As the answering machine played back the messages she had received, the young blonde woman gasped. She knew that low raspy voice, though she hadn't heard it in years. They had been best friends, closer than sisters, but when they had gotten into a huge argument, all of that had collapsed. So why was she calling her now?
"Hey, Bronnie. I know we haven't spoken in awhile, but I need to talk to you. Call me back, okay? Thanks."
Joanie. Her Joanie. She knew everyone else called her "Joan" now, but to Bronwyn, she would always be Joanie, just as she would always be "Bronnie". The message ended, and a small click signalled the beginning of a new one. Joan again. But something was different about this message. There was something in her voice that wasn't quite right.
"Bronnie, please. I'm not screwing around, this is important. Call me back. Please."
She sounded almost desperate. Something was definitely wrong, yet Bronwyn couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone.
"Bronwyn, come on, man, pick up the damn phone. You can go back to hating me later, but please. I need to talk to you. You're the only one I've got."
How could she be the only person Joan had? Joan was surrounded by people every day at her job, and Bronwyn was sure that she had a crowd of friends to talk to. Still, she worried. Should she call Joan, or wait and see if she called again? Opting for the second choice, Bronwyn sat in a chair and let her mind take her back to the days when she and Joan had been inseparable.
The woman may have been tiny and short, but Bronwyn was instantly intimidated by her. Her short dark hair, coupled with a leather jacket only added to her fear. The woman made her way over to her and Bronwyn braced herself for a cold remark.
"Hi," was all she said, her voice low and somewhat raspy.
"Hi," Bronwyn answered.
"I'm Joan," her hand was outstretched and Bronwyn took it.
"Bronwyn."
She was amazed that the woman hadn't hit her. She seemed to radiate toughness, and Bronwyn fought the urge to step back.
"Bronwyn, huh? That's an interesting name. I like it."
She smiled, and Joan returned it. As she saw Joan's beautiful smile, she was amazed at how much it changed her. The tough girl became a striking young woman, and it was nothing short of mesmerising.
Bronwyn closed the door of her refrigerator and sighed. It had been almost eight hours since Joan's last phone call, and she found herself becoming more worried with each minute. Again she debated on whether she should call her friend back or simply wait for another call. Joan could have been drunk when she made the calls, she reasoned. After all, Joan was known for drinking heavily when she was depressed. However, she hadn't sounded drunk at all. She had sounded completely sober, and that worried her most of all.
Her phone rang again, and Bronwyn jumped, startled. She made a mad dash for the phone and answered breathlessly.
"Hello?"
"Hey," came a voice on the other end.
"Oh. Hi, Tessa."
"Well, don't you sound happy to talk to me…"
Tessa's voice was dripping sarcasm.
"Sorry. I thought you were Joan."
"Joan? As in Joan Esten? Why would she call? You haven't talked to her in what…ten years?"
"I know, but she called me and she sounded bad," Bronwyn explained.
"Hmm…I wonder how drunk she was."
"She wasn't. She sounded sober."
"Wow…Joan never calls anyone unless she's in really deep shit, and even then, someone else usually has to call on her behalf."
"I know, but I'll talk to you later, okay? I want to make sure I don't miss her call."
As the friends said their goodbyes, Bronwyn found her mind wandering once again to the past, and as her mind locked on a particular memory, she blushed.
"I miss you, Joanie…" she whispered.
The smoke from the fireplace was thick, creating an almost eerie haze in the room. The television was on, but neither of them were paying it any attention. Joan was in the kitchen of their shared apartment, swearing every so often as she tried to cook a meal without destroying it.
"Do you need some help?" Bronwyn asked, her eyebrows raised in amusement as she watched the older woman.
"No," was Joan's muffled reply.
She stood back from the refrigerator, a bottle of rum in her slender hand, and smiled wickedly.
"I've got all I need right here."
She took a drink from the bottle and held it out to Bronwyn. She took it and hesitantly took a small sip. The liquid burned as it went down, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. Joan sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her.
"Come on, Bronnie. Sit down."
Sighing, Bronwyn lowered herself onto the couch, and flinched as Joan put an arm around her shoulder. Joan wasn't an outwardly affectionate person, so this action was a bit startling to the blonde woman.
"I'm worried about you, Joanie."
"Why?"
"You've been distant lately. You don't ramble like you used to."
"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Sorry if I've shut you out."
Bronwyn looked up at her, admiring the way the light reflected off Joan's hair, giving her eyes an almost frightening glow, and before she knew what she was doing, she leaned up and kissed her. Joan froze, and when Bronwyn pulled back, she simply looked at her, unsure of what to say.
"I…I'm sorry, Joan. I don't know what came over me."
Much to her surprise, Joan smiled.
"Don't worry about it, Bronnie."
This time it was Joan who leaned down and brushed her lips against Bronwyn's, a small smirk on her lips.
"However, if this goes any farther, you'd better worry. This ends now. Got it?" Joan warned.
Bronwyn nodded, surprise still evident on her face, and she wondered where this would lead them.
It had led them nowhere, but even now, Bronwyn still found it difficult to think of Joan without recalling that night. After all, how was she supposed to remember the woman who had become such a strong sexual attraction for her? With all the men and women Joan had been with, Bronwyn had to wonder if maybe there was something about her that wasn't enough for her friend. She had tried not to let her growing affection and attraction show, but when she watched Joan with a man or another woman, she had to bite her tongue (sometimes literally) to keep from screaming.
She thought back to the night when Joan had finally had enough and walked out of her life, and wondered if there was anything she could have done differently. Taking a drink of her glass of water, she threw back a handful of pills, hoping they would save her from this intense reawakening of her memory. Bronwyn smiled sadly to herself, knowing that her drug addiction had been one of the things Joan had been unable to handle.
Joan had problems of her own, ranging from depression, self injury and eating disorders to an almost overwhelming tendency to be excitable. She was passionate about music, though by her own admission she would never be able to play an instrument well enough to perform and relied on her voice, she loved to write, whether in her journal or one of her many stories. Bronwyn had loved hearing her stories. She didn't enjoy reading them as much as she loved hearing Joan read them aloud. Joan's voice painted thrilling pictures in her mind, and gave life to the things her imagination created.
Watching Joan struggle through her problems had been almost unbearable for Bronwyn. She never complained, never let her pain show and spent all of her time trying to help anyone she could, regardless of what it cost her.
Bronwyn paced the room, swearing loudly when she hit the small table that her glass was resting on. As if in slow motion, she watched the glass fall and shatter, the sound magnified in the silence. The pills were beginning to take effect, she realised, and she suddenly regretted taking them. Her mind drifted again, and Joan's voice was so clear in her memory that she could have sworn she was standing in the room.
"Bronwyn, I thought you were going to stop. You said you were going to stop!"
Bronwyn jerked at the coldness in Joan's voice and raised her eyes to the dark-haired woman.
"I'm trying, Joanie…" she said softly.
Joan shook her head.
"No, you're not. If you were trying, I wouldn't have to be saying this. And my name is Joan!"
"Okay, Joan," she spat the name viscously, uncaring that she sounded like a bitter child, "what about you? You harm yourself day after day, you starve yourself and work yourself to death. You haven't been trying to stop any of your destructive habits!"
"How dare you?" Joan whispered dangerously, "Do you not understand that I've been trying for years to stop? It's not that easy, but at least I'm trying."
"You're not trying hard enough then. At least when I decide to try, I won't half-ass it!"
Her vision swam and the floor rushed up to her. She braced herself for the impact, but found herself unexpectedly wrapped in Joan's arms. Sighing, Joan easily lifted the younger woman and sat down on the couch. Bronwyn's head was resting in her lap and she gently ran her hand over the blonde woman's hair.
Bronwyn moaned and her eyes opened slowly, her gaze hazy. As her eyes focused on Joan's face, she was able to make out her sad expression.
"Joanie?"
Joan looked down at her, not bothering to reprimand her use of the nickname, and sighed sadly.
"Bronnie…I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you destroy yourself knowing that you aren't even trying to save yourself."
The defeat and weariness in her voice scared Bronwyn more than anything. She would have preferred screaming, hatred, anything to the look that Joan gave her now.
"Joanie?"
Joan lifted Bronwyn's head from her lap and stood, making her way to the door.
"Joan. Wait."
Joan turned, her pale hand on the door, an expectant look on her face.
"I'm sorry," Bronwyn murmured, aware of how foolish she sounded.
Joan nodded.
"I know, but I can't stay. I won't sit here and watch you die anymore. I love you, Bronwyn, but I'm sorry."
She opened the door and walked out without even a single glance behind her. Bronwyn stared at the place where she had stood, her mind unable to comprehend that her best friend was truly gone. She didn't know how long she stayed that way, only that some time afterward she sank to the floor and let her tears flow freely.
The ringing of the phone jolted her out of her memory and she made her way over to the phone, stumbling and nearly falling along the way.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice slightly slurred.
"Bronwyn?"
"Umm…yeah?"
"It's me. Joan."
"Oh! Hi, Joanie!" she exclaimed, her mood suddenly elevated.
On her end of the line, Joan sighed. She knew that tone.
"You're stoned." It wasn't a question, and Joan couldn't keep her sadness and disappointment from her voice.
"Uh…no?"
Joan knew that there would be no way of talking rationally to her so she decided to wait.
"Bronwyn, I'll talk to you later."
Without waiting for an answer, Joan hung up. Why was it that when she needed her, Bronwyn was stoned? She opened her nearly bare refrigerator and took out the half-empty bottle of rum and took a drink. Sighing, she surveyed the contents of her refrigerator. The rum bottle was now in her hand, leaving only a bottle of wine that had yet to be opened, a container of yogurt and a carton of eggs. She made a mental note to pick up another carton of eggs the next day, and made her way slowly to her bare living room. She felt her legs give way and she collapsed on her couch, being careful not to spill her drink. She thought back to the first few months after she had left the apartment she had shared with Bronwyn. All the sleepless nights spent drinking, sleeping with random men and women, the downward spiral that seemed endless.
Things had finally began to improve, but now after months of stressful work hours, the dizziness that left her with no other choice but to admit that she was in way over her head, and the lack of money in her bank account despite her work schedule had forced her to call on the one person who she had thought she could rely on. She had thought that Bronwyn would have cleaned up her act after she left, but apparently she was wrong. With one final drink of rum, she set the bottle down on the table and closed her eyes, falling into a restless sleep.
Below are pictures of what I have envisioned Joan and Bronwyn to look like:
Joan
Bronwyn
Very compelling. Well written.
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