The Meatfields: Chapter One: Vignette No. 1

Morning:
The following morning I apologized for acting so rude, trying my hardest to be diplomatic.

"So... what is it that you're writing?" I asked. A small stack of paper was set carefully on the table- obviously the product of last night's fervor- and each page was about half filled.

"They're like snapshots- verbal or literary snapshots of the middle of the night, see? A conglomerate of quick 'images' from around town- from the night- that, when put together, form a greater picture." She sounded like she was reciting a well rehearsed sales pitch.

I read through them over breakfast.

Vignette Number One
It started out simple enough, though every time I hear her say that a bit of the shine wears off. I'm starting to see the truth of the matter: that everyone knew exactly what was going to happen, but were powerless to stop it. What else can you do? When a friend in need needs you, you.. you know, give it to him.

Sitch: Jeremy needed a couch to sleep on: Jamie, Rachel and Jess had one. Of course Jeremy is all about Rachel and best friends with Jamie who is also all about Rachel. Rachel and Jamie used to date but broke up semester before last though they still live in the same house albeit separate rooms- a situation that works out surprisingly well, seeing as how 1) Jamie comes from money and would do anything to keep Rachel close to him including securing living space within the vicinity and 2) It was Jamie's cheating on Rachel that ended that whole affair and guaranteed that across the hall was as close as he was ever going to get to her ever again. What about Jess? What about Jess. Nobody knows. I mean, everyone knows her, but about such things Jess tells little. So. Back to Jeremy, the one who needs a couch. First of all, let me ask the question: who needs just a couch? If you need a couch to sleep on you are going to need a place to shower, to eat, to change, to have sex with your best friends ex-girlfriend, etc. But how could we not see this? There should be a new word for youth's idealism, something defined as halfway between hope and stupidity- but different. It is not realizing that it is a little bit of both but not all that jades us and makes us not young anymore. It is this sad phenomenon that is the real tragedy when something as obvious as this occurs.

I don't even have to explain the rest to you, as I'm sure you've connected the dots, but remember this: as simple as it started out, and as complicated as things eventually became, it's ending was even simpler.

And how did it end? With a violent collision of flesh on flesh. Funny how it all comes full circle.

It had been two days since Jeremy and Rachel had committed the act, and the following 24 hours had been about as awkward as one could imagine around the house. But on the evening of the third day, just as it seemed that they were going to get away with it, Jamie came home early from the bars, nostrils flaring, teary-eyed and ready to kick some ass. It was surreal, really. There were no traditional "words": Jamie just came marching in, flush faced and arms wide, straight through the front door and right towards Jeremy, who sat at the computer checking his email. It didn't take the shouts from Jamie's buddies hopping out of their cars outside trying to get him to stop to alert Jeremy or the girls- it was as impending as a firing squad. Watching from across the room it almost seemed as if Jeremy sighed- a sigh of relief- relief that the suspense was over, that we could move on, even if it meant to something slightly more difficult than two days of awkwardness.

And it was quick: Jamie lunged forward and swung, his leg raised a bit so that he sort of kicked him as he punched him. And he hit hard. It was obvious who the victor was to be. Jeremy had brought his hands up in front of his face as he stood to confront his assailant, but the force with which he had been hit knocked him senseless. And the pummeling ensued: Jamie just kept hitting and hitting him, both of them slipping over the papers and envelopes and various desk and table-top fodder that began to fall as they bumped into everything in the chaos. It wasn't as graceful as the movies: it was carnal and sick in a way, the way one dude was just trying to kill the other dude, and no one could really stop it. It seemed long but it was only a matter of seconds before Jamie's buddies caught up to him and managed to pull him off of Jeremy, who was half conscious and bleeding from his nose. Rachel of course was screaming and screaming, but the funny thing was, she didn't get down on her knees and cradle him and sob or anything and scream at Jamie- she looked as though she was way to freaked out by all the blood. She was just sitting there on the couch clutching the back of it like Jeremy's bloody unconscious body was going to animate and come at her like a zombie.

The boys pulled Jamie off stage right and with a quick slam of a couple of doors and the revving of a few engines they were gone. Meanwhile Jess and I tended to Jeremy, who was just sort of rolling his head back and forth groaning.

No one really said anything, but that's when I noticed it, and I don't even really know what it was: I can't tell you what her face looked like or how I knew this but glancing up at Jess I could tell that she had told Jamie what had happened. It wasn't all satisfaction or villainy or what-have-you, like I said, I couldn't really tell how I knew, and I couldn't think clear enough to even wonder why she would do a thing like that. That's when she saw me looking at her funny. She glanced over at Rachel, who was on the phone with Jamie’s buddies, screaming at them (she would later get back together with Jamie), looked back at me and mouthed:

"I told him."

Later I would wonder what was simpler: helping people, having sex with people, or hurting people.