MARIGOLD // Dave Grohl

VIII. Confidants Post-Best-Friend-Mortem

Seattle, WA

May 7, 1994

Sarah was still pulling herself out of her depressive episode a whole week later. She couldn't seem to shake the feeling of Kurt's hand during her dream, and it felt so real that when she went to sleep the next night and didn't see him in her dreams, she was thoroughly heartbroken.

She hadn't seen a soul in days. Dave was nowhere to be seen, James was with her father in Aberdeen, and Courtney was living it up with her bandmates as if nothing had ever happened. Sarah walked over to her nightstand, pulling a Camel Lite cigarette out of its carton and lighting it, letting it encapsulate all of her senses.

The phone began to ring, and Sarah rolled her eyes. James had been calling every day to make sure that she was alright, and to be honest, she was getting really exhausted by his constant check ups. She picked up the phone and begrudgingly pulled the receiver up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey," Sarah was pleasantly surprised to hear Dave's soft voice on the other end of the line. It had been a while since she had heard from him last. It wasn't like she made any effort to reach out, either; she was drowning herself in vodka and self pity.

"Hey."

"What are you doing currently?" Dave asked, and Sarah twirled the phone cord around her finger, seeing how long it would take for the tips of her fingers to turn purple.

"Nothing important, why?" she replied, taking a drag of her cigarette.

"Well, I'm not sure what support buddies do, but--" Sarah put her hand to her mouth, laughing out loud. "Support buddies?!"

"Well, would you rather me say confidants post-best-friend-mortem?" Dave retorted, making Sarah go quiet, biting her tongue.

"No, continue, sorry."

"I was thinking maybe we could get coffee?" he asked, and she slightly blushed, catching herself doing so before clearing her throat. "Yeah, that sounds good," she said, now suddenly panicking because she looked like utter shit in her pajama pants and Weatherwax High School sweatshirt.

"Sweet, see you then," Dave told her, hanging up. Sarah slammed down the phone and ran to the wardrobe, rummaging through everything that she packed for something at least fifty percent presentable. Sweatshirts, more sweatshirts, the outfit from the funeral-- yes, jeans!-- sweatshirts-- and Kurt's red and grey flannel. She took it off of its hanger, pulling it to her face to inhale the scent that was still embedded in the fabric after its many years of abuse via Kurt.

She pulled out a cropped black camisole and wore the flannel over it, tying it in a knot towards the bottom. She went into the bathroom to fix her hair, and do her eyebrows, and-- why was she putting in so much effort? This was Dave, her support buddy. But, perhaps he was panicking just as much as her.

Hopefully his intentions were platonic. She couldn't afford to throw herself into something right now, especially after finding out about Paul's connections to Courtney. The situation with Paul greatly discouraged her, as she feared being alone and everything happening in her life currently was making her fears a reality.

Sarah couldn't help but feel at least slightly drawn to Dave, though; it was natural for people who mutually lost someone to find comfort in one another and for it to eventually lead to a relationship. However, she never pinned herself for that type of person. And she wasn't sure if Dave was her type of person.

There was a knock at her door, and Sarah took a last glance in the mirror, adjusting the knot in the flannel before heading to the door. When she opened it, Dave stood there in his usual shy posture, anxiously teetering back and forth on his toes.

"You look great, like the flannel," Dave said, and Sarah looked down at the flannel, mentally persuading herself not to get sad. She looked back at Dave, who was wearing a plain black pullover and jeans with converse, but he pulled it off.

"Thanks, so do you," she admitted, and Dave chuckled before stepping aside so she could leave her room. They walked down the hallway together as Dave started up a new conversation.

"You have no idea how much of a trainwreck I've been lately," he told her, and she raised her eyebrows in response. "I bet."

"What happened to you?" he asked, and Sarah laughed in a sarcastic manner.

"Well, I drank an entire week away and could have easily OD'd. I slept for two days. What about you?" Dave was stunned, but continued to speak.

"I spent twenty five hours in the empty hotel room bathtub, in the complete dark."

"Damn, I'm sorry," Sarah replied, and Dave reached to scratch the back of his neck as they approached Dave's Ford Falcon van.

"No, I'm good," he said, unlocking the doors, "It was a really bad day. I wasn't myself."

The two friends got into the van, closing the doors as Dave turned the key in the ignition, hearing the engine turn over and the radio start up.

"WITH THE LIGHTS OUT, IT'S LESS--"

Sarah reached her hand out to change the station, but it turned out that Dave had a similar idea and their hands ended up brushing against one another, setting off butterflies in Dave's stomach and the same in Sarah plus a tiny bit of complete and utter terror. Dave pressed the button to change the station, taking a hold of Sarah's still hand and weaving their fingers together. He didn't let go for the whole ride into town.

***

"So, I've been thinking," Sarah began, and Dave quickly butted in, laughing, "Wow, welcome to humanity."

"I'm being serious, Dave," Sarah deadpanned, "I'm contemplating a major life decision here." Dave regained his composure before folding his hands together and looking at her intently.

"Okay, shoot."

"You know how I went to New York for school?"

"Yeah..." he hesitated.

"Well, I graduated from NYU, and when I came back to Washington, I realized that my life is still here," Sarah told Dave, letting her feelings about this topic finally come off her chest. "Definitely not in Aberdeen, but I feel like I was brought back here beyond the concept of Kurt's death. Ever since that breakdown, I feel more inspired to do art than I ever had in New York."

Dave's eyes were wide. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm considering renting an apartment in Tacoma. It's near Seattle and far enough from Aberdeen, so I think it's my best bet."

"Are you serious?" Dave grinned, making Sarah melt a little bit inside.

"Yeah, I called a few places yesterday."

"Holy shit! I'm so happy for you! I'll help you move," Dave told her excitedly, while what he really meant to say was Holy shit! I'm so happy that you're going to be closer to me! I'll help you move. Close enough.

"You don't have to--" she started, but Dave cut her off once again.

"But I want to. As your support bud-- confidant post-best-friend-mortem, I volunteer my services to help you move cross country."

"Well, I look forward to it, Mr. Grohl."

"Likewise, Miss Austin."