3. Chapter 3
It was his eyes. Unchanging. Marred by time, yet still unflinching in their strength. Eyes I’d looked at hundreds of times. In videos. In pictures taped on my walls. In jpegs download to my computer and reposted on my Tumblr.
Dad bought the bootleg from Fetus. I couldn’t wait to get it home.
Nervous energy threatened to spill from my pores.
My whole body shuddered as I tucked the record under my arm and secured its safe passage on the subway and back to my apartment.
I sat the precious item on my desk beside my Studio Ghibli and Sailor Moon figures and tattered romance paperbacks.
I examined the images against my memory.
It had to be him. My brain couldn’t accept that it was anyone else.
This wasn’t a hunch. This was instinct kicking in, and I needed to trust it.
When I closed my eyes, Summoner’s eyes greeted me. They teased me about what I knew to be true. That knowledge heated my core. Wrenching. Unsettling. And fucking exciting.
When I woke up Monday morning, I knew what I was going to do. I jumped out of bed in a flurry of movement that was a very unusual action for a Monday, or any day of the week, honestly. Listicles didn’t pull me out of bed, but the possibility of an interview with a rock and roll legend did.
Showered and dressed, I paced the length of my studio.
The sound of my heavy steps echoed in the small space as I moved around my cheap furniture and dirty laundry on the floor.
My bedroom was a space sectioned off by Japanese screen dividers I’d bought during my prolonged anime phase.
I lived on the third floor of a brick building made up of awkwardly arranged fire hazards called apartments.
With its warped wood floors and gray walls, it wasn’t much, but it was home.
While I paced, my eyes kept darting to the two Summoner posters that hung in my living room.
This is really fucking happening.
This was it. My big break was within reach. I just had to force myself through a couple of days.
Sighing brought me back to some semblance of normal. I glanced at the clock above the stove. Before heading out the front door, I chased my daily dose of Zoloft with a swallow of coffee. It made taking the stupid pills easier.
My happy pills.
I needed them but hated that fact. It was something I didn’t like to dwell on. I pulled on my coat, popped in my earphones, and headed to work. Idly in the Sun, Summoner’s second album, kept me company for my frosty walk and subway ride.
I walked into the Popbyte office building, where Jordan was waiting for me.
Dressed in his stupidly pretentious tweed jacket, he leaned against the wall near the elevators and looked at something on his phone.
I giggled to myself. He was probably reading praises from the comment section of an article of his. I caught his attention with a wave.
“Morning, Poppy!” Jordan dug around his satchel bag and pulled out a saran-wrapped muffin.
Muffin Monday was an established part of our friendship. A way to start the week off on a good foot. Today was blueberry. I pulled out my earphones and smiled.
“How was your weekend?” he asked, his cheeks still pink from the cold.
I held back an eye roll, remembering his argument that viruses and germs got people sick, not the cold. But most importantly, the world couldn’t see his sickly hipster fashion choices under a proper coat.
“Pretty good. I’ve got something exciting to tell you.” I bit into the baked sweetness, then held it towards him.
“You do?” He took a bite of muffin.
“Yeah, but let’s wait until we get up to your office.”
Jordan’s brows inched up. He swallowed, then smiled. “Can’t wait to hear this.”
Jordan had a small corner office on the 10th floor.
It had no windows and was barely bigger than a broom closet.
But he was proud of it, and that was all that mattered.
His massive, pompous, wood panel desk took up nearly all the space.
Sitting in the room was suffocating, more so with the door closed.
The sacrifices one makes for private conversation while on the clock.
We walked by the open office space where me and my fellow lowly content creators toiled.
Jordan unlocked his office, and I barged right in.
I perched on the edge of his desk and glanced over at a framed picture of him and Shay in ugly Christmas sweaters next to his work computer.
My personal computer and work computer were one and the same.
I took another bite of muffin as Jordan hung up his stupid jacket.
“So, what is this exciting news you’ve got to tell?” He sat down in his ergonomic desk chair.
I handed him the rest of the muffin and wiped my hands on my jeans.
“You know the mystery of Summoner, right?”
“How could I not? The best-selling artist. The consummate performer. Your favorite singer. Of course I know about Summoner. How could I not, Poppy?” he huffed playfully.
Maybe I talk a bit too much about my little fixation…
“Okay, okay, I’m a fan—” He raised an eyebrow. “A bit more than a fan. But anyway, you picking on me isn’t why I’m here.”
“Are you sure? I thought that was a cornerstone of our friendship!”
“Anyway. I met Summoner last week and I think I can convince him to agree to an interview. Picture it: me reintroducing the world to a rock and roll legend. It’s gonna be massive!” I waved jazz hands in Jordan’s unblinking face.
“How do you know it’s him?”
“It’s me. How would I not know it’s him?”
Little lines bunched up between his furrowed brows.
“…Poppy, respectfully, what are you talking about?” he sighed.
My joy drained out of me and collected in a puddle on the floor.
“Didn’t you hear me? I met Summoner last week. And I think if he’ll agree to me interviewing him, it could be my big break. You wouldn’t be the only one with a corner office, Mr. Big Story Writer.” I mustered up the courage for a tentative smile.
Tension noticeably pulsed through Jordan’s jaw.
“I know I’ve never covered anything that big before, but with as much of my life that I’ve dedicated to his work, I’d be perfect for interviewing him.
” I pushed out my words, forcing them to fill the tight silence.
My fingers curled around the edge of the desk in some futile attempt to stay grounded.
Jordan shook his head. “…You okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”
I groaned in opposition to the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
I should have expected this reaction.
For any amazing or good thing that happened to me, my mental health overshadowed it.
Everyone who knew me was constantly double-checking my emotions to make sure they were under control.
The bottomless pit feeling in my stomach as friends and family looked at me with pity…
The expression on Jordan’s face was one I’d seen directed at me plenty of times through our friendship.
The suffocating hands of maddening circumstance circled my throat.
I swallowed. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jordan’s chair creaked as he sat up straight. “Well, sometimes Poppy, you act a certain way or come up with certain ideas…”
Although his point was unspoken, it hit its target. I blinked away the tears that tried to push out of my eyes as I slid off the desk. It was so damn unfair that people discredited me so often just because of the way my brain worked.
So fucking unfair.
“Hey, I’m just checking on you.”
I nodded and trudged towards the door.
“…If you don’t want me to overshadow you, just say that, damn!” I choked out before dashing down the hall.
In the porcelain tiled safety of the single person bathroom, I wept.
A messy yet not unrecoverable bawl. I pulled my collar overhead and used my shirt to dry my face.
I sniffled and scrunched my nose as I noticed the overwhelming smell of pine scented air freshener.
Jordan was one of my closest friends, but fuck him.
Seriously, fuck him. I didn’t need his support or advice.
I tilted my head back as my tears slowed.
Burning flames of rage filled my belly. My sadness sizzled away.
I was going to show everyone and nail this interview.
Come hell or high water, my career started now.
I just had to convince Summoner to agree to said interview first.
***
On Wednesday, my body buzzed with nervous energy. So much so that sleep was out the moment the early morning sunshine hit my window. At 6AM, like some sort of responsible adult, I was wide-eyed and bushy-tailed.
I’m gonna interview Summoner! I’m gonna interview Summoner!
I danced off-beat around my kitchen with that mantra in my head.
Of course, he hadn’t said yes yet, but that was nothing more than a messy technicality that I wouldn’t let stand in my way!
The power of positive thinking wasn’t going to put such an opportunity in my face just as a tease.
Surely, fate wouldn’t cock block me like that.
Wonder what his cock is like?
Giggling like a teenage idiot, I glanced at one of my Summoner posters—mid-jump, guitar in hand, Tokyo, Japan, fall 1988.
The fact that such an insignificant detail was committed to memory once embarrassed me.
Now, it only served to prove that I was the perfect person to interview Summoner and reintroduce him to the world.
I needed to focus. This was destiny.
***