"Heather" came on while i was writing this 😖 anyway, enjoy teehee.
there are roughly two (real) reasons that I decided to join Second Circle, neither of which had anything to do with the actual concept of its infernal namesake. firstly, I wanted to enrage my parents. and secondly, I wanted to make them proud.
which sounds completely illogical.
I think with parents, it makes sense. on the one hand, my mother's insistence that I be on stage as a young girl had made me entirely resentful of it. I've never wanted to be in front of a camera; behind it was where everything happened for me. and playing in a band while refusing to be in theater-- that seemed rebellious.
but there's still that performative aspect, from which I had hoped to derive some sort of validation from her. maybe it was off the track she had hoped, although not too far, right? and then there was my dad, who would have to notice me if I was making headlines. high school newspaper headlines didn't seem to cut it, though. I didn't realize that nothing would until I got into college. I was still the problem child, still not worth the energy.
my finest moments of vive le résistance are past, when I could be myself. or maybe I wasn't myself-- there are some parts of me that don't understand if I was pulling out the authentic, reckless Ophelia, or if I just created that side to cope with an internal soulscape of... blandness. I prefer not to think about it.
Matthew seems to think that I've buried something real within myself. but he doesn't know me, not really. how could he possibly have pieced together what I can't piece together myself?
I am thinking about this while zooming the camera lens in on Tia's wide, engulfing eyes. she's watching the door of her shop like she's expecting someone to come in and see her. I was a little bit worried that she might be a bad actress, but she's proven to be quite effective. her relaxed demeanor fits nicely into the character.
her hair is done up in a bun today, held together by two #2 Ticonderoga pencils that somehow appear elegant. in my head, I hear the soundtrack. that's also one of my favorite parts of making my films-- I choose the music. it's the ultimate control.
"okay, cut." I say quietly. the store is mostly empty today. there's sleet outside, melting the freshly fallen snow into puddles of wet slush. I keep getting curious glances from customers as I tape Tia, but I ignore them. instead, I scope out the best places in the Electric Eel to grab some silent shots: a discount bin of Motown records, the can full of wacky pens that sits on top of the register; two people conversing in the back of the store.
the bell above the door makes a delicate ringing noise right as I finish taping the cork board. it's covered in flyers from local bands and DJ's.
"how's it going?" even though he's not talking to me, my head pops up from the LCD screen to see Matthew undoing his scarf and greeting Tia at the counter. I turn back to my task, biting my lip, and pretend to be enthralled.
"great. how was work?" her voice is smooth.
"really fun, actually. where's Phelia?" he glances around, then makes an "aha" noise when he catches sight of me. I act like I don't notice, smiling to myself as I keep my head down to turn off my camera. when I straighten up and turn around, I feign a look of surprise.
"oh. hey, Matthew."
"what're you up to?" he strolls on over. the scent of his cologne is mingled with winter air and a twist of peppermint that I presume is from the stash he keeps in his pockets. he keeps a distance. it's something he's done ever since we got stuck in traffic two days ago.
"just getting some transitional samples for later." I shrug. "you two ready?"
"definitely." Matthew smiles. Tia heads over to the door of her shop and flips the sign so no new customers come in while she takes care of the ones already in the store. the plan for tonight is to do a scene when the shop is all closed up, with the fairy lights that Tia and I put up last night together. it's gonna be swoon-worthy, in my opinion.
we've set up a projector in her back office, so that they can watch a movie and share their first kiss. it's written as chaste and tender to symbolize the freshness of their relationship.
while Tia checks out her final customers, Matthew and I set up the projector and seating area. the movie they're supposed to be watching is Ferris Bueller's Day Off, which just happens to be a shared favorite.
"these cushions are beautiful." he refers to the assortment of pillows and blankets that I've brought from home to create their movie-watching nest.
"thanks. they're from my room." I fluff a maroon corduroy throw pillow and situate it with a mustard yellow one. we work the rest in silence until Tia comes in with an armful of candles from the front of the store.
"I thought these would help set the ambience." she sets them down on her desk.
"you're brilliant." I grin.
"thanks. I love the color palette for all of this, O." she uses the nickname for the first time. I glance at Matthew to share a secretive smile, but he's trying to figure out the projector.
"me too. I'm hoping to shift the golds and reds into something more silvery later on in the film, you know?" I explain.
"totally."
by the time we finish fixing everything, there's a knot in my stomach. it's just a kiss-- one that I wrote in. christ, Ophelia. get it together.
I stand behind the two of them with my camera, getting in both the view of their closely-paired bodies and the projection of the screen. there's something grungy about it that works so well, almost all of my dread melts away. almost.
they recite their lines in hushed tones, as directed, in the moments leading up to their kiss. at this point, I pause and shift so that the camera is facing them. they lean into each other a bit, like two sides of a triangle. the strongest shape. light from the projected movie flashes across their faces, shifting from whites to grays to greens.
"I wish I had been bold enough to skip in high school." Tia murmurs with a quiet smile.
"why weren't you?" Matthew replies.
"don't know. I was always afraid of getting caught."
"really?"
"yes, really." she turns to him with a gentle smile. "I'm scared of a lot of things."
"like what?" the softness of his tone makes my stomach twist up.
"spiders, the ocean." she tacks them off on her long, slender fingers. his eyes flicker down to them, then up to her lips.
"is that it?"
they're leaning in close and I swallow the lump in my throat. something about this feels wrong in so many ways. I'm seeing something I shouldn't, like a train wreck. I can't peel my eyes away for the sake of the film.
"no." she murmurs. with that, his hand reaches to cup her chin and guide her face up to his. just like that, they kiss. her eyes flutter shut gently. completely under his spell. I've seen countless screen kisses before-- this isn't one of them.
his eyes remain open for a second before closing, but it's just enough time for me to catch. I don't know how to read it at all, and that wrenches my heart a little bit more. what have I done?
they pull away a second later, foreheads touching. her eyes run over the image of his plump lips, and she licks over her own. I have to fight every instinct within myself to shut down the scene because, as much as I hate it, it's perfect. cinematically, of course: the hesitation, the slight breathlessness. it's everything a first kiss should be.
I give them one more heavy moment before yelling cut. Matthew jerks back at the sound of my voice. Tia tears her eyes away from him to smile at me.
"how was that?" she asks. I swallow the lump in my throat that just keeps reappearing.
"great. you guys were great." sugary smile.
"is that all you need from us today?" Matthew brushes his hands against the legs of his jeans. he avoids looking at Tia with everything he has.
"pretty much. surprisingly, we don't even need to reshoot that kiss." thank god.
"great." he stands up and brushes over his sweater. it's got drawings of eyes all over it. "I forgot that I'm actually meeting Shemar for dinner, so I have to go. is that okay?" he asks me. it's obviously a lie; I know his schedule backwards and forwards. there's no such dinner.
"oh, yeah. go ahead. thanks, Matthew." I gesture to the door of the office.
"bye, Gube." Tia calls out from her spot on the floor. she looks completely unbothered by his reaction. in fact, she looks starstruck. I suppose I would be, too.
...
the apartment is cold when I get home. without Ren here, I've been keeping the heat off for the most part. it saves money. that said, I'm freezing. the first thing I do is change into sweatpants and fuzzy socks before making myself something to eat.
my stomach rumbles at the memory of Matthew's ramen-- the same kind that I butchered with pepper flakes-- when I see a Maruchan package in the back of the cupboard. I think about how my tongue is always going to be a little bit held around him. the barriers that still separate our friendship.
we're close for the short amount of time I've worked for him. I know when he's lying and the smile he gets on his face when he's trying to hide his exhaustion. I know every dip and change in his tone like it's my own voice. and yet I don't know the important things.
five minutes into my search, I give up on finding food to work on something else. my academic obligations were finished by noon and I could technically edit the footage from today, but the idea of watching Matthew and Tia kiss anymore than I already have is nauseating. talk about masochism.
instead, I venture into the welcoming space of my bedroom, turn on my lights, and sit on the bed. when I glance up at the red electric guitar perched on my wall, I swallow down the urge. I haven't played in so long, it'll inevitably frustrate me. re-tuning will be a nightmare.
I reach up and pull the thing off the wall anyway, feel its weight in my hands. it's good. maybe a bit unfamiliar, in the same way that it would be to ride a bike: willing to be unearthed. my fingertips press over the strings. my calluses are still there.
I drag out the miniature amp from under my bed. hooking it all up, something sparks in my veins. excitement, maybe. I suppress the sensation.
and then I'm playing a chord, clenching my teeth. it pours into the next one, stinging my fingertips and coming out of the speaker in a somewhat rusty way. I start to play one of the only songs I wrote back in high school (music, not lyrics). it takes a few tries to get the opening melody back into my hands.
maybe the only way to find out if this was ever really a real part of me is to see if I can still connect to it. maybe if I can create some new progressions, I'll feel better.
time passes quickly once I get comfortable again. only simple chords to keep me sane. regardless, I find myself tapping my foot along with the sound. it's not nearly so hard as I thought it would be. in fact, I might just do it tomorrow, too.
my phone buzzes beside me on the bed and when I glance down, I see that it's a text from Matthew. my heart halts in my chest.
Orion misses you.
I bite my tongue as the words process. what a change. is he still feeling disoriented? based on the text, it doesn't seem like it. I respond quickly.
just Orion?
three typing dots appear on the screen, then disappear. fuck. too far?
then he sends a picture of Orion sitting in his lap, her inquisitive eyes aimed right at the camera. my heart melts as I see the way his hand rests on her back, big enough to span almost her entire body. I shouldn't notice things like these.
she's an angel. I type.
are you gonna come hang out or no? followed by a red-faced angry emoji.
okay, he must definitely be feeling better.
I'll be over in twenty.
I reply before I can second-guess myself, staring at my phone screen with my thumb pressed against my bottom lip like he'll suddenly add something more. once the initial wave of excitement passes, I throw my phone onto the mattress and follow it with my body.
what am I doing? what is he doing?
well, exactly nothing is what he's doing. I'm the one reading into this. the way he kissed Tia earlier tonight, the way he ran out of there... you don't do that unless you have real feelings. it took her a week to break past the walls I've been working a month to chip at.
should I text back and cancel? cite sudden illness? I do feel sort of sick to my stomach now.
no. we're friends. it's my own fault for reading into that as interest.
I change into something cute to make myself feel a little better, then head out.
...
"where is she?" is the first thing I say once he lets me in the door.
"where she always is." he nods his head in the direction of the antique couch. brushing past him, I scoop up the tiny creature and cradle her in my arms like a baby. she lets out an annoyed meow, so I set her down.
"hurtful." I call after her. that little black tail flicks defiantly in the air as she disappears into Matthew's bedroom for a more peaceful place to rest.
"that's embarrassing for you." Matthew's got his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the closed door.
"hush. do you have snacks?"
"I have whatever you got yesterday from the store." he says as I poke my head into the fridge. while I search for the graham crackers that I stashed for myself, I peel my winter coat off and throw it at him.
"someone's comfortable." he chuckles, hanging it by the door. I turn around with the box of honey Teddy Grahams and smile.
"just hungry."
"can I have one?" he walks over to me with his hand outstretched. luckily, I dodge at the last second.
"you have other food." but I reach into the box anyway and pull out a handful for him. we chew in silence for a second until I ask the question that's been bugging me since I left the apartment. "what's up?"
"what do you mean?" he starts to walk into the living room, long legs moving leisurely. I note the bird's nest of curls atop his head. he must have taken a nap or something. so much for "dinner with Shemar."
"well, why did you call me over?"
"does there have to be a reason?" he spins on his heel to face me, still chewing his snack. I frown for a second to hide the obvious blush that's started to creep up my face.
"I suppose not."
"good." he gives me a contented smile, collapsing onto the couch and waiting for me to join him. our signature spot. maybe because it's comfortable to just sit and talk, or maybe because the newly decorated Christmas tree stands proudly a few feet away, situated in front of the fireplace.
"today might have been the easiest day of shooting we've had." I point out. he folds his arms across his chest again and stares at the glimmering tree. it's laden with golden lights, reflective ornaments from his childhood that I helped him put up yesterday.
"how so?"
"we didn't even need to do more than one take." I shrug. as much as I didn't want to bring up earlier tonight, I also didn't know what else to say. now that I know I'm here to just talk and spend time together, there's a different kind of pressure. one he isn't even aware he's created.
"oh, yes. thankfully."
the word causes my eyes to snap up to his.
"thankfully?"
"I don't really like screen kisses." he gazes at the Christmas tree with something of a frown.
suddenly, my chest is warm. is he implying that he didn't like kissing her? because it certainly seemed like he enjoyed it. I've been hoping that it only appeared that way because he's such a good actor, but that's doubtful. the flush in their cheeks was unmistakable.
"why not?"
"wouldn't it be weird for you if people were taping you kissing someone?" he makes a face.
"you spend your whole day in front of a camera." I counter.
"it's different. kisses are supposed to be intimate."
"and that one wasn't?" I scoff before I think. way too bitter.
Matthew raises an eyebrow at me, opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. a current passes between us as we expect certain reactions. he waits for my usual backtrack, and I wait for him to say something that glosses over the whole moment. we keep missing each other.
he surprises me by standing up, ignoring my question completely.
"I saw this the other day while we were shooting and thought of you." he presents a vinyl sleeve: the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.
"no way!" I leap out of my spot, at the last second sliding across the wooden floor on my fuzzy socks. I flail for a moment, and Matthew grabs my forearm. his hand encircles the entire thing. "sorry." I squeal.
"you're fine." he chuckles. when his fingers leave my arm, I shove my hands into my back pockets and focus intently on the design on the soundtrack cover. Patrick Swayze stands behind Jennifer Grey with his hand clasped around her waist. it's romantic and so very '80s.
he hands it over to me to examine, although half my body has gone numb.
"you should play it." my voice comes out much more hesitant than intended. I can feel his eyes on me, prodding at my brain. when I say nothing more, he nods and sets it up. I read the back of the sleeve, shrug off the oversized button-up that I've been wearing over my top. it's old, from a thrift store, but I thought it would go well with the outfit.
the abrupt notes of "Be My Baby" startle both of us.
"timeless." I sink into the cushions of the couch with a whimsical sigh. we just listen for a bit, him reading the list of songs by the player.
"it's snappy." instead of sitting next to me, he takes the chair across from the couch. it's strange, but I don't say anything about it.
"snappy? what are you, seventy?" I giggle. he starts to snap his fingers until I reach my leg out to poke him. he grabs my ankle and almost yanks me off the couch. I let out a surprised noise, bordering on a yelp, and he raises his eyebrows with a smirk.
"don't test me, Baby."
my face flushes at the pet name, then turns a deeper red when I realize he's just referring to the character from the movie. still, the way he's looking at me... I force myself to wrench my leg from his grasp and stand up to put away my Teddy Grahams. "Do You Love Me?" starts to play, sweeping into its time-capsule sound and causing me to bump my shoulders up and down with the beat. in the movie, Baby walks into the secret teen party at the summer camp. everyone is dancing in this super provocative way, bending their backs at impossible angles and sharing suggestive stares. if I ever tried to move like that, it would likely end in prompt hospitalization.
"this would be fun to play on guitar." I note as I set the box back on the shelf. he hums in agreement and when I close the pantry door, my head turns to him dramatically. Matthew's eyebrows fly up in surprise. I mouth the lyrics, hoping for at least some sound of approval. "oh, come on." I groan when he sits there without moving.
"what?" he's defensive as his voice goes up an octave higher.
"you can't tell me this song isn't amazing."
"I never said it wasn't." he's resisting the urge to tap his foot, I know it. when I go to turn up the music, it's impossible not to dance-- this song was made to be enjoyed. so I reach my hand out to grab his arm and pull him up with me. he only resists for a moment.
"question." the band slips into the chorus. "what dance move is the 'mashed potatoes'?" he refers to the lyrics.
"no idea." I laugh, about to drop his hand and do my own thing. suddenly, he spins me around and gets this smile on his face like he can feel himself letting go. it's so pretty, the way his eyes squint a little when he grins. all of the air in my lungs is sucked out. we start to move in time to the song. my socks make it easy to twirl and the sensation of his hand gripping mine makes me a little light-headed. when he spins me out, pulls me back in until I'm flush against his chest, I almost pass out. he's so... solid.
it's nothing like the movie; we're clumsy and awkward because neither of us knows how to touch the other. but fun, too. it's then that I realize that what Matthew and I have, even as friends, is something different. I've never had a friend like this, someone who speaks the language that I struggle to get across. and when the song melts into Maurice Williams and the Zodiac's "Stay," my heart rate picks up even more. I don't know how to move or act or even how to breathe.
the energy is completely different. although there's still a dancing beat, it's smooth and slow. one of my hands rests on Matthew's shoulder and the other in his hand. one of his is on my waist; because of the cropped hem of my top, his fourth and pinky fingers are directly against my skin. I can feel myself burning up on the inside. incredibly aware of our bodies in a way that I wasn't before.
he doesn't drop me or push me away in the manner I expected. and I don't do it myself. instead, he starts to talk.
"where'd you learn to dance?" he's blushing. or maybe it's just the exertion? I shouldn't make assumptions.
"I didn't." the scoff that escapes my lips is unbecoming at best.
"really?" he starts to lead me in the dance, pulling me along with him easily like the tide. acting as if it isn't totally intoxicating how close we are. I can see the soft lines of his face, the gentle curve of his mouth that shouldn't be as inviting as it is. he looks so much younger than he is, but I suppose part of that is the energy he gives off.
"yeah, I'm dreadful." I glance down at our feet, then back up to him. the space between us would never fly in a middle school dance.
"you're good." he suppresses a smile. he's making fun of me!
"shut up!" I take my hand off his shoulder to slap his chest, drawing a laugh out of him. it sounds more full-bodied. he twirls me out and back in again, erasing all semblance of calm from my nerves. the way his fingertips are pressing into the skin of my waist makes me borderline delirious. he's feeling this, too.
"where'd you learn, then, Johnny?" I smirk as I use the character's name to mock him back.
"I had ballroom dancing lessons as a kid."
"are you being serious?" I bite my bottom lip to hide the enormous grin threatening to break through.
"yes! why do you think I was bullied?" his voice goes up an octave again, but he's smiling. I burst out laughing, throwing my head back as I imagine baby Matthew in a poorly-fitting suit.
"you're so cute." I try to catch my breath. it's only after he's been looking at me with an amused expression that I realize the slip-up. my mouth opens to clarify-- but that would only be more incriminating.
just like that, the moment is over. back to square one. I pull myself away from his grasp and grab my button-up from the couch.
my eyes widen the second my face is turned away. well, that's mortifying. he doesn't say anything. because I'm overstepping my bounds and now he's probably thinking about Tia and that stupid kiss. and now I'm thinking about the stupid kiss. ugh.
just as easily as we can have awkward fun, we switch into different modes of conversation: cautious pauses to chummy playfulness, seas of distance between us in a matter of seconds. like we're constantly standing on different feet. deep down, I feel a desire stirring to close all the gaps forever. deep down, I crave the stability we can never find.
"why don't we watch a movie or something?" I change the subject to diffuse the awkward energy in the room.
"The Shining?" he throws out immediately. there is no room for anything in my head but pure anxiety and regret, so I shrug. leave it to me to ruin a nice, platonic moment.
"sure."