2When the funeral invitation came, I didn't figure it would take this long. It's words were short, crisp and to the point. I wondered how his mother had found my address. I'd never met her. But from what I'd heard, they didn't get along too well. It was the cliche story..when Rory could've, would've, had it all; he rebelled. He wanted nothing to do with his family..he wanted to make it on his own.
I loved him for that.
'The funeral will be held at the First Methodist Church of Beverly Hills, and will begin at 2:00pm. It would mean very much to us if you would attend.' He'd died from lung cancer, they said.
We met in 1996. He came to town...he'd apparently been there before. Everyone knew him, no one knew me. I'd just moved to California, from Michigan. Not many people would walk or talk with the girl who wore what she wore because she wanted to feel comfortable, and who's crack was taking pictures. His first words to me were silent..
"June, I don't want to freak you out, but..ok, there's this guy behind you, and he's staring at you. Like, really creepily." Marissa snapped her gum. She did that alot. Marissa was my only friend at the time. She wasn't much of one, but..she was all I had. At this time in my life, I was afraid to be alone, I think. I turned my head around and strained my neck to see.
Leaning against a dark brick wall, maybe 10 yards away. There he stood. Tall and thin. Thinner than me. Badly in need of a haircut, with his long light brown hair falling over his eyes. It danced out of the way when he shook his head to move it. And for one second, our eyes clashed against each other. We just stared. His green eyes right into my brown ones. It was a picture I would've loved to take. But, as I learned later, Rory didn't take pictures that often. And he never let me take one of him.
I don't know who started walking towards the other first, but before I knew it, we were only inches apart. And when we got there..that was the beginning of me and Rory.
He was so...rock and roll; intense. When I was with him, it felt like the world was going to end any second, so I had to take advantage of it. Food? What was that? I never thought about food around Rory. When one of his own chicks (I didn't doubt I wasn't the only one) couldn't fit into his jeans, that's what kept me going. He never ate anyway. Atleast not when anyone was looking. Maybe he ate all the time, but he smoked even more. And even though he never worked out, he was sure muscular enough to make you think he did. I always wondered if that was because of the cigs, too. I never tried one, for the sake of having some form of virginity left, when by the time Rory and I were finished I'd tried everything else. Plus if I came home smelling like it, Charlie would know. He was big about not smoking. Especially not MJ, even though that was entirely different. He wouldn't care. Just, no smoking, anything. He used to tell me a story..all about what screwed up his life. A few years back, he'd smoked some pot; 9 months and 3 years later, a daughter showed up on his doorstep.
Her name was June, and she must've had her mother's face, cuz she didn't look a thing like her daddy.
He would finish the story with a new ending everytime; sometimes Junie would grow up and become famous..she would perform on broadway and eventually even be in movies. Sometimes...he wouldn't end the stories at all. Just turn off the light, kiss my head, and return to the bedroom with his newspaper that he only read the sports section from.
It was true. Charlie had(once)shiny, thick black hair, blue eyes, and thin lips. He was handsome once. But it was long before I came along. We looked so different..different noses, different eyes, different hair. The only thing the same about us was our toes. That's what convinced her that Charlie must've been my dad. He said she left a note with me, and that's what it said.
'Charlie- she's yours. Can't handle it right now. Remember the night in Mexico? Take a look..she has your toes.
Love and kisses,
-Doris.'
"She cracked," he mumbled when I asked him about her. That's always what he said when I asked about my mother. "She just finally cracked. Broke down. But hey, that's how I got you, right kiddo? Cheers."
Anyways..he knew Rory. It was a small town. Said he'd heard good things about the kid..a hard worker, determined. When I told him we were dating, he was reading his newspaper. He didn't even look up from it. Just sort of had this surprised look on his face, and told me to hand him the orange juice carton.
I told Rory about his reaction. He didn't do much either, just shrugged. Personally, I liked him better when he'd been drinking..he listened, but you could tell he was listening..and you didn't wonder if he cared or not, because he acted like it. I didn't care if he wouldn't remember it the next day. Instant gratification, Rory called it. That's what he said I wanted. I just agreed with him because I figured he knew me better than anyone else. I mean...I told him everything. I always wondered if that was something I shouldn't've done. I wondered if he talked about me to his other girlfriends. But I just kept on doing it. I so desperately needed him to care, that I just kept on talking until I thought he did. He'd always run his fingers through his hair and sigh when I told him things, not quite looking me in the eyes. I wanted to photograph him doing it, because even though it symbolized that he thought I was a mess, he was so pretty when he did it.
Rory had only looked me in the eyes twice. The day we met, and the night we made love.
He got angry that night, when I told him he'd been my first. It was the only time I ever saw him get angry. He got up out of the bed and started pacing..I asked him if he was okay, and he swung around and glowered at me, somewhere near my cheek. I bit my lip and wrapped the sheets tighter around me. My responce was stupid..it's not like covering up would help. He'd already seen everything.
"Fuck it," he said. "Maybe we..I mean.." He paused, then continued, "You can do better than me, Junie. Why would you do this? Why didn't you tell me? I would've stopped."
I wanted to say that I hadn't wanted him to stop. That he'd given me a wonderful gift, and I felt like being with him was a wonderful priveledge. But the words wouldn't come. Because I was stubborn, and full of pride. He waited, and when I didn't say anything, just staring up at him like a frightened animal, he got his coat and walked out of the room. I heard the door slam. Charlie wasn't home at the time...he'd gone out with some redheaded chick. Elizabeth? Who knows. He's gotten rid of the whore since then. I didn't like her..she wore too much makeup and didn't have enough class for my taste. When she'd shown up that evening, the woman was wearing a bright red, short-cut martini dress. One of those ladies who would get many strange looks when insisting she was 21, because she thought she could still get away with that crap at 32.
I didn't hear from Rory for days. I didn't see him anywhere, because I didn't go anywhere. Finally, it'd been almost two weeks, and the phone rang. It was almost midnight, and Charlie answered it.
"Junie! For you!"
I knew it was him.
"Hello?"
"Hey." His voice was different..probably not as different as it sounded at that moment, because I hadn't heard it in days. Maybe it just sounded like an old dream.
"Hi.." I was uncertain. I didn't know what he was going to say. And I was sort of afraid. Would he still be angry?
"Uh..I'll pick you up. In 10 minutes."
"Okay." Rory had a way. I couldn't be ready in ten minutes, but I was also in love. I wondered if all his other girlfriends felt as strongly as I did about him? I wondered if he could control them like he could me?
30 minutes later, he'd driven us to the river. I looked like shit...I felt like it too. I wished I could read his mind to confirm it, instead of just wondering if he thought I did and going crazy.
We just sat in the car, listening to some Beatles song on the radio. It was that one about an octopus's garden, or whatever.. There weren't any stars, because the clouds were covering them up. Then he reached over, and grabbed my hand, pulling me close to him. I felt relieved, at first.
"I got accepted to a college in Florida." I looked up at him. He was staring straight ahead, no emotions displayed on his face. His posture was the same as before..no reaction from him, whatsoever.
"Ok." That's all I said. That's all I needed to say. On the inside I felt like..dying. But that's life. You've gotta go with it. If there's one thing I learned from Rory, it's that.
A few hours later, he dropped me back off at my house. Kissed me goodnight, and I knew I'd never see him again.
And ten years later, I was 27. He would've been 28 or 29 by now I think...we never discussed age, just always sort of assumed. We'd written a few letters back and forth..nothing worth repeating.
The day of the funeral, I was dressed accordingly. My hair was down, the way it's always been, in it's long, wavy form. I walked in the door of the church, and straight to the casket. It was open, and he was in it.
It didn't seem quite right.
I hadn't been able to imagine him getting any older, until now. He had a few more lines, and not much more emotion on his face then the last time I saw him. He didn't look dead...he looked like..my best friend.
And he was.
I turned back around to find a seat, and there was an older woman standing behind me. She had his eyes.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, and started around her. She cleared her throat.
"Excuse me," she echoed. I looked at her. "Are you..I mean, you're Janie, aren't you?"
I gave her a look of surprise, and she continued, "You were a friend..or perhaps somewhat more..of Rorys. I'm Judith..his mother." She cleared her throat again. I didn't really know what to say.
'Oh, yeh. We were good friends. He took my virginity. I certainly loved that bloke alot,' wouldn't cut it, I don't think. So I just smiled a bit, and said,
"Yes ma'am." She was going to say something else, maybe, but I started walking to a seat in the back.
After it all was over, she came up to me once more, and took something out of her pocketbook.
"This was his," she blurted out (talking fast, because I guess she thought I was going to pull a fast one on her again), and handed it to me. "But I figured you might want it, since it has you in it."
It was a picture. Definitely old, and definitely the essence of us. We were standing next to each other in an old department store that'd been torn down shortly after he left, in front of the chips section. I don't even remember it being taken.
"Thank you," I replied, and took it. At home later, I took it out of my purse, and noticed something on the back that I hadn't seen before. It was written in black ink pen, in his handwriting.
'Junie, 1996. My only one.'
Who knows what the hell he meant by that.
But as I put the picture away in my desk drawer, there was a smile on my face.
I finally got a picture of him. And now I can see him looking straight into my eyes, any time I want.