𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙷𝙴𝚁࿐ ྂ ᴊᴇꜰꜰ ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇʏ

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ꜰᴏᴜʀ

APRIL 2nd, 1993
NEW YORK CITY.ೃ࿐

WHEN POLLY WAS A TEEN,

she could never envision herself older. She couldn't tell her parents or teachers where she saw herself in ten years, or where she wanted to live or study. Now that she was at the age at which she had already finished school, and had already found her home, she had a serene sense of peace. Although, she wouldn't be able to tell you where she'd be in her life at thirty-five, but she didn't spend any of her worries on that. She lived each day knowing she had everything and more she needed to be happy.

But it was still scary turning twenty-five, the age she wasn't sure if she'd ever get to at fifteen.

The card Jeff gave her in the morning wasn't really a card. He had cut out excerpts of things he'd written about or to her, gluing them on another sheet of paper and adding little notes explaining why he'd written them. That was enough of a gift in itself, but he'd also gotten her a cd player complete with a few of her favorite albums, along with ones he thought she'd like.

They'd spent most of the day together, first getting coffee and walking the streets of Manhattan together, never once getting bored of the presence of the other. Later on, much to Jeff's protests, Polly had to go to a show of a band Columbia had taken interest in. He had stayed home, not wanting to distract her, but he still walked with her to the venue, poking fun at her work outfit.

Steve had come as well, saving them a table near the low stage. The older man apologized for the event taking away from her birthday, and Polly swore that it wasn't a big deal. In her opinion, the band wasn't anything particularly special, just like the other new grunge bands, all heavily influenced by Nirvana and Alice in Chains.

Afterward, the band joined the two A&R reps at the booth, the lead singer slightly drunk as his eyes followed Polly, even when Steve spoke. His bandmates crowded around and at the table, trying desperately to get a word in, as the singer seemed to have enough opinions for all four of them.

After agreeing for a second meeting, Polly made her way to the door of the small club.

"Hey, Miss!" The words were slurred, the singer following her. "I- uh, I had a few more questions." He grinned, nearly tripping over himself.

Polly tried to conceal her sigh as she stared at him expectantly, to voice his questions.

"Well first, I heard that you had to come on your birthday?"

"Any actual questions?" She tried to sound formal, not harsh as she had a feeling where the conversation would go.

He stepped towards her, "yes, but, in apology I'll buy you a drink- y'know a present."

She agreed to this, not because of the free drink but more so because she was obligated to talk to the singer. A drink would just help her get through the poorly motivated conversation.

She tried her best to get through his questions, all usually stupid or personal, soon her drink had turned into multiple plus two shots.

"I'm going home," Polly told the man, standing suddenly from the bar and grabbing her bag. "Just call if you have questions next time." She laughed, the alcohol taking its effects as she stumbled slightly to the door.

She walked the short distance home alone, clutching the railing as she walked up the four flights to the apartment. She'd forgotten a key, so she knocked loudly, leaning against the door and nearly falling over when Jeff opened it.

"You didn't call." He said first, reminding her he was supposed to join her when she was done.

Her smile fell. "Oh shit, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He spoke, still disappointed and slightly mad she had walked home alone.

"I forgot." She laid down on the sofa, smiling once again at Jeff. "I got kinda drunk." She explained, and he laughed as she said it, as if it wasn't painfully obvious.

"Well how was it?" He asked as he sat down beside her.

Polly offered a soft 'hm' as she turned over on her side, tired and nearly rolling off the couch. "They weren't you."

The drunken statement made him much happier than it should've. "Oh yeah?" He asked, wanting to entertain himself with drunk Polly, her answers always funny or brutally honest.

"Yeah." She sat up, "it's like, Dylan, Springsteen, Buckley." She told him, listing their three names while she counted on her fingers. "The big- Columbia three. You're gonna be big." She stared into his eyes, her tone becoming serious, until she laughed once more.

Those words were different coming from Polly versus if anyone else said them, she really knew what she was talking about. "What if I don't want to be that big?" He asked, half serious.

"People need to hear you!" She insisted, eyes wide. Polly knew how he felt about that sort of thing- not really wanting to be in the public eye, but if that's what it meant for his music to be heard, then that's what he would be. "And if they don't, then I will listen to you enough for everyone." She said, grinning happily.

He was still partially annoyed with her, but soon forgot about the whole thing throughout the rest of the night. They were up until early morning talking about anything that crossed their minds, listening to Polly's new cd's and Jeff playing her guitar. Both had severe hangovers in the morning- but it was a fair trade for the night.

Jeff would take a night alone with Polly over any concert or bar, over any party. He knew she felt the same way about him, and that made it all the better.

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