Soundtrack of Our Lives: Kristin Hersh, Hips and Makers

"Hey," Victor kissed me on the head. "I didn't hear you get up. How long have you been awake?"
"I don't know. An hour, maybe?"
"Still not sleeping well?"
"Yeah."
"Poor girl," he kissed me again and walked into the kitchen, "You want me to make you some coffee?" God. He was being so nice to me. I felt awful. I knew I needed to tell him what happened, to explain why, for the last week, I'd been unable to sleep through the night. I kept waiting for the right time. There is, of course, never a right time. You just have to do it…
"No, that's okay. I'll get some on the way to work."
"Maybe that's it," he sat next to me and drank some juice, "your work. That new schedule of yours is brutal."
"It's not so bad. I just—need to get used to it." I'd started working mornings at Professor Avery's office, hoping that a schedule change would dramatically lower my chances of running into Matthew. So far, it was working, but man, was I exhausted, hated seeing the dark circles that now seemed to be a permanent addition to my face. My stomach hurt every time Victor said or did something sweet. Just tell him. You have to… "Victor, the other night, I—"
"Wait," he held up his hand, "I know. You don't have to say anything else."
My hands were clammy, "You know?"
"Yeah. And I owe you an apology."
I stared at him, "You…owe me an apology?"
"Yes. I shouldn't have acted like such a dick."

***
My mental View Master sorted through the events of the past week: Oh. The night we went to Bernie's (AKA, The Distillery). We wanted to see a local punk band, only Victor didn't want to leave until he heard from his dealer, Mackey. He'd paged him earlier because he wanted to make sure Mackey got an 8-ball for us for the weekend; Victor had already paid him for it.
"The show starts in like, a half hour," I said. "Can't you just talk to him later?"
"Relax, okay?" Victor was pacing. "He said he'd call back in a few, and you know those shows never start on time."
The thing I hated most about drugs was all the wasted time spent trying to get them. I wasn't in the mood to wait around that night, "I told Buddha and Kona we'd be there at 10. It's almost 10 now—"
"Look, if you want to go, go. I'll meet you there, alright?" He was scowling at the phone, "Come on, asshole. Call me back."
I was shocked, "Are you fucking kidding me?" My throat was tight, "So what you're saying is that it's more important to you to wait for a call from your fucking drug dealer than it is to take me out on a date—a date you planned for us. Is that right?" It was absurd—I remember thinking, My God, who are you?
When he looked back at me, he knew he fucked up, and he went into damage control mode, "Oh, Iseult, I'm sorry. It's just—you know how fucking shady Mackey is. I know he's going to come through, but I just want to make sure. Just a few more minutes, okay? Buddha and Kona aren't going to care, are they?" And it's true, they wouldn't but this wasn't the first time I'd made them wait because of something like this. I was tired of making excuses for why we were late.
"I'm just going to go. I'll see you there," I walked toward the stairs, waited to see what he would do, but then the phone rang.
"Wait—that's probably him." Victor snatched it up, "Hello? … Mackey, man, what's up? Are we cool? … Okay … Excellent. I'll come by after class tomorrow. … Yeah, around 3. … Okay. … Alright. …Late." He grabbed his jacket and started down the stairs, "See? It all worked out," he gave me a kiss on the cheek and opened the door. For the rest of the night, every time I looked at him I wondered, Had Mackey not called when he did, would I be here by myself? I drank my beer and tried to enjoy the show.

***
"I wouldn't have been such a spaz about it if I hadn't already given him the cash." He put his arms around me, "And you know I wouldn't have let you go to that show alone."
Do I? I thought. But I chose not to dwell on that; instead, I recognized this conversation for what it was: My out. "I know."
"So we're okay?"
"Yeah. We're okay."
"Good," he got up and headed for the bathroom. "I'm going to take a quick shower. If you want to hang out for a minute, I'll walk you to campus."
"No, that's okay. I'm ready to go now."
"Okay. Have a good morning," he yelled over the noise of the shower. "Love you."

***
Professor Avery was shuffling through a pile of papers, "Iseult! Good morning. Good to see you."
"Hey, Professor. How's it going?"
He shoved his glasses back on his nose. They were forever sliding down. "I am, per usual, running late. I have a faculty meeting, then lecture, then a lunch meeting, then some other meeting about a meeting," he went back to shuffling. "It may not look it, but yes, this is a glamorous job." He chuckled his deep, baritone chuckle.
I smiled, "I know," and put my bag down behind the desk. "So. What's on tap for me today?"
"Well, as usual, there are some tapes just waiting for you to work your transcription magic. Should be some interesting stuff on there."
"Cool. When do you need them?"
"Oh God, I don't know. Last week?"
"Not likely. How about Friday?"
"Sold," he put on his jacket and latched his briefcase. "If not for you, these tapes would be creating a fortress around my desk. Actually, if not for you, I wouldn't be able to see my desk. So much paper. Speaking of," he dug into one of the many paper piles, "Matt K_____ came by yesterday looking for you." He handed me a manila envelope, "He said to give you these." Inside was a stack of brochures, like the ones on the bulletin board. "I didn't know you were in his class this quarter?"
"I'm … not," I wasn't sure how much I should say or what Matthew told him. I hoped Avery wouldn't ask any more questions; I hoped he hadn't noticed that my face was a shade of red that hadn't even been named yet.
"Ah, well, you should," he patted his shirt pocket absently, probably looking for the pen that was behind his ear. "He's considered something of a wunderkind around here. Very talented individual. Excellent researcher, good writer."
"Oh yeah? Maybe I'll look into it."
"Well, do it quick. He's supposed to be finished here summer quarter, though I don't know if he's even teaching in spring." I didn't know that and felt sad that he would be leaving Ohio State so soon. "Okay," Professor Avery headed out the door, giving me a salute, "Have at it, lady. I'll talk to you Friday."
"Right. I'll see you then."

I dug my Kristin Hersh CD out of my backpack and put it in Avery's ancient stereo. It was hard for me to decide between listening to "Your Ghost" or if I should skip ahead to "Me and My Charms." Both seemed appropriate. I fanned out all the brochures on the desk, happy to know that looking at them was still relaxing. Stapled to the top one was a sheet of paper that said:

IW – If you want to talk about the *brochures, call me. I stay up late. That sentence is both a **sequitur and an administrative note, as I didn't want you to worry that there would be a time that was too late (early?) to call, when there is, in fact, no such thing.

MK

* I don't really want to talk about the brochures— though, if you want to, that's fine, too.
**Why should non sequitur get all the action?

I held on to the note, stared out the window, listened to the CD:

… So I pad through the dark/
And call you on the phone/
Push your old numbers/
And let your house ring/
Til I wake your ghost.../

Then I got up and walked over to the phone.

Kristin Hersh, Hips and Makers
Purchased at Sun TV and Audio, Niles, Ohio
Spring of 2004

Thanks to this site for the lyrics.