Thread: When Nobody's Watching [Dane Stalling & dearestdarling]

September 24th, 1967 I've done a terrible, wonderful thing. I nearly didn't write you back... But then I thought of how lonely you might be if I No, that's not right. I'm writing back because I can barely believe what happened and if some record of it exists, maybe I can accept that it wasn't all in my head, but something real and true that happened to me. Joyce is infatuated with Jim Morrison after seeing him on television the other night-- so much so that she ran out and bought their album. Father threatened to send her packing to our aunt's goat farm if he heard it play in our house, but as usual she laughed and did as she pleased. Some part of me really admires her before I remember she doesn't know our vice president's name. She plays it constantly and though I side with Father typically, I've found myself humming along sometimes. Well, for once Father followed through on his threats and despite Mom's tears and Joyce's begging, he made her pack her bags. She left that same night, with Mom driving her and planning to stay the night and drive home the following day. It was just Father and we ate dinner in silence, and I didn't mean to but as I washed and dried the dishes that tune came back to haunt me, the one that Father almost smashed the television set over. 'Light my fire' is easy enough to request if you don't know how dangerous fires can be. Thirty years ago Aunt Nessie's farm nearly went up in smoke on a dry day in June before the fire chief made it out there. I started humming it and I didn't notice until I saw Father staring at me like I'd grown another head. Good girls don't listen to the Devil's music, he said, as if he has any idea who or what I really am. Maybe I could claim to be good before that night, but now I've been thoroughly initiated into this cult of pleasure, and it isn't Joyce or Jim or Johnny to blame. But you weren't hoping to read about The Doors or the dishes, were you? No, I guess not. That night I accidentally found the album where Joyce had hidden it, in Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake sleeve. Did she hide it there, knowing I would find it? It felt... Surreal, like she was encouraging me to lure Johnny out. Not a stitch to cover me, like I said I would never do again. That bothered you, didn't it? You'll be happy to know I gave it one last try, only to prove that I was right. I'd lay the most perfect trap for Johnny but he wouldn't come because I'm not Joyce and never will be. The fact that I even tried was wro I let the record play so low that I thought I might be imagining the sound. If Father heard it, I can't even think of what he might've done. Then I looked out the window, with my robe pulled around me tight, but no one was there. Of course there wouldn't be, but... I could barely breathe as I lay in bed. Why would he come, when Joyce was gone...? But then how would he know? Joyce couldn't have rung him. I flipped the album twice. I felt hot under the sheets and I kicked them off... I knew it wouldn't work. I knew it.... Until I heard a tap at the window. There, that's a cliffhanger worthy of As The World Turns. If you want the rest, I want you to agree to something. Not now, maybe not even soon... But someday, I want to have a conversation with you-- a real one, not this pen and paper tte--tte. If you can agree to that, I'll answer any question you ask... Anything. G