incendiarystory (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} incendiarystory) wrote,@ 2004-11-29 21:09:00 |
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Why Sleep When I'll Only Dream - CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Searching For Meaning In A City Of English Twits
"It's the same fucking attitude with a different fucking accent," Emily said to herself, rocking back and forth on her cot. She was really divided internally about going out with the group of three British girls that had just left the room. Weren't British women supposed to be refined? All that the women she found herself sharing a room with seemed to want to do was go out dancing and end the night by not coming back to the hostel. They were a bunch of Sandras using the same language she did in a different way.
"What a strange bird," they had said loud enough for her to hear as they walked out the door.
She wondered if she would ever fit in anywhere in Europe. Berlin had been treating her just like Paris - nothing seemed to excite her, nothing seemed to heal the horrible rift that had formed in her psyche, nothing seemed to give her any comfort, nothing seemed to have any meaning.
She had ventured out again in the morning to see the remnants of the Berlin Wall and had been home by 4:00 p.m., just as this set of British triplets (well they were not triplets, but they might as well have been) was waking up and ready to go out and experience Berlin. The had seemed to take the preceding three hours getting ready. This had given her plenty of time to change her mind and had given them plenty of opportunity to try to do it.
At first, she thought she might go out with them. There were three of them and not all of them could hook up. One or two or maybe even three would come back here and not leave her walking alone. But the more they pushed, like Sandra would have pushed, the more she didn't want to go.
In the end, she didn't want to experience Berlin, not with the constant fear of what might happen, even in a group.
She had bought mace in the morning at one of the travel stores inside Zoo Station. The man who sold it to her had spoken just enough English to scare her into thinking that Berlin was the most dangerous place in all of Europe, "you don't have the worry about skins, they only attack Turks," he had told her, "but you must worry about Turks, is like American gang war. And pickpockets and muggers, they are bad here. And do not travel in east. Pretty American girl like you find much danger here."
The same fucking attitude in a different fucking accent translated from a different fucking language. She might as well have been in some sort of paramilitary dealership in Idaho. He might as well have tried to sell her a bomb shelter in case the Russians decided that giving up East Germany so easily in the 1980s had been a mistake. He seemed to want to convince her that they were planning a paratrooper mission at this very moment to land at the Reichstag and raise the hammer and sickle. And, he probably wanted to convince her that they were licking their lips that a "pretty American girl" was in Berlin and ripe for the gang bang.
She bought the mace anyhow even though her reasons to use it would be much more mundane.
Why had she to Zoo Station this morning anyhow?
That little trip of 200 yards had ruined her entire day. Scott wasn't going to be there, he had told her as much in the e-mail he had sent from Prague. But, she had hoped he was lying this time. There were two kind of lies, she thought, those that could hurt people and those that could only end up well. She had hoped Scott had lied to her to be there early and surprise her. It seemed like something he would do. He probably thought it would make her feel better. And it would have. It would have.
She played out the scene in her head again and again. She would grasp him as tight as she could in a hug and not let go until her tears were dry. The tears had come when he wasn't there, but there was no one there to wipe them. Although, a camera crew that had been there filming some sort of German after school special had asked her to be an extra. Of course her tears had been convincing, they were real.
As was her fear of the dark. She didn't need to act that one either.
The night before she had made sure to be home before dark, all the horrible things seemed to happen after dark. The British women who had just left had called her a "reverse vampire" because of that. More to the point, one of them, a beautiful blond, of course they were all beautiful blonds so the blondest of the three, who seemed to be the leader had told her, "stop being such a reverse vampire, love."
Emily had asked what she had meant and felt old. The women, who couldn't have been more than 20, had all giggled as they explained to her that, "it's someone who won't go out after dark, who wears bright colored clothes, and won't suck anything. Everyone knows 'at."
She had felt a little of the rage that she had felt toward Sandra welling up inside of her again. Had she known the women better she might have told them what she thought of their labels and would have furthermore stuck the label across her mouth personally. But, she didn't know them so she laughed with them. She had played like she was laughing at herself, but really she was laughing at them. How could they be so naive to think they weren't going to get hurt doing what they were doing?
"I hope they do," she mumbled to herself. And she started to cry. She had just broken one of her primary rules, a rule she had lived by all her life, don't wish pain on anyone. She remembered how much it had broken her spirit when Sandra had wished harm on her and she didn't want anyone else to suffer the same way she had.
What had happened to her?
When had she become such an awful person?
Was there anywhere and with anyone she would fit in?
She walked over to her window that faced the large courtyard bar built into the hostel. For the last few minutes she had heard music coming from it, but now she realized that it wasn't just background music from the bar, people of every nationality seemed to be facing one point and applauding at the end of every song.
"Great," Emily mumbled again, "it's karaoke night."
The background musak of Britney Spears began to bubble gum its way into the room she now had all to herself. She couldn't see the girl warbling the tune but her English skills couldn't even match the original.
Emily found herself pressed against the window like she was watching a huge pile-up on the freeway. She didn't want to venture outside, but at least this provided some form of entertainment.
A few songs later a group of either British or Australian guys began singing Kyle Minogue. What was it about these slutty blond girls that the guys just went wild for? It must be that that particular one had no problem taking her clothes off or falling out "accidentally" in public.
When they concluded, he heard them cat-calling out for someone named Scott to come up and sing his song. "Come on mate, don't make us come over there and drag you by the yarbles!"
Emily couldn't see this other Scott walk up but she could hear the loud response of his companions when he acquiesced.
"Pardon my Tom Waits voice," the drunken American voice said, "Dire Straits wrote this one but I've always loved the Indigo Girls version it was my ex-grilfriend's favorite. Well, this is the marbled mouthed, gravel mouthed version I'm going to sing for her. So the voice...I've had a long couple of days getting here to Berlin. A lot of sleepless nights in trains..."
"Get on with it mate! Bloody bollocks," the Cockney sounding men who had just cleared the stage began to yell, "we want to hearya sing. We're not here for a bloody Frank Sinatra show ya Yank!"
"Yeah, alright, just one more thing," the voice softly said into the microphone.
"This one is dedicated to Emily. She's somewhere in Berlin right now and I've really missed her. I made the biggest mistake of my life and now I realize...you better not throw that bottle, Nigel!"
"Oy!" Nigel yelled back.
"So, I made the biggest mistake of my life and I'm going to correct it tomorrow. This one is for you Emily, wherever you are. I now realize 'it was just that the timing was wrong.'"
Emily's jaw dropped. My God!!! This wasn't just any Scott, this was the Scott...this was her Scott. She ran out of the room and down the stairs right as he broke into a rendition of "Romeo And Juliet."
Chapter Word Count: 1515
Daily Word Count: 2463
Total Word Count: 65653
"It's the same fucking attitude with a different fucking accent," Emily said to herself, rocking back and forth on her cot. She was really divided internally about going out with the group of three British girls that had just left the room. Weren't British women supposed to be refined? All that the women she found herself sharing a room with seemed to want to do was go out dancing and end the night by not coming back to the hostel. They were a bunch of Sandras using the same language she did in a different way.
"What a strange bird," they had said loud enough for her to hear as they walked out the door.
She wondered if she would ever fit in anywhere in Europe. Berlin had been treating her just like Paris - nothing seemed to excite her, nothing seemed to heal the horrible rift that had formed in her psyche, nothing seemed to give her any comfort, nothing seemed to have any meaning.
She had ventured out again in the morning to see the remnants of the Berlin Wall and had been home by 4:00 p.m., just as this set of British triplets (well they were not triplets, but they might as well have been) was waking up and ready to go out and experience Berlin. The had seemed to take the preceding three hours getting ready. This had given her plenty of time to change her mind and had given them plenty of opportunity to try to do it.
At first, she thought she might go out with them. There were three of them and not all of them could hook up. One or two or maybe even three would come back here and not leave her walking alone. But the more they pushed, like Sandra would have pushed, the more she didn't want to go.
In the end, she didn't want to experience Berlin, not with the constant fear of what might happen, even in a group.
She had bought mace in the morning at one of the travel stores inside Zoo Station. The man who sold it to her had spoken just enough English to scare her into thinking that Berlin was the most dangerous place in all of Europe, "you don't have the worry about skins, they only attack Turks," he had told her, "but you must worry about Turks, is like American gang war. And pickpockets and muggers, they are bad here. And do not travel in east. Pretty American girl like you find much danger here."
The same fucking attitude in a different fucking accent translated from a different fucking language. She might as well have been in some sort of paramilitary dealership in Idaho. He might as well have tried to sell her a bomb shelter in case the Russians decided that giving up East Germany so easily in the 1980s had been a mistake. He seemed to want to convince her that they were planning a paratrooper mission at this very moment to land at the Reichstag and raise the hammer and sickle. And, he probably wanted to convince her that they were licking their lips that a "pretty American girl" was in Berlin and ripe for the gang bang.
She bought the mace anyhow even though her reasons to use it would be much more mundane.
Why had she to Zoo Station this morning anyhow?
That little trip of 200 yards had ruined her entire day. Scott wasn't going to be there, he had told her as much in the e-mail he had sent from Prague. But, she had hoped he was lying this time. There were two kind of lies, she thought, those that could hurt people and those that could only end up well. She had hoped Scott had lied to her to be there early and surprise her. It seemed like something he would do. He probably thought it would make her feel better. And it would have. It would have.
She played out the scene in her head again and again. She would grasp him as tight as she could in a hug and not let go until her tears were dry. The tears had come when he wasn't there, but there was no one there to wipe them. Although, a camera crew that had been there filming some sort of German after school special had asked her to be an extra. Of course her tears had been convincing, they were real.
As was her fear of the dark. She didn't need to act that one either.
The night before she had made sure to be home before dark, all the horrible things seemed to happen after dark. The British women who had just left had called her a "reverse vampire" because of that. More to the point, one of them, a beautiful blond, of course they were all beautiful blonds so the blondest of the three, who seemed to be the leader had told her, "stop being such a reverse vampire, love."
Emily had asked what she had meant and felt old. The women, who couldn't have been more than 20, had all giggled as they explained to her that, "it's someone who won't go out after dark, who wears bright colored clothes, and won't suck anything. Everyone knows 'at."
She had felt a little of the rage that she had felt toward Sandra welling up inside of her again. Had she known the women better she might have told them what she thought of their labels and would have furthermore stuck the label across her mouth personally. But, she didn't know them so she laughed with them. She had played like she was laughing at herself, but really she was laughing at them. How could they be so naive to think they weren't going to get hurt doing what they were doing?
"I hope they do," she mumbled to herself. And she started to cry. She had just broken one of her primary rules, a rule she had lived by all her life, don't wish pain on anyone. She remembered how much it had broken her spirit when Sandra had wished harm on her and she didn't want anyone else to suffer the same way she had.
What had happened to her?
When had she become such an awful person?
Was there anywhere and with anyone she would fit in?
She walked over to her window that faced the large courtyard bar built into the hostel. For the last few minutes she had heard music coming from it, but now she realized that it wasn't just background music from the bar, people of every nationality seemed to be facing one point and applauding at the end of every song.
"Great," Emily mumbled again, "it's karaoke night."
The background musak of Britney Spears began to bubble gum its way into the room she now had all to herself. She couldn't see the girl warbling the tune but her English skills couldn't even match the original.
Emily found herself pressed against the window like she was watching a huge pile-up on the freeway. She didn't want to venture outside, but at least this provided some form of entertainment.
A few songs later a group of either British or Australian guys began singing Kyle Minogue. What was it about these slutty blond girls that the guys just went wild for? It must be that that particular one had no problem taking her clothes off or falling out "accidentally" in public.
When they concluded, he heard them cat-calling out for someone named Scott to come up and sing his song. "Come on mate, don't make us come over there and drag you by the yarbles!"
Emily couldn't see this other Scott walk up but she could hear the loud response of his companions when he acquiesced.
"Pardon my Tom Waits voice," the drunken American voice said, "Dire Straits wrote this one but I've always loved the Indigo Girls version it was my ex-grilfriend's favorite. Well, this is the marbled mouthed, gravel mouthed version I'm going to sing for her. So the voice...I've had a long couple of days getting here to Berlin. A lot of sleepless nights in trains..."
"Get on with it mate! Bloody bollocks," the Cockney sounding men who had just cleared the stage began to yell, "we want to hearya sing. We're not here for a bloody Frank Sinatra show ya Yank!"
"Yeah, alright, just one more thing," the voice softly said into the microphone.
"This one is dedicated to Emily. She's somewhere in Berlin right now and I've really missed her. I made the biggest mistake of my life and now I realize...you better not throw that bottle, Nigel!"
"Oy!" Nigel yelled back.
"So, I made the biggest mistake of my life and I'm going to correct it tomorrow. This one is for you Emily, wherever you are. I now realize 'it was just that the timing was wrong.'"
Emily's jaw dropped. My God!!! This wasn't just any Scott, this was the Scott...this was her Scott. She ran out of the room and down the stairs right as he broke into a rendition of "Romeo And Juliet."
Chapter Word Count: 1515
Daily Word Count: 2463
Total Word Count: 65653
