Hell, I probably play my                   music just as loud.” He                   feels a bit of regret soon as                   she says she’ll turn it off.                   “No, really, don’t turn it off.                   Just turn it down a notch…                   God, I sound like an old                   person, don’t I?”

But then the stranger says his name and then he becomes less of a  stranger, yet she struggles for recollection. She doesn’t know who he is. She peels the door back a little more, so that she can get a better  look of him, but he’s still no one familiar. Just someone reminiscent of  a less-successful Billy Mays, like she’s thought previously.

                   “Yes, that’s me. Sorry, er -                       how can I help you?”

Her realization a second later is as stark as a shooting star falling on the top of her head. Her memory is jarred completely and she looks into those deep eyes, swimming through rivers of the past. It’s fucking Grayson.

                   “Whoa. Hi, wow, um.” She has to take                     a breath to collect herself. She hasn’t                     seen him in years. What, um, what                     brings you here?” 

But then she remembers him, and he can’t help but to feel a smidge of relief. Maybe he feared that their friendship wasn’t really anything to her, and that could still be true. They lost touch, after all. It may have been his fault, he wasn’t too sure. Despite how charismatic he could be, he tends to act more like a grandpa than his own age. Tired, forgetful, and keeps to himself. Yep. Sounds about right.

                   “Oh,” he says suddenly                     after realizing how strange                     it may have seemed to her.                     “I live down the hall, I didn’t                     track you down in the middle                     of the night or anything.”

Then embarrassment takes over as he realizes his initial reason for walking over. The last thing he wanted to tell Jo was to turn her music down then walk away like this moment was nothing. And maybe it really wasn’t much, but he couldn’t help but to feel some sort of joy in seeing a familiar face. Like a breath of fresh air.

                   “I’m an asshole,” he starts                     letting out a laugh and rubbing                     his neck like he so often did.                    “I’m pretty exhausted, so I was                     coming over to nicely ask you to                     turn down the music. But… it’s                     you.” He smiles, nothing too big                     but one of his classic warm grins.

Hunky Liam Hemsworth Steps Out

She’s never been the person to judge. There’s a lot of things about her that people tend to pin on the wrong side of the spectrum just because of her looks. Junkie. Burnout. All of those things she’s not even close to. So it’s a bit unfair that she’s basing her decision of opening the door on the man’s looks, but she’s lived long enough in rougher parts of the country to understand that perhaps opening a door for a stranger at such ungodly hours in the evening isn’t the smartest idea.

Especially if he looks a bit like an exhausted Billy Mays, wrung out  from his grave, nothing but a beard to make a name for himself. 

She pushes her bottom lip to one side, curling in contemplation. At this point she’s already left him out there for about a minute or so, which is long enough - and he probably knows someone’s home. 

With a deep breath, Jo collects herself before opening the door just a  bit, peeking out. Her gaze is evasive, but it reaches his own after she gains some bravery. “May I help you?”

 The door opened, and to his surprise, it was just a seemingly normal looking girl. Well, not girl but woman, even if he towered over her. He attempted to rub the sleep from his eyes, the ghost of a tired smile gracing his lips while he tried to hold the polite demeanor.

                         “Hey, sorry to bug you,” he started, “But-”

Before he could even finish, he found himself suddenly lost in thought, eyes examining her fingers covered in paint. It somehow brought him a sense of nostalgia, a sense of familiarity. His eyes lifted to greet hers, and the instant he noticed those icy blue hues, he knew exactly who was standing right in front of him. How strange…

                         “Jo?”

at this point, her apartment is less than an apartment. it’s been converted into a studio of sorts, makeshift, with newspaper scattered all over the  floor everywhere but the kitchen and the bathroom. thankfully, there  aren’t many walls that separate her apartment, leaving it for a very  tranquil, open space environment; just the sort of atmosphere she needs to complete the piece that had been driving her mad for days on end,  now. 

it’s just that every stroke of her brush or every press of the nozzle of her spray can into the canvas leaves her feeling entirely delirious, and  it’s not because of fumes, either. it’s because she’s at a bit of an art  block. she hasn’t made anything great in weeks. there have been medi- ocre pieces here and there, things she’s sold on the streets for five- or-something dollars to get her through a daily, weekly basis, even.

but none of it can get her through her rent for this month. by the time  she’s saved some of it, it runs away to other bills, other necessities. so  she’s frustrated.

desperate for a wake up call and a sudden re-entering of her natural, peaceful artistic climate, she walks over - no, hops over some paint  buckets and palettes all over the floor - to her radio and starts to play  an old ipod of hers. it’s not too loud, but some might say it’s a little  bothersome, what with it being nearly three a.m. and all, but jo figures she’s on good terms with everyone so they won’t really say anything.  besides, she’ll only have it on for one song.

but about five songs later, the beatles have been playing their greatest hits and you can’t turn off hey jude. at this point, she’s got a great start on her painting, better than she’s had in ages. johanna is unstoppable.

But then he remembers the kind of monster his father was and the monster he made out of Grayson’s brother. It was enough to make him not give a damn about money. He’d rather be dirt poor than live to see himself become another money hungry member of his family. So, he works most days at the auto repair shop downtown and the local aquarium. Ideally not the kind of jobs he envisioned for himself, but he didn’t hate it. As long as it puts food on his table, he can’t complain.

But he can complain on the days he worked a shift at both work places. He felt pretty entitled to complaining, at least. Especially when all he could hear in the middle of the night was the vibrations of bass and familiar music humming through the halls. That’s the thing about cheap apartments – thin walls. He sighs, turns in his bed and feels the aches of the day pulsate with the music. He didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to be the farthest from that guy, but for god sakes. It had been a long day of endless work and all he wanted was some decent sleep.

So he drags out of bed and slips on a t-shirt before wandering down the hall and running a distressed hand through his hair. He gave himself a mental note to get a haircut soon. Every step he took felt like agony, his weight somehow ten times itself. This was exhaustion and all its glory. Once he reached the door, he gave it a knock – nothing hard, nothing too soft. He wanted to at least seem civil about it all. Especially since he didn’t even know who was going to be behind the door. He decided that if it looked like a meth addict or a gang member he’d make some excuse about knocking on the wrong door. Yeah. Great plan.