Soundtrack of Our Lives: Cocteau Twins, Victorialand

Skinny Marie's car had a broken dome light and I couldn't see where the piece of paper went. I pulled over under a streetlight to look. Skinny Marie's car was, by far, the most junked-out car I'd ever been in. Empty coffee cups and cigarette packs littered the floor. Tapes and books were strewn about the passenger seat, along with what seemed like an endless supply of black aprons from her job as a server at C______'s. Stuck between the passenger seat and the cup holder, was the paper. "Ew." There was something sticky on it that was now also on my hands. I wiped them off on my jeans and slid the paper on the dashboard. "Corner of ____ and _____. Apartment 301." I repeated it over and over until it was committed to memory and pulled back into the street.

"Hey…it's Iseult."
"Hey! What's up? How are you? Did you get the brochures?"
"Yeah, I did. Thanks. So, uh, do you…think we could talk? About…them?"
"Sure," he laughed. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Nothing. I mean, studying, but that's it."
"Well, I have a study group until 10 and then I'm free. But is that too late? I keep pretty late hours. I forget that normal people actually sleep at night."
"No —it's fine. I don't have anything going on."
"Great. Then why don't you come over around 10:30, 10:45?"
"Okay. I'll see you around 10:45. Bye."
"Wait—Iseult?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't you want to know where I live?"

I'd never known anyone who lived in Victorian Village. When Matthew told me his address, I remember thinking, Hey! Cool! I've always wanted to see what the apartments were like over there. That was always one of my favorite things about college: Seeing so many different people's apartments and houses and what their lives were like outside of the bars or classrooms that they spent most of their time in.

"Wait—I have a beep … Oh okay … I'll just call you later… Bye… Hello? Hey … Yeah, hold on …Iseult? Phone's for you, darling," Skinny Marie handed it over. "Victor."
"Thanks," I walked into my room. "Hey."
"Hey yourself. I've been calling you all day."
I hadn't picked up, afraid he'd hear something in my voice that would give me away. I paced the floor, "Oh—you have? Well, today's been really busy. Reading, work, you know. All that jazz."
"Yeah, I know. I've got a ridiculously difficult psych exam to study for. It's killing me. But enough of that—I was calling because I heard from Mackey and he wanted to know if we wanted something for the weekend. I told him yes."
Just thinking about it made me start to clench my jaw. That was my particular cocaine tick. "Well how much did you tell him?"
"I said an 8 and a teener."
My eyes bugged out, "For the weekend? Jesus!"
"No, no, no. For after, too. And for that concert on Thursday. I just don't want to see him any more than I have to, you know?"
"How much money are we talking? I don't get paid until Friday and I've got about $40 in the bank."
"Can you get a cash advance off your credit card?"
I hated doing that and I never ended up putting the money back. "No. I did that last time. It's your turn."
"Okay, okay. I'll do it. No big deal. So, you want to go over there with me?"
Mackey was a dick, but he was always generous with the samples, "When are you going?"
"Later. Around 9."
"Well…I can't—I have a study group."
"Where? The Union?"
I swallowed, "Yeah…"
"Okay, that's cool. Are you coming over tonight?"
"No. I have the study group."
"I mean after."
"No, ah, we may be there until late. And I have to get up early tomorrow."
"Okay, then I'll talk to later. But call me if you can come over tonight. Love you."
"Love you, too."

It wasn't far to Matthew's place, too short a distance to back out. Driving there, I felt like I was high, which, at the time, was poignant because it occurred to me that I could feel like I was on drugs without having to actually be on drugs. The car was especially cooperative that night, for which I was extremely grateful. The week before, I got stranded in it at the grocery store. I had no idea what I'd tell everyone if I got stranded in Victorian Village at 10:30 on a weekday, given that I wasn't supposed to be anywhere near there. I parked way down the street.

His was an old apartment building—not one of the big old Victorian houses; it was something of a let down. I stood on the steps and had a cigarette, then walked up and rang, "M.S. K­­­_____, 301." The buzzer buzzed and the door clicked. The foyer smelled like Pine Sol. I reached the third floor and I was just about to knock when Matthew opened the door. He smelled lemony, again.
"Come in," he gestured inside. "I'm glad you came."
"Thanks. I'm glad, too. I think."
"You think?"
"No, I am…glad."
He took my coat and my bag and set them on a chair by the door. It was your typical starving student apartment: desk, kitchen table and chairs, ratty armchair, bookshelf, stereo, none of it new, and all of it on its ninth or tenth owner. Books everywhere. Green shag carpet. There were photos on the wall above the bricked-up fireplace. The pictures were of some European-looking place.
He stood next to me and pointed, "Those are from Austria. I went the summer before I came here. I love it there. Have you been?"
"No. I haven't." I hadn't been outside of the east coast.
"Well, if you get the chance, you should definitely go."
I nodded and looked around, not sure yet if I was staying.
He must have guessed this and offered me some tea, "It's Jasmine. That okay?"
"Yeah, that's great." I looked around some more; I still hadn't looked at him.
"First, can I give you a tour? Though there's not much to see…"
"This is really big for a studio," I gestured to the mattress on the floor. The bed was made. There was a baseball bat randomly next to it.
"Oh, it's not. There's a bedroom, but it's pretty fucking awful."
He took me around the corner and showed me. Wood paneling. Stacks of books. A bed-frame, a box spring.
"It looks like a creepy porno basement."
"That's what I thought, too. I use it mostly for storage. And I don't mind sleeping on the floor."

The kettle was wheezing and while he was in the kitchen, I wandered around the main room. There was a candle lit on the mantle that smelled like honeysuckle. He had an old-looking floor lamp by the bed with a broken shade. The room had a nice glow. He didn't have many CDs, but the ones he had were ones I liked.
He handed me a mug, "What are you looking at?"
"Your CD collection. You can tell a lot about someone that way."
"Oh yeah? So what can you tell about me?"
"Well, you like late eighties and early nineties college rock, or whatever they call it. You seem to have an obsession with New Order. I don't see anything terribly embarrassing in there."
He laughed, "I was a DJ in college. Back in the early nineties."
"Oh wow. You're old. I was still in high school, then."
"Old? I'm only 25. Twenty-six in September. How old are you?"
"Guess."
"I don't know. I'm not good with ages." He handed me a mug, "You're a sophomore. So that makes you…"
"Twenty. Twenty-one in November"
"Twenty. I remember 20. Good times," He chuckled and nodded at the stereo, "You want to pick something?"
"Sure," I chose a Cocteau Twins CD. "How about Victorialand?"
We sat on the floor and drank our tea.
"I'm glad you called. I was afraid after what happened the other day—"
"Yeah, well…"
"You seemed kind of embarrassed."
"I was," I was starting to feel sweaty.
"Well, you shouldn't have been. But your face was so red. Pretty much the entire time."
Of course he noticed. It wasn't exactly invisible. "And you're like that every time I talk to you. Why is that? Do I make you nervous or something?" He grinned at me and raised an eyebrow.
I stared at the carpet, "No."
"See, you're doing it now."
"How can you tell? It's dark in here."
"I just can."

I wanted to change the subject, "Why did you talk to me that day at the bulletin board?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I'd seen you around the department for months and you never talked to me much before that."
"Well, I would have if it had seemed like you wanted me to talk to you."
"What are you talking about?"
"You practically ignored me—"
"What? That's crazy."
"And it drove me nuts. It was kind of rude, actually; Sometimes I'd say hi and you'd just look the other way or walk past me without saying a thing."
"No way. Maybe I didn't hear you."
"You heard me," he leaned back on his elbows.
"I honestly don't remember any of this," I rolled onto my side. "And sometimes, I'm a little shy," I said into my mug. "People often mistake that for rudeness."
"Well, it only made me want to talk to you more, but I wasn't sure when you worked. Then when you were at the board by Avery's, I thought, Now's my chance. I tried not to be nervous—"
I rolled my eyes, "You? Nervous? Please."
"I tried not to be nervous and just gave it a shot. I was happy you didn't tell me to fuck off."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because! Look at you. You're beautiful—"
"Stop it," I was feeling self-conscious. I hunted around for a cigarette.
"And smart," he opened his pack and lit a one for each of us. "And a great kisser. And women like you make men nervous."
"Women like me, huh?"
"Yep."
"Well, now I'm really embarrassed," I finished my tea and set the mug on the bookshelf.
"Don't be. I'm the one who should be embarrassed. I can't believe I just told you that. But I'm just being honest," he took the cups back into the kitchen.

Sitting there on the floor, I felt warm and comfortable, and somewhere in between melancholy and hopeful. I stared up at the photos of Austria, "Those are really beautiful." I pointed to one of a church, "Where was that one taken?"
"That's in Vienna. Saint Stephen's Cathedral. It was spectacular."
"Do you have an album or something?"
"Yeah, but I don't want to bore you with that."
"It won't. Show me."
We spent the next hour looking at his trip, which also included stops in Prague and Amsterdam.
"I hear the pot is good in Amsterdam."
"Yeah, but, I don't know anything about that. I don't smoke it."
I couldn't decide if that was a good thing, "Oh."
"Do you?"
"Well, sure. Like every other person on this campus."
"I tried it a few times and it just made me feel, I don't know, slow or something. Alcohol is pretty much my drug of choice. And nicotine," he lit and handed me another cigarette. "Be right back," he walked into the bathroom.

I wanted to tell him, to let fly with two years of guilt and regret about the drugs and my life and what a mess everything was. I wanted to tell him how stuck and hopeless I sometimes felt, how, though I was worried about the growing intensity of Victor's drug use, I did nothing to stop it. And I couldn't tell anyone—all our friends thought we were happy and perfect and I was only beginning notice how fucking worn out I was keeping up the façade. I wanted to tell. I think I would have had I not looked at my watch, "Wow. I can't believe it's past two."
"Time flies…"
"Yes. It does." Thinking about leaving there and going back into my life made me feel depressed. "Well I should go."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," I got up and looked again at the photos over the fireplace. I wanted to climb right over the frames and jump into them.
He walked up behind me and kissed my neck, "Tell me if you want me to stop."
I didn't think it was possible for a human being to stand so still, but I didn't move an inch, "Okay."
"Okay stop? Or, okay keep going."
"Keep going."
He worked his way around to my lips. We stood there like that for a while then he motioned to the bed, "Okay?"
This is really happening, I thought. I can't undo this, "Okay."
He rolled on top of me and we kissed, two sets of bony hips grinding into each other, sweat forming on the back of my neck, his waist. I didn't know what to do with my hands. His hands moved from my face, down to my chest. When he reached under my shirt I suddenly became really alert.
"Hey—"
He moved onto his side, "I'm sorry. I didn't —"
"No, no. I'm sorry. It's just—I have to get home."
"I totally understand," he sat up. "I'll walk you to your car."

He put on his sneakers and helped me with my coat, "Ready?"
Outside, everything was covered with mist. It smelled like mud.
We walked a few blocks, "Why did you park so far away?"
"Uh," I unlocked the door, "I wasn't sure exactly where your place was."
He nodded, "I had a really good time tonight."
"Me, too..."
He kissed me on the forehead and closed the door, "You can call me anytime you want, okay? Any time at all."

Cocteau Twins, Victorialand
Released in April 1986
Still don't own it