a/n: yes, the ending is rushed. yes, i started in the middle of the song. yes, this is the first version of a possible three. yes, i could have made this an angsty fan fiction and changed logan's name to jim. no, i did not think that would be a good idea.
partly dedicated to mariam (@defend) because of our football pact.
i built a hive
voicemail #10
Hi, Callie. This is Lo. I mean, I guess I’m going to have to keep leaving messages after the tone, because that’s what your machine keeps telling me to do, and I honestly don’t know of any other way to talk to you. So here is my impression of Cole St Clair’s pear shaped message. I just need a Sam to keep me grounded and a Grace to remind me that raccoons have rabies. But other than that, I’ve got the full cast and crew here.
It was raining outside. That was the real reason why Logan was calling Callie. Callie’s eyes, as best as Logan could remember them, were made of rain. Not happy, kissing-in-the-rain kind of rain, but I’m-going-to-make-you-some-tea-and-put-on-a-movie-so-you-won’t-cry-anymore-because-I-love-you kind of rain. So because it was raining, he called her. She, of course, wasn’t there; she hadn’t been the past five times, so why should she be this time? Logan had given up on “third time’s the charm” because it was well past the third time.
Well, I guess I don’t have a Vincent, but he’s not really that important, is he? At least not to me. Anyway, I might as well tell you what I did today. Or who I ran into. You remember Alice, from Year Five? Well, she stopped by the shop, and I happened to be on my shift, about to take my lunch, but she kept talking and talking and talking and talking like she used to. Except, somehow she seemed to talk even more than she did when we were younger.
Remember how we met? I was thinking the other day (okay, today) if we didn’t. If you hadn’t switched the radio from the news to that new station, The Sun, or something. If you hadn’t listened to that advertisement. If you hadn’t gone on their website when you got home. I can go on and on and on and on.
You know what?
Maybe I will.
voicemail #15
It was still raining outside, so Logan decided to leave another message. He had tried to leave the house to go somewhere, but he would break his daily habit of leaving those messages, so he stayed by the door with the phone clamped between his shoulder and cheek. The car honked outside, and he knew he shouldn’t keep Mike waiting, but he just couldn’t not leave another message.
Hi, Callie. This is Lo.
Remember? That’s what I asked myself this morning. Remember when we first met? I had been asking myself this, and, in extension you, since I thought about it yesterday, and I guess the thought just carried itself through the night and the rest of the day. It’s almost dark here, if you’re wondering. You probably aren’t, because you choose to fill your mind with sophisticated and important things, like fine art and photography, while the rest of us are forced to let ours fill to the brim with useless tidbits, like the phone number I was supposed to send a text to when I heard a song I didn’t like on The Sun.
Isn’t it weird that I still remember it? It’s engraved in my mind: 35684. That, eventually, was the number that led me to you. It couldn’t have been the other way around, because I’m the reacher, and you’re the settler (and might I mention how much I appreciate you settling for me?).
Logan jammed his left shoe on, trying to ignore the blaring horn that seemed to get louder and louder each second he delayed. Maybe it wasn’t just Mike in the car, but Chris as well. But it was raining outside, and rain reminded him of Callie. Who, as he reminded himself, he hadn’t called since yesterday, so he must call her today, or else she might think that he was forgetting about her.
But really, it was The Sun that brought us together. Remember when-
The horn outside blared again, this time loudly. So Logan tied his laces and grabbed his keys.
Sorry, Cal, the guys are outside, I have to go. I’ll try you again tomorrow.
Logan locked the door behind him, and ran to the car, the drops of rain telling him about each one of Callie’s eyelashes.
“Hey, Logan! How is it back at The Pad?” Mike always called Logan’s place The Pad whenever he was there by himself – without Callie. When she was there, it was The Castle. Logan had always thought the latter situation earned its name because he felt like a king with Callie. But no one could ever tell what Mike meant, so he never sought out the reasons.
“Oh, it’s… y’know…” Chris, who was in the car, shot Logan a sympathetic look.
“Well, what is it, Lo? It’s gotta be something.” Mike laughed at his friend’s unease.
“Well, it’s just fine, I guess.” Logan saw Mike shake his head and felt something sink inside as he looked out the window.
“Whatever, Logan. You’ve got the house to yourself! Take advantage!” Chris told him off, but Logan wasn’t really paying attention.
“Mike, you just drove past the place.”
“No, the lot’s still down the street.”
“No, seriously, you drove past that too.”
became one with the bees
“Logan, be my wingman, yes?” Mike looked at him imploringly. Logan shook his head: all he really wanted to do was leave the other half of the incomplete voicemail that sat in Callie’s machine. Why couldn’t Mike just understand what it was like to miss someone?
“I bet you twenty I can help you get the blonde over there,” Chris said, nodding in the general direction of the bar. Mike studied him, then shrugged his shoulders.
“You’re on.” The two left Logan by a stack of menus and dirty dishes, one of which bothered him. It definitely wasn’t the menus or the dishes, but he wasn’t sure if it was the action of leaving. The only thing Logan could think of that would make him feel so lost was that unfinished message – and the corridor where the restrooms were looked empty – so he squeezed past the groups of tipsy twenty somethings, the crowd of loud men standing in front of the large television broadcasting the game (Mike and Chris should be in there somewhere), and the circle of college professors that always seemed to occupy the fifth booth from the left.
voicemail #16
Hi, Callie. This is Lo. Sorry that that last message got cut short, I think I’ll finish it now. Also, sorry about the noise: Mike and Chris wanted to go to the bar, so here I am. I just felt bad about leaving the other message on your machine, badly finished. You wouldn’t be afraid to do that, would you? I guess I care too much. But you said that’s one of the reasons why you fell in love with me, so I guess it’s okay.
But, anyway. I still have that number stuck in my mind, and if anybody ever asks (which they won’t) then I’ll be able to rattle it off in no time flat (which they won’t need). So yes, it’s useless and I should just trash it, except I can’t throw away my thoughts like you can.
Something like glass breaking sounded from around the corner, so Logan ventured further down the corridor.
Sorry about that, I bet it’s just one of the girls, you know how drunk they get. And sorry for being distracted. Sorry for saying sorry a lot more than I should.
But, as I was saying, remember? How if it hadn’t been for The Sun, you wouldn’t have met me?
Or maybe I should start at the beginning. Not my beginning, but yours. Because yours is more interesting, honestly. So here goes.
You were on the dive team at school, and something went wrong one day. You didn’t quite clear the diving board, and had to leave school for a bit. That’s how you ended up at The Wilkard Academy.
There were several loud shots from beyond the hallway, and Logan tried to retreat further, but found himself trapped. He would simply have to keep explaining to Callie what was going on in a world she couldn’t see.
You only wanted to retake one class. It was the one you hadn’t faired horribly well in. And if you hadn’t been in that class, and hadn’t gotten out of that class at precisely one thirty, then we would never have met. If you hadn’t sprinted across the lawn, completely ignoring the gardener’s protests, then we would never have met.
But you see, I would have called a hurried “sorry!”, stepped onto the paved path, and continued to the street to find a cab. And probably would have missed that song. But you, Callie the Never-Fear, walked right across that grass without a care in the world.
Maybe there is such a thing as too careful.
Too kind.
“Logan! Where are you, man? You missed the play of the decade!” Logan could hear Mike shouting from all the way across the bar, and sighed, instantly regretting it (Callie would be sure to hear the ugly crackle of the breath through the machine). There was another roar of voices from the bar, all of them absurdly masculine. Even when shouting, the men-who-were-always-at-the-bar just had to boast of their lack of femininity.
Mike’s shouts melted into the rest of the crowd. Logan slid down the wall, the buttons on the back of the jacket he had thrown on digging into his back.
but we fell like rain
Maybe he just didn’t want to go out with the rest of the drunks and the overenthusiastic and the hungry. Maybe he just didn’t want that. But, then again, maybe Logan didn’t really know what he wanted.
And then the corridor seemed like the gut of a snake, and the bar itself was its stomach: entirely too small.
Hang on, Callie. Hang on one second.
I’ll call you back.
voicemail #17
Logan had one place in mind, and one place only, when he snuck out the back door of the bar. There was a dingy little fish and chips place off the corner of Madison, but, honestly, Callie, it’s the best. It scared him, to be frank, that his own voice was leaking back into his thoughts, his voice talking to Callie. It was always about her, even if he didn’t want to admit it, he thought as he stuffed his chilled fingers into his pockets. It was always her. I’m thinking too much, he breathed to the stars, and his breath, a frozen silver cloud, danced to the sky to deliver the message.
A few more people stumbled past him, either on their way to the club across the street, or back into the bar. Logan remember when he used to do that. When he used to stay up past the sun, out with friends. Callie, I really don’t want to do that right now. I don’t want to stay out past three a.m., when everything goes wrong. And Logan continued to talk to a person who didn’t walk beside him as he could, who didn’t talk back to him like he talked to her. Across the street, drunk men yelled slurred pick-up lines to a group of women that were ahead of him a ways.
Hey, Callie. This is Lo again. Hey, remember that thing you always said? “It’s Lo-uh-gan.” You thought that was the funniest thing, and would cackle for minutes on end when I called you. Hey, Callie. This is Lo-uh-gan.
…
…
Are you laughing?
Did you smile?
But back to our story. You ran right across that lawn, and tripped over that one girl’s skateboard, but caught yourself before you actually hit the ground. If you hadn’t jumped right into the car, changed the station, and turned up the volume from five to ten, we would never have met. If you hadn’t ignored your homework, and raced to the computer, we would never have met. If you hadn’t typed in the call letters of The Sun, then we never would have met.
Here’s something that might interest you: I actually am still not sure if that was the name of the station. I can remember the number to tell them if I like the song playing or not, but I can’t remember the call letters or the name of that station.
I can’t remember the most important thing in the world. I can’t remember the name of the thing that guaranteed that we would meet.
Do you hate me for that?
Do you hate me for the fact that I couldn’t take the time to store that important detail away in my mind? I bet that you have that filed away under “Things That Are Important.” Or maybe even, simply, “Things About That Boy.” Maybe “It’s Lo-uh-gan” is filed under one of those titles as well.
But, for the life of me, I could not tell you my file name for you.
You see, Callie, you are organized. You are stars and moons and winds, but, strangely, at the same time, you are organized. You categorize every moment, everything that is important to you, and you make sure that you remember it. I, on the other hand, am careful, but not organized. My mind is a nervous mess of thoughts about how I should be careful.
I would try to tidy up my mind for you.
Logan didn’t want to go back to the bar. He didn’t want to stay out late at night doing nothing but drinking and pretending to care about a game.
Fish and chips sounded nice.
got lost into the sea / the wind will carry me
I don’t know if I mentioned this before, I mean, I might have mentioned it to myself, but that’s something different: I’m going to find that fish and chips place that I tried to take you to once. Do you remember that?
Logan most certainly did. It had been in the middle of June, and it was so hot that the pavement scorched Logan’s heels through his shoes. Logan hadn’t really been too interested in pizza, as Callie had suggested earlier, so he had decided to take her to his favourite place.
…and you took one look at it, said “no thank you,” and dragged me back to the car…
He had looked straight ahead the whole way to the pizza place so that Callie wouldn’t see his disappointment.
…but back to our story. If you hadn’t done any of those things, then we would never have met.
If it was me, then I would have just…
The longer Logan went on, comparing himself to Callie, the more he realized that he wasn’t telling their story, but Callie’s story and his story; two different tales that touched. If he couldn’t join them together, couldn’t even get to the part where they entertained, then what did that say? About himself? About Callie? Was it a brief touch, this relationship of theirs? Was it only for a short while?
What if Callie never came back?
Logan stopped, in the middle of the sidewalk. He had no idea where his ramblings where taking him.
He had no idea where he was. He was far away from the bar, from the corner of Madison, far away from you, Callie. He had no idea where he was.
… and then I would have-
Logan hung up, not bothering to finish the voicemail.
What good would it do if she would never called him back?
so just hold tight
voicemail #18
Sorry. But I’m going back to the bar.
Logan hailed a cab, and didn’t look back.
If Callie wasn’t going to call him back, after endless calls, then she wasn’t.
And he thought he could be okay with that.
voicemail #1
Hey, Logan. This is Callie.