Nostalgiacs
by Louise Norlie © 2006
“Quickly, turn on Channel 3. You'll never believe who's on it.”
Bianca's long, tapered fingers moved imperceptibly over the remote control to find the station. Her eyes narrowed at the image on the television screen. A faint smile curled in the corners of her lips.
“I can't believe my eyes. Is that really Joey Miller?” Elaine shrieked over the phone.
Wearing a black leather jacket, his hair slicked down heavily, a man held a sign up to the reporter in the crowded street. It read in crooked red print: “Bianca Mifflin – Where R U? Love, Joey Miller.” A reporter approached this man who stood in the front of the cheering crowd.
“I assume you must be Joey?” the blonde reporter screamed excitedly over the din, “Tell me about what you're doing here, and who Bianca is.”
“She's this girl I knew in high school many years ago.”
“Did you guys go out together or something?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“Why do you want to find her now?”
“I just want to get in touch with her again. Bianca, if you're listening, call me at 999-999-9999!” he shouted as he leaned into the microphone which the blonde reporter unsteadily flourished in his direction.
“Wow! Are you out there Bianca?” the reporter commented with an exaggerated sense of irony and amusement, “Call your old buddy Joey! He's waiting to hear from you!”
The scene in the street flashed to a commercial break. Bianca swiftly turned off the television and the room turned to black. The window shades were drawn shut, blocking the pale light of the winter morning.
Bianca was alone and felt a tiny chill. She drew her heavy wool blanket around her like a net.
“Joey Miller,” Elaine repeated the name which used to synonymous with everything undesirable, “I am so shocked. You never went out with that nerd. He was so weird. Remember the clothes he used to wear?”
“He doesn't look that bad now.”
“There's something sick about his trying to find you after all these years, don't you think? It's disturbing in a sort of Freudian way. Like he can't get over the past.”
“I know,” Bianca murmured thoughtfully.
“You're not thinking of actually calling him, are you?”
“Maybe.”
“You're kidding me.”
“Maybe he's just a romantic type. I remember that he had a crush on me in high school. Of course I wanted nothing to do with him then. But he may be different now. I know I have changed since then, even though I'm the only one who stayed behind in our old town.”
Bianca spoke ambiguously. Elaine was not convinced. The old friends, once the most popular girls in the school, hung up in mild disagreement.
Bianca rubbed her cell phone broodingly. After a moment, she began to dial.
999…
***
The doorbell rang. Bianca confidently opened the door. Joey stood anxiously outside. Immediately but almost reluctantly, they hugged each other. Bianca's hands curled as she reached behind his back.
“I never dreamed I'd really hear from you. It was so amazing for you to call me,” Joey said. His hair, which used to be puffy, was now straight and greasy, severely parted on the left side. His thick plastic glasses had been replaced by a much more attractive pair with grayish tinting.
“I had no idea that you still thought about me,” she purred.
“How could I not think about you, Bianca? I still remember all those many classes where you sat in front of me – our names were so close together alphabetically. I spent so much time looking at the back of your neck. You almost never turned to look at me,” he added, bitterness still showing through his joking tone.
“I'm different now, you'll see,” Bianca said with an inviting smile, pursing her lips. She looked into his face avidly, seeming to drink it up.
“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked.
“Why don't we start by taking a walk by the old school. Just for old times sake. I want to feel nostalgic tonight.”
“That's exactly what I wanted to do,” he said, with apparently genuine surprise that they both thought alike.
Bianca locked her door and the pair proceeded along the moonlit streets.
“Let's go behind the shed in back of the field,” he mentioned.
“I'd love to,” she replied. He turned to her with a strange smile. They were always in agreement.
They approached the dark and secret meeting spot, a famous hang-out for the forbidden trysts of their suburban youth.
“You don't know how much I wanted to come back with you here. This is like a dream come true. You were the most beautiful girl I ever knew,” he whispered to her. She laughed softly, with almost the girlish giggle of her teenage years. She heard a chafing noise and a clink as he reached into his pockets.
“It's getting cold,” he defended feebly, although she had not asked him any questions, “I need my gloves.”
They entered the dusky shadows behind the shed. The area was mysterious in its seediness. The street lights cast little illumination. The ground was strewn with decaying and filthy refuse.
The walls were speckled with graffiti through the years. Spiders scurried like tiny ghosts on the ground.
“Bianca, look there. Look down in the corner where I wrote your name years ago. You'll have to bend down to see it. See? BM and JM forever.”
She knelt gracefully before it and rubbed her delicate finger on the carving in the wood of the garbage can. She seemed pensive as she gazed at the hacked letters.
“Forever, Bianca. Forever,” he muttered, huskily.
She heard a sharp click, and out of the corner of her eye perceived a thin metallic flash. His arm reached around her chest to hold her still and his hand reached to cover her mouth. He was expecting a struggle, a muffled scream. Instead, he felt deep, searing pains in his arm and hand, as if someone were driving carpenter's nails into his flesh through his leather gloves and jacket.
Joey tried to disentangle himself, but his strong arm was caught fast by her sharp nails, and his groping hand was trapped in her jaw. He was so shocked he could not make any sound other than a hollow gasp. From her crouched posture, she seemed to flip back on top of him, knocking him flat. His head banged against the pavement. Blood poured from gaping holes in his hand and arm. He tried to wriggle away from under her, in agony as his injured hand rubbed against the ground. Before his feeble efforts could move him far, she was on top of him and they were face to face.
“Forever,” she whispered in ecstasy, her eyes smoldering with a strange red glow. Using her hands to hold him flat with incredible force, she leaned over and bit into the pulsing veins in his neck.
His resistance relented; his tense body relaxed. He stared for the last time at the blank, uncomprehending night sky.