Broken Social Scene

Broken Social Scene
A Story Inspired by Life & Music

~*~

Hopping on the 12:27 CTA Bus to Clark, I see passing faces and dying trends. The people around me look poor and confused. I’m trapped in a cycle that is unyielding and vicious to anyone who crosses its path. This state of indifference is the only thing that holds us as a society together. Conflicting views and misread thoughts lead way to a state of mind few dare to consider, let alone look at from another angle. Between the buried and me lay all the bad angels. There is a young girl striving to look like every magazine stuck on every corner, force-feeding her bullshit she doesn’t understand she can ignore. Her pasty skin covered up by tan lines in forty degree weather, inches of makeup layered upon her face to cover up the change of youth to semi-adulthood. She looks down at her feet as she walks.
We pass Clark as I come out of my own over-analytical state of conscious. I stand up and pull a cord which controls each passenger’s fate on our tour of unhappiness. I notice broken faces and forgotten dreams. These people did not consciously decide to end up here, they got too caught up in life and forgot to look around and see what it is they had become.
Turning to my left I find my bearings. Two blocks from Clark, focus. I reach South Halsted before Clark, and find a store that quickly catches my attention. I wait for the electronic white man to indicate to me it is safe to cross the street. He appears with little hesitation and I feel reluctant because of his confidence. A neon golden sign resides before me. Bookslut glares back at me and I enter.
They have a good selection. Everything from the classics to cult hits to the mainstream. Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying rests on a $2 discount shelf and I feel it should cost more. In the poetry section I find Bukowski’s You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense. I make a mental note to come back to this store to purchase new books to answer the questions I have not yet thought of.
I continue out the door and head towards Clark. Around the corner trendy kids gather with their misshapen bodies and tattered clothing, huddling closely outside one of the many record stores that accompany this city.
Finally making it to Clark, I take a left and find my own, Vintage Vinyl. Rob, the owner, doesn’t change his focus from the window as I shut the door behind me. I browse the store for new 7s and come across Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense. I can barely hold back my excitement. As I approach the register to purchase a new form of therapy, I remove my headphones and am brought into the soundtrack of Vintage Vinyl. Led Zeppelin fills my ears with the sound of love and freedom, and I silently wish it was a wet summer, filled with endless dreams and relentless possibilities. Girls following each slurred step with an innocence that will soon be lost between a drink and a shared dance. My wallet feels lighter and I place myself back in the world with the sounds from my headphones.
Stepping back into the city life I look for a hand to hold. I find the changing leaves and the dying sun, but even my shadow has disappeared into the reflections of these overgrown and populated tombstones. Each one a slave to a system of routine which I never felt I could follow, let alone become a part of. Their shadows cast are one in the same, just like my surroundings, each one as unique as the next, promising for a better day, if one just works a little harder.
Walking to the bus stop, an arbitrary pile of leaves rests in the street, each leaf wilted with the changing season. But without a shelter to house these fallen soldiers, I feel puzzled and look through the doors of the Tribune building, and see an innocent tree shaded by guilty light. I am sorry we keep you in our zoo.
The 3:57 CTA bus pulls up in my direction and I get back on, still thinking about the tree that feels nothing yet deserves more. It is Thursday so the weekend has started in my mind. I contemplate ways to escape the night.
We drive on our course, blank faces and adjacent stares. The engine rumbles forward as I glance out my corresponding window’s pane. An illuminated cross passes me in the distance. Below the cross, letters form words into an important message. It reads:
A Backbone Is Better Than
A Wishbone
I have always enjoyed reading the signs around churches, giving followers a sense of comfort, yet leaving the leaders with a feeling of urgency and regret. The church must have run out of ‘S’s’, seeing as Wishbone is spelled with a dollar sign.
I stare at the bus ceiling, looking through it, towards God. And wonder if this existence is what He had in mind. An old man sits to my left. With his cracked hands and wrinkled face, he stares off into the distance, as if pondering the same thought.
“Who invented irony?” I ask. His gaze fixes on mine, slowly turning his head sideways. He stares into my eyes and I feel my bones break and my eardrums rupture. I look away and shake my head, not knowing what to expect. The ride continues and I pray for something to fill the awkward silence.

We proceed on until the bus is nearly empty, and I come back from my thoughts as we enter my stop. I stand and stretch while gathering my coat and newly acquired vinyl, and feel someone watching me. I glance towards the door as a young women turns away and proceeds down the steps, and for one reason or another, my face reddens. There is a sense of embarrassment within my step so I keep my head low until I wander over to my complex.
I reach for the door and enter my abyss. Filled with pictures of lost friends, forgotten books deserving to be read again, and a collection I am most proud of, vinyl. As I go to sit down on my couch, which also acts as a bed, the phone rings. I answer to a crowded voice, yelling, “Dude, dude!” I faintly recognize the enthusiasm, trying to recall where I have been recently and who I have given my number to.
“Who is this?” I ask hesitantly.
“Man, it’s me. I just got back into town. It’s our time to bring the house down.” Instantly I am thankful for the invention of the cell phone. I have not heard Andrew’s voice in about a year now.
“We’re gonna have some fun tonight babe,” he says in a tone a voice that makes my liver cringe and my heart race. My excitement cannot even be bottled right now, and if it could, I would drink it later.
“All right, Andrew,” I say to him.
“We’ll be there around nine-ish to pick you up. Be ready you sloth.”
I hear the click of the phone before I can start a sentence. I have time to let excitement build and my mind wander around the endless possibilities of what could happen tonight.
I have not seen Andrew in what feels like forever. A best friend is the worst influence. Nothing can change the times we have forgotten.

Searching through my dirty laundry I find multiple outfits for the night’s festivities. I try on a few, letting my mirror reflect curves and imperfections only a mind’s eye can follow. An anti-socialite stuck in a self-conscious effort to be…social.
My mind rests briefly as I grab my favorite pair of jeans, dark blue with a couple scars worn through the back. Everything makes sense so I put Talking Heads on and I figure this must be the place. I go back to my closet and find an old off-red Polo I picked up from the Salvation Army a week earlier. It does not reflect my cheap taste which is always a plus. I check the clock which reads 9:15 as I hear a car honking outside of my window. I look down to the familiar faces of the people I love to be around. The moon is half-full and I cannot wait to see what we have to offer each other. I grab my brown belt and a hat to cover up my hair as I walk out the door.
Andrew steps toward me, as if he is not sure I want a hug, so I jump into his arms with a force I know he can handle.
“You dirty bastard. Where have you been?”
“Around, man. I’ve been working and trying to squeeze classes in-between my busy schedule.” I cannot help but roll my eyes. He never got an A in school. By busy schedule he means hard life of getting high and squeezing money out of everyone he knows for his next hit. I love him and always will, but who knows where this lack of direction will lead him. He puts a half assed effort into everything, besides having a good time and making me feel at home. He never got an F either.
“Well where the hell have you been dude? I heard you got all into yourself and your own thing,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Trying to get my shit together. I’m taking about six credits right now, on top of trying to find a job with decent pay and flexible hours.”
“That’s a lie”, he says, “You’ve been goin’ out just as much as the rest of us. There is no way you have more self control now than you did.” He’s not the smartest person in the world, but he knows about me, and people in general.
We shoot the shit while I am introduced to our company. First out of the off-green Chevy Impala is Jen. I have known her for some time. She is the type of girl who answers rhetorical questions. We talk, but it’s less and less frequent as our days grow older. I am happy to see her and am greeted with a hug and rapid heart beat.
As I release Jen from my grasp, I am trampled by Sarah, who I have not seen or heard from since my time in isolation.
“JAMES! How’s it going?” I cannot help but smile as she opens her arms for me. She has always had the ability to listen. If she had not gotten involved with Andrew, I might not have left. I lose myself in her warm embrace.
“It’s going”, I say to her. “Are we ready to have some fun?” I look in everyone’s glazed eyes as I say the words and realize I am late.
I reach for the rusted door handle to the front seat as Jen yells “Shotgun,” and am immediately irritated. I grab the backdoor handle and out comes another guest, one I was unaware of. Her skin darker than mine, reflecting the sandy overtones of a dust storm in the distance. Her eyes meet mine as I fumble over my words before she cuts me off.
“James, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“We told her about how you…”
I cut off Jen because most things that come out her mouth can be ignored. “And you are?”
I catch my eyes before they impulsively leave hers to check out the less important, but important nonetheless, features of her body. She smiles and extends her hand toward mine.
“Some people call me Alex. Most do.”
“All right, sometimes Alex, sometimes not,” I say as I get into the back seat of Andrew’s car.
“So where’s my part of the party?” Andrew smiles and the hair on my forearm stands up, each one reaching their full potential.
“Just for you. Welcome home,” Andrew says.
I lean forward and think our seventh president is going to have a bad head cold after this. I clear my throat after the inevitable inhale and taste the drip of a million Jackson’s. My thoughts race to keep up with the speed of my heart as I cough, and clear my throat once again.
“Wow.”
“Hell yeah, babe. Ready?” Andrew is already out of the car before I can even process his question.
We all get out and hand the valet a tightly rolled twenty dollar bill as well as a ten. Andrew joking tells the valet to be careful, he just had this thing waxed yesterday, and we all share a good laugh before we walk into the club, Loveless. I cannot help but stare at the name because of the colors reflecting through me. Andrew catches my eye and I know what he is thinking.
“Two shots of Jameson?”
“Two shots of Jameson.” We step into the pulsating darkness; the bass reverberates through my entire body. The monkey in my heart grabs at his jail cell and shakes my body to let him out. I shiver and follow Andrew’s lead to the bar. We have already lost the girls. They will be ready for us once we have a couple shots of lover’s spit.
Andrew whips out a wad of bills, nothing less than a fifty and I give him a look of surprise. I lean close to him and attempt to get his attention over intricately woven beats and high pitched synths.
“Don’t worry about it. We need to toast to something.”
I think quickly, which is not difficult at this hour. “To life and livin’ it.” We raise our glasses and put them to our mouths. I feel the heat of a thousand fireflies rolling down my neck and into my stomach. The burn lets us know that it is a poison. Our bodies are good at alerting us when something is wrong.
“I know it doesn’t matter, but where are you working?” I ask.
“I’m not.”
“So where’d the money come from?”
“It’s a long story.” He sighs, giving me the go-ahead to let him know I have time. Andrew tells me how he met Alex when he visited Sarah at Berkley about a month ago. They hit it off, “big time.” Sarah has despised our drug use ever since she has known about it. She tells us to stop as she rolls up a dollar bill and bends down to a broken mirror reflecting the pale overtones of a ceiling.
“It was when Sarah really wasn’t having it. Me and Alex didn’t let her know, so we had our fun and then some…”
I am distracted by Alex on the dance floor. Each movement fluid as water, lacing each curve of her body with the soft caress of gentle silk. Leading through to her toes, each painted nail reflecting the colors on her face. Just like the beat, the atmosphere surrounds us.
“…a pound from Southern Cali. He was driving through Chicago to push some of it and I told him I had a place.” He takes a shallow swallow of his drink.
“A Pound? Wait, you and Alex just up and left with him? Where’d the money come from?” Andrew continues on, saying he sold his plane ticket home for gas money and whatever else he could pay for. Alex took up a call service, selling her voice to the perverted minds of lonely men.
“In two weeks she made enough to cover for our cut. I knew I’d be able to sell it, what with our friends and all. After it was gone, the guy gave us our half of the money and split on Alex.”
He was right, it is not a problem. But keeping his nose clean is. I am aware of that, which is why I needed to isolate myself in the first place, to get away from everything and everyone. I could not cage the monkey between my ribs, so I figured the best thing to do was set him free.
“So what happened from there?”
“Alex stayed with me until Sarah found out, so she and Jen caught the first flight out because she makes Jen go everywhere. We talked and Sarah said she couldn’t deny my presence in her life anymore or some shit. So me and Alex agreed that we had our fun, but it was sleepless and forgotten.”
My eyes glaze over as I look to the lights flaring over mangled bodies. The things I am missing out on, yet not missing at all. I imagine Alex wearing a red dress to my funeral. It hurts to think so I ask Andrew for another drink.
Andrew screams to get the bartender’s attention, obviously ready to get moving. He has always been better at this life. I am the one taking pictures.
“Another!” he shouts. I can feel the blood rushing through my body. Right as the bartender pours us another round, the sensation of familiar human contact runs up my spine and onto my shoulder. I look over my left and turn quickly to my right to find Jen, staring blankly into my eyes. “How about another?”
She nods as Sarah and sometimes Alex approach us.
“Are you guys ready to get this started?” I brush my nose as she asks and buy them each a shot of Cognac. My hazy stare catches Alex through the bottom of my shot glass, and I see her smile. I stand up and almost stumble over.
“Look out”, says Andrew. “Let’s go to the floor.” I grab Jen’s hand and put my arm around Alex.
“Shall we?”

We dance. We sweat. Grab and pull. Thrust and turn and catch eyes and
an occasional lip.We fall over and get back up. We stumble to the bar and
I catch her gaze.
“One more?” Alex asks.
“Ten more ‘one mores’”. I find her wandering eyes not facing mine. The bartender begins to pour two more shots as Alex turns to me, feeling my eyes wanting hers.
“Tell me what you’re about?” I take my shot and pull her hand to follow me but she stops, breaking every shed of desire I had for her. She turns around and faces me with her glass in hand and takes it in one full gulp, swallowing the thought of me denying her anything.
Her hips do the talking. “Give me one sec.” Find Andrew. “Bathroom?”
Follow. Trip over bar stool. Regain balance, act smooth. Laugh.
Monkey. Rib Caged. Pupils. I cannot decide if it is the bass or my heartbeat.

We gather each other up and look as if we have all just survived a wet train wreck. Covered in each other’s sweat, alcohol infested breath, leaving each of us asking for more.
Andrew hands the valet ticket to a high school kid, still prepubescent in his stance and insecure in his movements. Andrew hangs on Sarah, and I cannot believe they still follow their pattern. Make up to break down. Then again, at this hour of night and this state of mind, anyone who feels needs something to help them sleep at night. Jen sits on the ground with her head between her knees, pulling them closer to her shivering body to adjust to her cold sweat. I am standing close to Alex, sometimes. We rock back and forth in our drunken stupor. The valet child pulls up and hands Andrew the keys without thinking about his actions.
Sarah calls shotgun, but I was going to let her sit in front anyway. Andrew wants her close, no matter how much it kills him to admit he cannot be alone. Jen sits next to the window, she needs air and we agree on that. I sit behind Andrew, with Alex in the middle. She rests her head on the inside of my shoulder and relaxes her body, but I can tell from her skin she is not going to bed any time soon.
After a while of silence and meaningless driving, Andrew pulls into a Denny’s parking lot for a bathroom break. The objects of affection all stumble out of the car, swallowing their words and laughing loudly to warn others of their night on the town. We’re all tired, but not for sleep. Andrew and I wait patiently, steadily adjusting our pants and powdering our noses. He strokes the facial hair under his chin as if stuck in a thought he did not want to have.
Jen knocks on the passenger window and points at Sarah on the ground, laughing from falling over her own weight. We get out of the same side of the car and approach the girls. I wrap my arms around Alex out of instinct and need. She embraces me and matches my breath.
“Where should we go now?” Andrew asks as he extends his hand in Sarah’s direction.
“I’m ready to lie down,” Jen blurts out. We all smile at each other and I feel Alex tremble. Goose bumps rise from her skin as the ashes around us begin to fall. I have not felt this confident in years. I look up and say we should find some shelter.
“We could go back to my place”, Alex says. “Just take the expressway to I-88 and get off on Winfield Rd. I’ll guide you from there.” We all get back in the car and all four doors shut simultaneously. Jen can barely keep her head up and Sarah can barely keep her eyes open. I see Andrew in the rear-view mirror, wide-eyed and ready to be at our destination.
I cannot see Alex’s eyes, but I can tell from her breathing she is still alive. We get off on Winfield and Alex gives directions as we exit, well aware of her existence.
“My parents left for Europe about two weeks ago. They’ll be there another week. I hadn’t even seen their new house until just a couple days ago.” I have no idea what to expect from her, so I do not expect anything.
We continue our path down a desolate road with barren Oak trees surrounding us. There are no leaves to hide from the darkness. We go on a slight incline up Alex’s driveway, and a bright fog light illuminates the distance to her porch.
“Looks just like the sun,” I say quietly. No one responds, and I would not expect them to. Andrew and I contemplate leaving Jen passed out in the cold, but Alex and Sarah talk us out of it. I wake up Jen as Andrew follows Sarah to the front door. Alex waits for me.
We walk inside the house and everyone feels at home. The living room is extravagant. A chandelier holds a thousand tiny crystals. Sarah dims the lights to reflect each crystal’s glare off every extraordinary wall. It might be late, but I cannot find her ceiling. Jen already passed out on the couch, so Alex gives us a small tour of the house.
Two flights of stairs later, we come to Alex’s parents’ room. She opens the door to an off-white hallway and I start to sweat. I can feel the pressure building up in my head. Andrew and Sarah walk one step ahead of us, not caring for the captions of each forgotten moment trapped in a frame. A family of innocent memories, stuck to a wall that is less traveled by. Alex held a cross in her white satin dress, standing next to her father in a black gown, leading up to a gate that promised everything and offered nothing. Alex tells me this. I think and listen, because that is all I have to offer.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Andrew says as he leads Sarah, leaving us behind. Awkwardly I grab my neck and pull my shirt collar.
“So…what do you do for a living?” Alex says she is a telemarketer with a smile.

****


“Please take my hand”,
she said.
And without hesitation I got to my feet.
I knew where we were going,
and I think she did too.
She looked over her shoulder and caught my curious eyes with a smile.
“I know what you need.”
So I took a deep breath
and closed my eyes.
She was right.
It was the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.