Pondering in my bed the other night, I was thinking about some of my favorite records. In An Aeroplane Over The Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel, Good Morning by Alkaline Trio, Control by Pedro The Lion, Deja Entendu by Brand New, The Soul Album by Otis Redding, ( ) by Sigur Ros, and Blue Skies, Broken Hearts... Next 12 Exits by The Ataris. So I made a playlist of all my favorite albums and their last tracks. If anyone knows me, they know that I am pungent dick-weed when it comes to making mix CDs, tapes, or playlists for people. I even have a braggadocios aura to my posture whenever I talk about it as well. Either way when I put the playlist on shuffle it didn't take me long to realize that the majority of the final tracks were less-than happy tracks. Take for instance the track Rocket City off of Northstars album Pollyanna, I mean as much as the record takes the notion of melancholy to a very trendy and catchy arena of life, the last track seems to not try and bury the misery.
"And when I fall don’t forget me….
Cause if I stay here I’ll be dying forever…"
Cause if I stay here I’ll be dying forever…"
The whole track has a rather scathing Icarus vibe to it. And maybe that's what it's like completing a monumental record. You find yourself flying to close to the sun. The closing track to the infamous playlist, Is That You, Scully was a toss up between Big Star's Thirteen or Otis Redding's Cigarettes and Coffee. Both of those songs have a deep meaning for me. I always imagined having my first dance with my wife to Thirteen because it's an adorable acoustic ballad about young love and telling the girls Dad to fuck off. Romantic, right? But then there was Cigarettes and Coffee, and hot damn, that song perfectly described my favorite moments with the people that I love. Just being together, smoking cigarettes just talking... or just simply being present. I'm fairly positive I chose Otis in the end, but what does it matter now, right? Otis was my Icarus song. The moment when I flew to closeto the sun. Perhaps that is what its like when you're at the end. You can fully see the sun when you fall back to Earth.
This is the best story I have about the sun.
[Also I apologize in advance for how emotionally graphic this gets. But I wrote this in October of 2015 after leafing through an old journal and seeing the physical entry about this day.]
[Sometime/Summer/2015]
I swayed in the breeze, my blonde hair curved around my skull as the summer picnic-air glossed over me like a thin layer of ocean foam. I stood by my car, still slightly inebriated form the PBRS. My pupils were dilating, focusing in and out on the street lights and their refracted glimmer napping in the puddles nearby.
I repeated this phrase -- "...get in your car and count to ten."
Oh God, did I repeat it.
Over and over again, each time, failing to actually start the count down.
I even repeated it silently, instead of the wandering mumble that I'm accustomed to when my mind is frayed. A small chuckle came over my body, as if saying this over and and over again would summon an invisible railing for me to hold on to. No, the only thing to hold onto is your word, and you said you'd leave -- didn't you?
But I repeat the refrain several more times, and that invisible railing appeared.
The evening breeze had slowly awoken from its nap for only a moment and nuzzled my face. But then like a coy cat the wind fell back asleep. All was quiet, my eyes focused once more and showed me that only seconds had pasted, and I had not budged and neither had she. My body was thinly laced in silence as I peered at Scully's car, idling in the distance. Her car, which was only about 70 feet away, felt as though an entire ocean built out of tar had been laid down between us.
"I told her goodnight..." I thought.
My face twitched as if to become allergic to the notion of concluding the evening. To avoid sneezing, my thoughts completed themselves,"I told her goodnight... I shouldn't have.... I should have done something else." My face contorted to my self doubt as if I swallowed sour sadness.
"Get in your car and count to ten..."
But, Scully's just sitting there.
Her brake lights were still on.
Her foot had not left the pedal for at least 15 seconds.
She's not moving.
It was only moments ago that she stepped into her vehicle. And then she even placed the car in reverse.
I stood there whispering,
"Why isn't she leaving?"
"Why am I not leaving?"
"We agreed not to do anything about.... this."
"Am I about to do the wrong thing?"
"Why am I still fucking standing here?"
My mind occupied itself with a documentation voice over, "Injustice, honesty and poor timing... The secret life of Me." I would make a much better Walter Mitty.
The car sat still.
Was Scully crying? Were her fumbling fingers on the wheel or were they in her lap as she starred at the ceiling? Was she looking at me through the review mirror wondering why I had not gotten in my car? Or perhaps she was just looking for a CD to play. No, that wasn't it. She had my mix. I gave her to her yesterday. It should still be in the player.
My mind couldn't take it.
Start the countdown.
Start the countdown.
Start the countdown.
But what would Rob Gordon from High Fidelity do? If it was raining, he'd chase her. It's not raining. Running right now would look crazy. Rain seems to negate the romantic crazy. Deep breath. But seriously, be Rob. How often do you make stupid choices? Don't answer that.
"Okay, just count to five... real slowly." I whispered,
"Once you get to five you're going to walk to her car. You're going to walk slowly."
5... You shouldn't do this.
4... She specifically asked me not to.
3... You suck at counting.
[Earlier that day]
I was sitting in my room, alone and listening to the album Infinity by Cloakroom on my record player. The last track, Mind Funeral is completely eerie. The lead singers voice resonates loudly, but yet is dwarfed by the amount of reverb as if he is screaming in the belly of canyon filled with fog.
He croons,
"Those who know must never say what ails them
and the ones who say will never know the way they go..."
and the ones who say will never know the way they go..."
These words echoed with my skull as I read for the fifth time the letter that Scully had written me. She had just found out that I was leaving. Moving, and not moving anywhere close that car could fix. No, I told her a few days ago that I was moving to England. She cried, kissed my face and walked out of the restaurant. Then this morning I picked up my letter from her. It was a response to the one I had written her. I was supposed to call her after I read it. She told me that she still wants to be friends, but we can't continue anything romantic. I was instructed to be a good boy. But each time I finished it, my heart broke. I don't want to leave. At this point, working at McDonald's just so I can see her face and stay here seems reasonable. But no, I can't. I have to go. I made a promise to myself.
Time to call her.
*phone rings*
Scully: "...Hey"
Brady: "Hi! I mean, Hey. Hi. Um. So I read your letter."
S: "Oh, yeah? That was fast."
B: "...I read it like five times."
S: "Oh wow [laughs]. Okay, um well..."
B: "Can I just say a few things. Like just give me 30 seconds just to get this off my chest and then you can talk... or ask questions [awkward pause] or whatever."
S: "Yeah, sure. Go for it."
B: "Well first of all..."
I told her how much I respected her. Scully had been through hell and back, and she had the scars to prove it. I confessed that I didn't think I was worthy to be around her, and how I felt like I had cheated her, or us, or whatever we could have been by not being forthcoming about England. The letter not only evoked an incredulous emotional response, but it also made me love her more. Scully was a real person. She didn't pretend to be someone she was not. Every step she took was laced with meaning and purpose to her character. I commented on the courage that I saw in her. For the first time in my life I saw someone real and it was the most terrifying moment, ever.
Brady: "So... with all of that said. I would really like it if you came tonight. I mean, that is if that's okay with you. I mean I'm okay with it. I just wanted to be transparent. I mean I won't try anything..."
Scully: "Brady. Shut up. [laughs] I was going to come tonight whether you told me to or not."
B: "[awkward giggle] Oh, well um... Okay! Yes. I mean cool. That's what I wanted anyways so... um.."
S: "[sigh] I know. I know."
B: "So I'll see you tonight then?"
S: "Yes, you will see me tonight. What time are you getting to JJ's?"
B: "Um... like around 8?"
S: "See you then."
I could feel her smile through the receiver as I hung up the phone. Tonight was to be my last night at JJ's Bohemia preforming stand-up comedy. And nothing about this felt funny, and Cloakroom was still blaring in the background adding to the imminence of my heart.
When I got to JJ's the room felt bipolar.
Everyone was excited to see me.
Hugs everywhere.
Thousands of questions: So how long will you be gone?
Where in London are you staying?
I forgot that you even graduated college, so wait, you're getting your masters?
Why are you leaving us?
There was laughter and humorous digs at my personal life. Eddie was serving up cold ones and there was about as much cigarette smoke as there were friendly faces. Several of my other friends that normally didn't attend comedy night came as well. Everyone kept offering me beers and I gladly accepted. Anything to dull the senses. My insides were contorting as if my stomach had flees in it.
With each sip I looked around the room. No sign of Scully.
I circled the room about four times even though you could see the entirety of the room from anywhere you stood. I must have looked as if I lost my phone again, like I did at my sisters wedding when I preformed the Final Countdown by Europe ridiculously intoxicated at her reception. There was a lot of growling involved.
After about 20 minutes of pacing the room John and Matt, two of my closest friends suggested that we sit outside. I tried to have normal conversation, you know the basics. "Did you see that homeless dude poop on the sidewalk yesterday?" or "Dude, have you heard the rumors about the second season of True Detective. I bet it's going to be incredible." While having these normal conversations my mind was also scattered. What was I going to talk about tonight? What was going to be my funny stuff?
The summer heat was cooling down, and my hands were damp with sweet and were holding a perspired can of PBR. As I shook my can, I could tell I only had a couple drops left. John looked down at the trembling can in my hand.
"You want another one brother?" he asked.
I sighed, "Dude you know I'd love another one."
"Okay I'll be right back."
Matt chimed in, "I'm coming with you buddy, I need another one too."
John and Matt got up and left me on the bench outside.
I opened my phone and began scrolling through my set list.
Mentally I was checking off what I needed to remember.
About five minutes had passed and I was looking at the joke I wrote about Mark Cuban, the owner of the Dallas Mavericks, when my concentration was broken.
"PBR, right?" said a delicate voice.
It was Scully. She sauntered up the steps and sat down beside me with a can of PBR in her hands. She placed it right next to me with a bright smile. Her dark hair curling around her face, and eyes shinning through her glasses as she looked purposefully at me.
I laughed, "I'm glad you came."
"Me too."
"Wait, where's your beer?" I asked.
"Oh, I just wanted to make sure you had one first." She grinned.
"You're the best."
She swiped her hair back behind her shoulder with a delicate bravado.
"Pfft... Bitch, I know."
The sound of approaching footsteps were coming. It was John and Matt.
"Okay man here's your..." John said walking up the stairs, then stopped. "Oh maaaaan. Did she get you one already?"
The rest of the evening in everyone else's eyes went by like normal, but for me it was terrifyingly incredible. People got up and told jokes. I took my usual five bathroom breaks before I got up on stage. Beers were consumed. Cigarettes were puffed and everyone jeered. After the comedy show I shook hands with all my fellow comedians. I think Bryant even cracked my back when he gave me a bear hug while yelling, "You better bring your disgustingly beautiful ass back here as soon as you can brother!" As the crowd began to clear, I noticed that Scully was still there, looking shyly at her feet and then at me as if she was trying to contain either the largest fit of laughter or tears. I strolled up to her, bobbing and weaving through people trying to get my attention.
"So, um. It's only 10:30, would you like to walk to Pickle Barrel and maybe get a drink?"
Scully nodded her head, "Mmmmhmm. Yes I would love that."
"Excellent, then let me just say goodbye to everyone else." I said.
"Take your time," she said sincerely, looking deep into my eyes, "Okay?"
I disappeared back into the crowd and shook hands with what felt like a thousand people.
When I finally walked out the door of JJ's it was around 11:00pm.
Scully was outside waiting with a big smile.
"You ready?" she said.
"Of course."
How could I have prepared for this anyways?
When we got to Pickle Barrel, my favorite place in Chattanooga, we headed straight upstairs and sat on the open deck.We spent all night talking, drinking, laughing, sharing with one another and smoking; my favorite things. We both talked about the future and what we both wanted to do. She wants to go into film, perhaps be a director or a producer. I want to be a teacher, or a professional drinker. I told her that I'd send her a postcard. She threatened me saying that if I didn't she'd find me and kill me. We talked about comedy at JJ's. We discussed our first "date" at Pickle Barrel where I watched her eat a huge bowl nachos and didn't even have to help her finish. We laughed hysterically over the "butt-pie" that she made me late one evening and how awkward it would be to try and explain that inside joke to anyone else. She told me over the course of the evening that she hadn't seen the cinematic epic Roadhouse starring Patrick Swayze.
"Are you fucking joking?!" I screamed.
"I'm not! I swear!"
"Oh my god!" I huffed, "Scully! How could you be in film and not have seen that movie!?"
Her self-defense laughter was boiling, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Is it any good?"
My eyes flared and the pitch of my voice raised two octaves, "Is it any good!"
By the time I told her that she had to see it before I leave the country, it was 3am.
"Oh shit, is that the time?" I barked in confusion.
She laughed, "Yeah man. Don't worry. I'll get the bill. Just walk me back to my car, okay?"
After trying to argue with her that she shouldn't have to pay the bill, I conceded and let her have her way.
"Walk me to my car, yeah?" She repeated.
"Well, we're going the same way. So I guess I have to." I winked at her.
"Dick" she said under her breath.
[Back to me counting]
"Okay, just count to five..." I whispered, "Once you get to five you're going to walk to her car. You're going to walk slowly."
5... You shouldn't do this.
4... She specifically asked me not to.
3... You suck at counting.
2... What happens if she puts in drive while I'm walking after her?
Do I keep on walking so it doesn't look like an accident?
1... Wait... Why is she getting out of her car?
She was trembling.
Scully and I didn't talk for 30 seconds as our lips interchangeably swelled like the tide of a secret shoreline, untouched by man. We both took turns diving into this ocean with out any thought of ever coming back up. She released my face with a gentleness and I hers. Scully then buried her face between my chin and shoulder, and took a deep, deep breath. I mirrored her. I inhaled deeply more than just her fragrance, I swallowed sadness of hope. I held her.
Feeling her lips move on my chest she whispered, "You're such an asshole..."
"I know..." I said.
She giggled. I felt her happiness before I even heard it, the shock wave from her snickering cadence rattled my body. Her face was hot with emotion, and mine -- the same.
We both released each other from our tangled roots ever so unwillingly, but we let go politely and took a few steps back.
With the elegance of a race just finished we spoke.
I fumbled over my word, "I...I... Uh. I'll text you. Or something" I said.
So did she, "Um, yeah. Sure. Please?" Scully awkwardly paused, "I mean yes." she said quickly.
"Okay. I will."
Taking a few more steps back she place her hair behind her ears, "Good." she said sharply.
We walked back to our cars but didn't break eye contact. It was the opposite of a western. Guns had already been drawn, ammo depleted.
Scully was even half way into her car, and she still didn't break eye contact.
We both lingered once more, until my heart tore open my mouth.
"I... " my tongue swelled, " I don't want to go home." I screamed, "So, please. Go."
She nodded her head, closed the door to her vehicle.
Scully finally took her foot off the break pedal.
I opened my car door, sat down, shut the door and sighed.
"Get in your car and count to ten..."
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