paper memories. - n.h.

- ii.

“Oh look at this - a less sucky moment of your life Horan! What a rare sight.”

I looked up after having casually been jamming some stupid simple tune on the white electric guitar, that we at the start of the summer vacation had found in the back of the dusty storage room.

Miles flashed a confident smile at me standing with his arms crossed over his long slender body, as he rested against the doorframe. His greasy, thin hair hanging into his eyes. Today he was wearing the usual Yoda t-shirt full of holes, which hung shaggy over his slim upper body.  

“Hendrix would sure as hell be proud to know a talentless punk like you are mistreating his instrument.”

Miles swore the guitar had belonged to Jimi Hendrix and was the very same one he had been playing on at the Woodstock concert. He had this crazy hypothesis, that old Mr. Crawford - the owner of the photo store - had been a hippie himself and had somehow gotten ahold of this legendary guitar. Then given it to his son when he came of age - and as the son had died young, Mr. Crawford hadn’t been able to get himself to throw it away. Or sell it.

“Dickhead.” I stated under my breath making him grin. Having been taken aback of his sudden presence - I thought he wouldn’t arrive till later - I slightly embarrassed quickly packed the guitar away shoving it back in the corner, where we had placed it as a glowing item of coolness. That item was probably the most interesting thing in this town. Of course besides Miles’ ability to act as a major dickhead and his many colorful stories.

“I thought your shift started in an hour?” I stood from having been sitting on the bucket, which had been turned upside down here behind the counter. I had been awaiting the doorbell announcing the arrival of yet another customer, using the time to play around with the only interesting thing in the store; an untuned old guitar. Possibly - but very unlikely - formerly owned by Mr. Jimi Hendrix.

Miles and I were the only ones who knew how to push the door open in such a way - that you could reach in and hold the bell still while entering. An entire summer of working here you would discover every little trick and learn every small detail of the place.

“Well I couldn’t possibly miss the opportunity of bugging my blue eyed puppy right?” Laughing loudly he jumped up and seated on the counter letting the long legs dangle over the floor, while I looked out over the inside of the store. The fluorescent light left the place in a sickening white color. It wasn’t very appealing and the decolorized exhibition photos of the models smiling widely and those exotic islands, didn’t help with the sad atmosphere. I was pretty sure they had been there for at least 10 years or something. The orange neon sign in the window formed the letters ‘photo store’ and the light buzzed slightly, as if the electricity needed couldn’t be properly supplied by the ancient wires.

“Anyway Horan.” He stated with a serious tone, as the summer rain was hammering against the window.

Of course. Miles was two years older than me and had just turned 21 this summer. Which meant he hadn’t wasted a single Friday or Saturday night like this one to drive with his impossibly even more fucked up friend to Pittsburgh. They would ‘party’ and return the next day with a killer hangover.

If I had a one dollar bill for every time Miles had been bragging about how many shots he had taken - or how many chicks he had danced with this summer - I would probably turn out as Bill Gates neighbor. Not that I believed a single one of his many colorful stories though. Not completely at least. I just couldn’t imagine this lanky pale guy with the bad skin ‘conquer’ anybody let alone dance. I wasn’t even sure he could get into a club wearing those Star Wars t-shirts.

I kept my eyes on the buzzing neon sign in the window watching how the light reflected in the black raindrops. The pavement outside the store was bathed in the orange light as well - but other than that it was just pretty black and boring. I knew exactly what he was going to ask of me.

“You need some more shifts right? And I can’t imagine you having any plans a Friday night like this. So what do you say? Take my shift tonight, earn some cash so you can get your bony ass out of here and get yourself a nice education. Otherwise you can always try to make it as the shameless rockstar.”

Big fucking surprise. Miles always found a way to insult me - even when he was asking me a favor. How the hell was this boy the only close thing to a friend I had?

“Whatever.”

Miles jumped down from his seat on the counter with a flashy smile; “Horan you’re a top guy - I’ll drink a beer for you tonight.” He threw the hoodie over his head and made his way through the store with his long gangly strides. With a hand on the door handle he looked back at me, “it really is a shame you look like a 16 year old. You don’t know what you’re missing out on!”

Douchebag.

He smirked at me and exited the store, running through the darkness of the parking lot where a car was waiting - engine still running. I guessed his friend was waiting for him.

I wondered what would have happened if I had told him no. He would probably have left me behind anyway. And it wasn’t like I could leave - or had anywhere more exciting to be.

Did I really look like someone at the age of 16? I was 19 after all - and even though I wasn’t incredibly fit at least I wasn’t as skinny and lanky as Miles nor tall. The sound of rain caught my attention and I noticed Miles hadn’t managed to close the door entirely. Crossing through the sad little shop, where I had managed to get a job for the summer, I thought about putting on some music later. Briefly I watched my reflection in the window, which was black from the darkness outside. My blonde hair was even lighter because of it being the ending of the summer vacation. Even those small breaks with Miles, where we would go and sit on the brick wall at the other end of the parking lot and Miles would have a smoke - those short breaks of staying out in the heating sun had been enough to lighten the color of my hair. My big blue eyes looked back at me with a dull expression. I hated the color. It made me look like a big baby or some shit.

Escaping the sight of myself I kneeled down to the bottom of the door trying to fix the locking mechanics. I ended up stuffing a piece of paper in between the door and the frame to keep it closed. Getting up I wondered if I could get the old radio, which we had found with the guitar, to work maybe?

Lost in thoughts the sound of the doorbell made me spin around confused. Had Miles returned? It turned out the visitor was nothing like Miles - actually quite the opposite if you took aside the age.

It was a girl. A girl with wet, dyed, strawberry blonde hair, blood red lips clearly painted with lipstick and big brown eyes surrounded with a dark heavy makeup, that was slightly smattered from the rain. For a moment I just stared at her. Or maybe it was more than a moment. 

I had never seen her before. And I knew everyone in this small town. Everyone knew everyone. There was one restaurant, one café, one grocery and the school was in the neighbor town. She looked so out of place that I couldn’t help staring. With a heavy pink blush covering her cheekbones - which definitely wasn’t naturally caused, more likely it was from make up. And the black worn leather jacket reflecting the lights with its rainy surface. The thigh length denim shorts. The black boots. Of course I was glaring. I had been to Pittsburgh a couple of times - and there seen some girls dressed like this one. But never in my entire life had I seen a girl like her in this area. She looked like someone who would gladly set fire to an oil drum just for the kick of it.

I almost felt sorry for Miles having left - he would probably be even more startled than me to see a chick like this in the little local photo store. And he would know what to say. I had no idea what to tell a girl like her. Not that she would care about what I had to say obviously. But still.

Her big wickedly beautiful eyes travelled over my surprised expression with the slightest amusement.

“Hi.” Her voice sounded raspy yet creamy and enchanting. The kind of voice you could listen to for hours straight. And that was the moment I knew I would never forget the sight of her standing there in the door; the girl with soaked badly dyed blonde hair, the crimson red lips and the rebellious attitude. Standing there - in the fluorescent lighting with a plastic bag in one hand and the other on the door handle.  

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