I catch up with my old friend, Mike, and he's going to put me up for a few days until I meet with his uncle, Jeff, to give him the cash to begin renting-to-own the house a few places down the road from him. Come to find out that he personally knows this chick, Sam, her friend, Dan, and her other half, Eric. From what I gathered via the text he'd sent me last night before I boarded my flight cross-country, I would be wise to steer clear of her, but I'd also be blown away by her. He said she sings karaoke on the weekends at a pub in Fitchburg; her voice is one of the most trivial things about her, due to her not having any type of vocal lessons and that it comes so naturally to her. I haven't even met her, yet she's on my mind all day...every day.
I'm told her friend is more like a brother to her and is pure Irish, ready to fight anyone that dares to hurt her in any way. This friend of hers is what makes me think twice about even getting to know her, but it won't stop me. C'mon, I know every little damn thing about this woman that most people don't know before they even meet her!
She's a mom, divorced, been with her current lover for 5 years, trying to have a baby with her man, she sings for fun, she works her ass off, one of her kids is dealing with a Spectrum disorder, and that she's always willing to help the people around her. I know her almost too well: from her favorite color to her fears to her favorite music to her style.
I'm about to land in Boston, Massachusetts in less than a minute and my excitement grabs hold of me. My phone goes off, indicating a text from Mike. I read it and chuckle, getting the chance to hang out with the woman that's been on my mind non-stop because he's chilling with her today. Her friend is going to meet us at the pub later on today.
Mike is a mulatto man of 39 who has hazel-brown eyes, some muscle definition, standing five foot eight. He's sporting a pair of black basketball shorts, a gray muscle shirt, and a pair of strong legs around his waist that possess a laugh that sounds almost as beautiful as Beethoven's Fur Elise being played professionally on a grand piano to my ears. "Mike! Stop spinning me before I ralph all over the floor and you!" she warns him, giggling after.
I see her red velvet-caramel hair flowing from her head as she presses her body to his back, her face hidden from view by his shoulder. I walk up to them, my single suitcase rolling behind me. "Mike! I taught you to treat women better than that," I tease him, a huge grin on my face.
He looks up, stopping dead in his tracks. This causes her beautiful ocean blue eyes to peek over his right shoulder, my breath catching in my throat, and they narrow at me. "Hey, man! She's family to me. We've known each other since she and my little sis have been friends. You should remember that girl we had with us at that concert."
"No way this Tykie." It's pronounced "tick-y", and it's because of how hyped up and off the wall she had been then.
She pats his upper arms, signaling to let her down, and he does so. Once she's jumped down, I notice her smokin' hot body for her height of no more than five foot three. Her temper proves she's that same Tykie I met back in the day, that concert in Worcester when the group was touring the US for the first time in our lives. "You shady ass mother fucker! I thought it may have been you, but this is fucking crazy!" she begins torrenting me with her verbal slew which induces fearful silence in me as her finger points at me, jabbing me in the chest. "How in the fuck could you plan this shit with Mikey, but not let me know, you douchebag mother fucking dick? Do I not matter? Did you forget I goddamn exist, you shit fucker?" She shoves me with both hands, causing me to take a step backward, and that's what makes me snap.
"I knew you existed, but not your real name or any contact info for you. I sent the letters to Mike for you. You're still the same Tykie from way back then. Didn't you come tour with the group during our NSA tour?"
"Yup." She grins evilly. "Made everyone but you, James, and Chris nearly piss themselves throughout the tour." She laughs manically about the memories.
"You look beautiful," I smoothly compliment her, dropping my free left hand onto her shoulders.
She bends over, backing out from under my arm before she side jabs me. "No," she snarls at me. "Only my man and my best friends can do that."
"Ouch, Tykie," I respond, my hand over my heart and looking like she seriously hurt me as she turns away from me. I kid you not when I say that the entire road crew heard Pink's Trouble and agreed with me when I screamed that it was her theme song.
She nods at me over her right shoulder. "Serves your ass right."
Mike's eyes are bouncing between us, trying his hardest not to bust out laughing at the scene in front of him. "Let's get you to town so we can get your dumb ass set up for a few days," he tells me, slinging his arm across her shoulders before they start off toward the car.
"When you're on the phone, hang up, and call right back," she softly sings to herself, dancing as she goes through all the lyrics to the songs playing on an endless loop in her mind. It's basically her own chopped up mix of songs she knows that she's singing as she goes from one song to the next, matching every beat and note with her body and voice. She's going from my group to Usher to Pink to Britney to Tupac to Mariah to Halestorm to Paramore. She's plethora of musical talent, just a gold mine for a big shot talent scout for the music industry!
Her phone rings, the Power Rangers theme song playing. She strides over, leaning forward over the arm of the couch, allowing her body to fall on two of the three seats on it as she places the device to her ear. "Hey, honey," she greets the caller, my orbs affixed to her ass and thighs as she kicks her feet back and forth. She's a tiny, but real looking hourglass shaped woman of maybe a size seven or nine in juniors' jeans because she's too short and womens' jeans just don't fit her the way she wants them to. I'm mentally envisioning my hands stripping her out of her tank top, jeans, and lacy orange thong that's peeking at me from the top of her jeans. I can't hear anything being said as the soundtrack of my imagination running rampant plays the various sounds and movements of what I could make her do. Only reason I know that is because she told me on the tour we took her under our wings that she's had a crush on me for nearly as long as she's known her best friend from elementary school. For fuck's sake, I flew out while she was pregnant and married to her loser ex to help her out and she gave me a few tastes of herself while he was out of the picture. I'm starting to think that she may have forgotten about it, but I would say that it's due to the pregnancy brain. Maybe it's because it's been 15, 16 years. I remember her oldest kid, "Bubbie", and how he was a blast and a riot. I loved being around them for those four or five months.
I hang my head, my hands covering my face, and I sigh as my heart breaks. What she allowed me to have with her and her son... it's all I've ever wanted, but couldn't find anywhere else on this earth. It's made me bitter, broken-hearted, and spiteful toward everyone else's relationship happiness. She's moved on and I'm stuck in the memory. I'm not exactly sure it's the same Sam that took a 15 year old girl in as her own blood while raising her own son and pregnant with her daughter in the projects. I get up and walk into the backyard, finding Mike throwing a stick for his pitbull, Keeki, to fetch and return. "Mike?" I call out, closing his back door behind me.
"Sup, Scott?" he asks, having used my middle name as my nickname since the night we met, and throws the stick for the pooch to get.
"Did Tykie ever live in the projects with her oldest kid, pregnant with her daughter, and take in a 15 year old girl while her ex was MIA?" I ask, jamming my hands into my stonewashed jeans’ pockets and shrugging my black tee shirt clad shoulders under the 70ish degree sunny late spring sunshine.
"Yeah. She doesn't remember it for the simple reason that she doesn't want to recall any part of her marriage from hell. She's suffered enough and she's finally happy in and with her life," he explains.
"Aren't there times you'd swear that she remembers little bits and pieces?"
"Of course I do remember little snippets, but I'll be damned if you're the one to fuck this up for me," she honestly tells me, having come outside during my conversation with Mike.
"What does this guy know about your...history?"
"Every little detail. I told him about you. I only left out a couple names and small details. Granted, we had some serious chemistry, but he fucks me so much better than you ever could."
"What's his sign?"
"Scorpio." A few moments pass by silently. "-I wonder how am I supposed to feel when you're not here?
Cuz I burned every bridge I ever built when you were here
I still try holding onto silly things
I never learn. Oh, why?
All the possibilities I'm sure you've heard
That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa-oh-oh-oh
That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa-oh-oh-oh
I drown out all my sense with the sound of its beating
Make your way to me, to me, and I'll always be just so inviting
If I ever start to think straight, this heart would start a riot in me," she simply serenades me, her voice encouraging me to close my eyes a single moment into it in order to feel and taste each note and word.
I sigh again. "I know." I swallow my nerves. "How can I decide what's right
When you're clouding up my mind?
I can't win your losing fight all the time
Nor can I ever own what's mine
When you're always taking sides
But you won't take away my pride
No, not this time
Not this time
How did we get here?
Well, I used to know you so well
How did we get here?
Well, I think I know
The truth is hiding in your eyes
And it's hanging on your tongue
Just boiling in my blood
But you think that I can't see
What kind of girl that you are
If you're a girl at all
Well, I will figure this one out
On my own
I'm screaming, "I love you so!"
On my own
My thoughts you can't decode," I sing my reply.
"Do you see what we've done?
We've gone and made such fools of ourselves
Do you see what we've done?
We've gone and made such fools of ourselves
Yeah...!
How did we get here?
Well, I used to know you so well, yeah, yeah
How did we get here?
But, don't speak
I know just what you're saying
So, please, stop explaining
Don't tell me cuz it hurts
Don’t speak
I know what you're thinking
I don't need your reasons
Don't tell me cuz it hurts," she tells me, staring me in the face as her lip begins to quiver.
"Tykie, look, I know it's in the past and that recalling the days where you had to deal with that self-absorbed ass hurts you. I'm okay with that. I'll remember those nights and days we shared together for the rest of my life and plan on searching for something like that."
She looks down at her iPhone 8, quickly typing something before she plays Fergie's Big Girls Don't Cry (Personal) and eyes me for an honest reaction to it. "-but I've got to get a move on with my life
It's time to be a big girl now
And big girls don't cry
Don't cry
Don't cry
The path that I'm walking
Not much going on
I must take the baby steps
Till I'm full grown
Full grown
Fairy tales don't always have a
Happy ending, do they?
And I forseek the darker hand
If I stay
I hope you know
I hope you know
That this is nothing to do with you
It's personal
Myself and I
We got some
Straightening out to do
And I'm gonna miss you
Like a child misses its blanket
But, I've got to get a move on
With my life
It's time to be a big girl now
And big girls don't cry
Don’t cry
Don't cry."
She sang that with her eyes closed, giving me the chance to get close enough to hold her in my arms with her phone between our bodies. Her middle knuckles rest at the bottom of my sternum, her head dropped, and her body giving way. I release the breath I'd stolen away, only to take another deep breath before I begin to panic. She begins to seize, her body convulsing in my arms. "MIIIIIIKKKKKKKEEEEEEEE!!!!" I scream, unsure of what to do.
"Let her go." I slowly lower her into his arms, his body skillfully moving her onto her side and hold her stable with just his legs and arms. "Get my phone, Keeki," he orders the dog, the blue-nose obeying instantly. She places the device near his hands, pushing on the home button and holds it until Siri asks what she can do. "Siri, call Eric."
"Eric Martin or Muniz?"
"Muniz."
"Dialing Eric Muniz."
"Hey, hey, hey."
"No. Seizure, Sam, now, my house."
"Be there in fifteen, max."
A soft click tells us he hung up. "Since when is she epileptic?"
I'm still scared out of my wits. He slowly raises his head to look at me. "Since she was accurately diagnosed with bipolar, social anxiety, PTSD, OCD behaviors, and rotated hippocampus that causes medial temporal lobe epilepsy. It was confirmed in CAT scans four years ago. She also has migraines."
"Uh, wow. I didn't know."
"She had to have a near complete mental break before they figured out why she couldn't remember things and the seizures make sense, but the scans made it a concrete thing."
"When it did take place, uh, relationship wise?”
"About a month into being with Eric."
"How long do they last?"
"Anywhere from a couple minutes to an hour."
"How long have they been this way?"
"The seizures didn't get this bad until she slipped on ice back in 2017, just after her 31st birthday."
A dark colored SUV whips into his driveway after little more than ten minutes later. "Mike?!" a man's voice yells, running along the side of the house.
"Out back!"
A slightly muscular Puerto-Rican man who stands five foot nine with dark hair and medium brown eyes flies around the corner of the building as she begins to cease seizing, her body going entirely slack. "Is she just now slowing down?" he demands from Mike.
"Yeah," he confirms, his eyes glued to her limp form.
“Who is this?” he demands to know, tilting his head in my general direction.
“That's the guy she and I have known since that concert way back in the day. He's a friend of mine. Eric, Josh, and vice-versa. I call him Scott.”
“I would be nicer if she wasn't like this,” Eric explains, his eyes focused on her as he checks her pulse as Mikey walks away as he gabs away with a doctor.
Tykie groans, most likely coming to. “Whahappen?” she slurs, looking at him. It seems as if she's looking through him.
“You had another seizure, honey,” he tells her, smoothing her hair.
“I remember talking to you and then Josh, but not what was talked about.”
“We talked about going out with Mikey and Josh to have dinner. This is the second one in a week,” he reminds her.
She frowns, knowing that she might have to deal with this before anything else. “Have you been taking the med for it, Sam?” Mikey calmly asks her.
“Yeah, just the way I'm supposed to.”
She tries to sit up and her man helps her slowly accomplish just that. “Easy, honey. Can you get her some water or juice, Mikey?”
He darts off to get the requested drink for her, returning a minute later with a glass of blue juice. “Drink this,” he demands, placing it in her hands as Eric helps her hold it.
She sips from it, slowly drinking nearly half of it. “I think she should stay here, just to keep an eye on her. We all work the same shift. Josh doesn't start until Monday and Dan is crashing here for the weekend. The three of us can rotate shifts to keep a close watch,” Mikey suggests.
“What about Pops?” Eric questions, serious.
He still hasn't said anything more to me. “Bring him here. You know he enjoys being here.”
He calls someone, walking away to talk to the person. “How do you know him?” I question my friend.
“He's her childhood bestie and he's a good friend of mine.”
“Non-refundable,” Tykie comments.
“Will he warm up to me?” I inquire, directing it to her.
“In time, he will.”
