Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen

Stu lurched unexpectedly to the right.

“Let’s walk a little faster,” Ella whispered. “We don’t want to lose him.”

I couldn’t have agreed with her more. You wouldn’t think it was possible in a city that never sleeps, but once we left the bright lights and heavy traffic of Sixth Avenue behind, the streets were pretty bleak and desolate. Figures rustled in the shadows like rats. Every sudden noise sounded like a threat.

“We won’t lose him,” I reassured her – and me. “He can’t even walk straight.”

We turned the corner. And stopped.

“Where’s he gone?” whispered Ella.

I squinted into the darkness. There were cans and bags and boxes of garbage piled up along the curb and the wheel of a bicycle chained to a lamppost, but, aside from that, the narrow street of warehouses and lofts was empty. I wasn’t worried, though. It wasn’t the first time Stu had disappeared in front of our eyes.

“He must have gone in somewhere again,” I said. That was Stu’s trick, suddenly vanishing through a door.

Ella shook her head. “Where would he go? There aren’t any bars.”

“Well, maybe he didn’t go into a bar this time,” I said a little defensively. “Maybe he knows someone who lives here.”

When I used to imagine what the Greatest Poet Since Shakespeare did in his spare time, I always pictured him watching sunsets and gazing into the depthless sky, his mind filled with cosmic questions and universal truths, not fighting and drinking beer – but so far tonight he’d done nothing else.

Ella pressed her lips together. “Nobody lives here,” she said. “Not inside.” She looked over at me. “I’m really getting scared being out here alone, Lola.”

“But we’re not alone,” I reminded her. “We’re with an adult.”

“Aside from the fact that he isn’t actually with us,” said Ella. “Stu Wolff isn’t actually an adult, either; he’s a rock-and-roll star.”

As thunderstruck as I was by this unexpected display of disloyalty, I decided not to say anything. Later, when we were talking and laughing with Stu, I knew she’d regret those callous words.

“Well, whatever he is, we have to find him,” I said diplomatically.

We started walking again, cautiously, taking small, tentative steps as though tip-toeing through a minefield. There were no bars, no coffee shops, not even an alleyway Stu might have cut through.

We stopped when we reached the next corner. Ahead of us, in all directions, were more streets just like the one we were on.

Ella sighed. “We have lost him.” She didn’t sound as disappointed as you might think.

“It’s impossible,” I argued. “He was right in front of us.”

“Well, he’s not in front of us now,” said Ella. “All that’s in front of us is uncollected garbage.”

We were both so tired, so wet, so hungry – and at least one of us was so disappointed – that it might have turned into a real argument if we hadn’t been successfully diverted at that moment.

Someone – or something – groaned.

Ella practically jumped in my arms – which saved me the trouble of trying to jump into hers.

“What was that?” she hissed. I’d never seen her eyes that big. She looked really beautiful, if half drowned.

I had to get my own heart out of my mouth before I could speak. “I don’t know,” I whispered back. “Maybe it was a cat.” Or a rat.

Clutching each other, we looked up and down the street again. But there was still nothing to see.

“Umprrgh…” moaned the empty night.

Ella’s nails dug into my arm. “That’s not a cat.”

It didn’t sound much like a rat, either. I pointed across the road and back the way we’d come. “I think it came from over there,” I said into her ear.

The night moaned again. Painfully. Tragically. Without a shred of hope.

“It must be Stu!” I pulled on her arm. “Come on. It sounds like he’s hurt.”

Instead of moving forward, as I’d intended, I stayed where I was, much in the way I had stayed where I was when my heel got caught in the grate. Ella wasn’t budging.

“If he’s hurt, then someone hurt him,” said Ella in her Miss Totally Reasonable voice.

“Maybe you should be a detective when you grow up,” I suggested acidly.

Ella still wouldn’t move. “And maybe you should be a kamikaze pilot.”

A garbage can crashed to the ground, the sound echoing through the vacant streets. Both of us jumped, but Ella jumped higher.

“Look!” My voice was low but urgent. “I was right. It did come from over there.”

A head had appeared among the plastic bags and cans. A hand clawed the air. I was sure I heard a strangled cry for help.

Without another word – without any thought for my own safety – I let go of Ella and raced towards the hand.

“Lola!” screamed Ella, but she was already running after me over the cobbles.

We reached the fallen garbage can just in time to see the Greatest Poet Since Shakespeare throw up all over the sidewalk.

The Adult Among Us

Ella and I stared at the huddled form of Stu Wolff as he crouched in the gutter like a Shakespearean king brought to his knees by the cruel twistings of Fate. I’d always suspected Stu Wolff was not just a genius, but a tragic hero of the stature of Hamlet or Lear, and here was my proof.

Stu was propped between the toppled garbage can and a mound of plastic bags. A couple of the bags had split open, and there were coloured strings and shredded paper clinging to him. The way he was sitting, he didn’t seem to have bones. Besides the vomit splattered down his shirt, and the strings, and the shredded paper, he was liberally decorated with organic waste. Either he’d been in the can when it fell, or he’d been under it.

“We have to get him inside,” I said. “So we can clean him up a little.”

“You mean sober him up, don’t you?” said Ella.

She was definitely getting better at saying what she meant.

The word “sober” must have triggered something in the part of Stu Wolff’s brain that wasn’t paralyzed by alcohol. His eyes focused on us for the first time.

“I need a drink,” he announced with remarkable clarity. Causing a small landslide of eggshells and fruit peels, he started to get to his feet. “I need a drink now.”

Watching Stu Wolff on stage is like watching the gods dance. His movements are quick, and graceful, and awesome in their sensuality. But he wasn’t on stage. He pitched forward, stumbling uncontrollably. He might really have hurt himself this time, but Ella and I were there to break his fall.

“Oomph!” the three of us gasped as one.

Ella pulled her head back, a stricken look on her face. “Oh, my God, his breath … he smells like a backed-up drain.”

I tilted my own head slightly out of range of Stu’s breathing. “How can you be so crass?” I demanded. “Can’t you recognize a man who’s haunted by demons when you see him? Can’t you tell he’s in cosmic pain?”

“What I can tell is that he’s drunk,” said Ella. To hear her, you’d think she was an expert on drunks. “And that he’s puked all over himself,” she added unkindly.

Stu managed a few shaky steps forward. “I’m going,” he announced. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“Hold on to him!” I ordered, grabbing hold of him myself. “Don’t let him get away!”

Stu Wolff struggled to free himself from our hands.

“A drink!” he roared. “My kingdom for a drink!” And then he suddenly stopped struggling, and started laughing. “My kingdom!” he choked out between hoots of laughter. “My effin kingdom!” He turned to me. To be