Elwood P. Dowd

Being honest isn't easy. Lying, "disguising the truth" is so much more pleasant, sanitized. People become accustomed to the person that you portray in front of your audience. I'm sure that professional actors/actresses could tell this better than I, but this is the story as I know it.

The air out here is frigid. I can see my breath floating away in steamy puffs. The numbers on my cell phone are 2:34. I remember distinctly saying "2:30 AM" and "where is she?" My memory is a bit blurry from the past couple days but I wouldn't forget what time to be here. The wind howls across the semi-lit walkway leaving my nose as numb as my thoughts. "Propped up against this wall at this time in the morning. I must look like a vagrant" I think to myself, wiping my nose on my sleeve.
I had met her two weeks before and she didn't seem all that dazzled by my theatrics, even now. We constantly had tried to "one up" each other on our nightly excursions. Emotionally unattached, just using one another as a witness to the reality that we were alive. Having just turned nineteen I figured that being jaded and tactless was the persona that was called for in this particular relationship.
Cutting through the thoughtful fuzz, foot steps thud overhead. Someone atop the roof covering the walkway under which I waited, yelling as loud as possible under the circumstances,
"DAN Z!" Recognizing the handle and having a passing thought that I should approach the voice with caution, but disregarding I promptly walk out from under the covered walkway onto the parking lot. Looking up to see if I can identify the obvious source of the voice, then replying "yeah?"
"Can you catch me?"
"What?.. Seriously? Your going to break your leg!" I reasoned to the voice.
Perched on the edge of the slanted roof, her dark hair fluttering about desperately trying to escape this madness, apparently intoxicated
"Stop fucking around! I'm gonna jump Dan!" She states unreasoning my reason. Instinctively opening my arms to try to "catch" her or at least break her fall. She leaps suddenly, awkwardly landing into my arms, and knocking both of us down to the asphalt.
"Shit."
...
"Dan, I think I'm gonna puke."
"Shit."
Rolling off of me urgently, onto her hands and knees, then vomiting all over a parking spot with painted stick figure of a man in a wheelchair. Looking on with a disgusted fascination, thinking "I am not going to get laid tonight." I ask the required
"You OK?"
"Fuck off. I told you to catch me." Her voice strained, trying not swallow. Considering this as a valid response I try to help her up and steady her drunken legs.
"What the hell were you doing on the roof?" I ask her a bit pointedly. To which she response' with a pained chuckle. Trying hard to be angry, I don't return the amusement.
"Do you even care? Tomorrow you won't remember this, and hopefully neither will I." She says to me without needing or wanting an answer. Pulling a flask from my pocket I take a hard swallow, and look down into her dilated pupils.
"I'm leaving in a few hours. We've got some shows in L.A."
"Well, Dan I won't be here when you get back. I'm getting as far as fucking away as I can get from this town." She says pointing a finger off into the distance.
"Ok. Well let me walk you home." I say trying to calm her down.
"No, Dan you don't understand. Do you?" I look away from her face trying to think if there was something to understand.
"I am not who you think I am Dan. The shows, all of this partying, and craziness. I don't want to pretend anymore."
"What? You were the one who always wanted to party after shows. Everytime I see you, your either drunk or high or both. Why?" I say waving my arms around for dramatic effect. Then she stands there for a long second looking at her shoes.
"Goodbye. Don't call me." She turns around and walks down the street trying hard not to stumble.

I never understood what happened that night. I always thought that everything was going along fine, then boom she leaves me. Now years later I think that I'm starting to understand a little. There is this frustration of acting up to a part in the script. Honesty is the big white rabbit that we have to acknowledge when no else is around.