Wading in the Velvet Sea

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Zach loved to travel in 77 minute intervals. Spent hours guided by people as varied as Robert Plant and Robert Palmer, Luscious Jackson to Janet Jackson, Joe Walsh to Joe Satriani. The roads were always smooth, always clear, and at the end, always lend him directly back home.

In 8th grade, Zach had made a mix for Sarah Michaels. He and Sarah had been friends since kindergarten, when an unfortunate accident involving a crayon and Suzie Harmon’s ass plucked Zach and Sarah from the playground to escort Suzie to the doctor’s office. Sarah, in turned out, had two very good reasons to spend time with Zach: she lived just two blocks from his house, and her father’s raging alcoholism often led her to seek climates where a lamp would not be used as a lawn dart.

Zach introduced Sarah to Animaniacs, Sarah introduced Zach to “Space Ghost: Coast to Coast”. They made mix tapes, exchanged Christmas presents, and generally shunned the outside world. Which suited them fine since the outside world cooperated in the mutual act of exclusion.

In 7th grade Sarah grew into a C cup and suddenly the world shone a big flashlight in her eyes. Boys who never noticed her suddenly couldn’t take their eyes off of her. Sarah at first was torn, hating the attention, but enjoying being the envy of the female classmates who looked down on her, her ragged sweatshirts that always had holes in them, and her stiff defiance of any social decorum.

Zach, for his part, had no idea what to do with the “new” Sarah, who suddenly had less and less time for her childhood friend. Puberty was claiming their friendship at it’s first victim.

By Sarah’s 13th birthday, Zach had not spoken to her in over a month. He left her a few voice mails, a daily instant message (going from “hey, whassup?” to “where are you?” to “earth to ms. michaels!” to “sarah, what the fuck?” over the matter of a week), but to no avail.

He felt rather bad about that last instant message, and decided to rectify the situation. He spent a good week making what he felt would be his Mona Lisa, his Sistine ceiling. A mix tape (which he knew to be far more intimate a gift that a mix CD), structured as a play, with acts, scenes, characters, and his own libretto to accompany the careful selected tracks from his wall of music. After four revisions, he felt what he was the best tape of his life, a mixture of the sublime (giving him an excuse to finally throw “The Cure’s “Fascination Street” onto a mix) to the ridiculous (he hated to put Banarama on there, but damnit the moment called for it). He carefully drew the liner notes, using a mix of magenta and black markers to create a sufficiently ambient cover, wrapped the tape carefully in the vintage Beatles wrapping paper he bought on eBay, and brought it to school.

Sarah was in her now-usual spot, sitting next to Bobby Higgins. Bobby was sitting, arm placed on her thigh as if no one could see. Sarah had grown with the attention, her back no longer slouched, and her once bare face was now adorned with enough make-up to see across the room where Zach sat.

She was wearing a soft pink sweater, partially covered by Bobby’s “Western Jr. High Cross Country” jacket, knee-length mini-skirt. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun that allowed her eyes to cast a fiery glow on all around her. Zach sat, tapping the tape idly against the table, unconscious of his repetitious tapping. Finally, Zach saw his opening. Bobby had reclaimed his jacket, and was taking both his and Sarah’s trays to the cafeteria conveyer belt. Moving quickly, Zach crossed the endless social space between himself and his childhood friend.

“Hey, stranger,” Zach said as he reached her table.

“Oh. Hey Zach,” she replied, looking quickly towards the conveyer belt.

“So, I uh, you know…it’s your birthday today!”

“Yea, um. It is.”

“So, happy birthday,” Zach managed, thrown off by her constant gaze at anything other than himself.

“Thanks,” she replied, starting to grab her purse.

“Wait, don’t…” he said, sitting next to her.

“Don’t what?” she asked, involuntarily scooting a few inches away from Zach.

“It’s just…look. I miss you, that’s all. I miss…us.”

For just a moment Sarah’s eyes softened. The toughness that she has built up as she sensed Zach’ presence melted, if only for a minute.

“Zach, I…it’s just…” And before she could say another word, Zach thrust the tape into her hands.

“So I wanted you to have this. Happy Birthday.”

Zach saw Bobby coming back now, and stood up quickly. “Call me, tell me if you like it,” he said, and left the table.

Zach felt like Atlas relieved of his burden. He fairly skipped as his sat back down, 46 feet away, across the room, watching his tape linger in Sarah’s hand as she and Bobby left the cafeteria.

Then he watched as the tape fell from her hands into the garbage can as the pair left, arm in arm.