The Jabberwock

This piece was written by our very own Head Editor of the Fiction Department!

Camille

It had been six and half years when Camille saw the picture. It was in the newspaper, the actual paper version she still read every day, because she was a nerd in that particular way, in the arts section she tended to discard in favor of more pressing world issues than the local performance scene. But on Sunday mornings Camille wasn’t picky when she scavenged for reading material to keep her from spending her entire day grading homework. 

That name she hadn’t seen in years. That hair that she would recognize anywhere. Short now, but just as bright. “Local Natalie Marine will play her first headline show at The Bridge on October 11th” A whole article of her next to a picture of her with Camille’s guitar – no, Natalie’s guitar. It was a dream. Camille blinked as if she couldn’t believe her eyes, because she couldn’t. She imagined that when Natalie ran out of town the second she graduated, she would never come back. But here she was anyway. 

Camille would be lying if she said she never thought about it. It was embarrassing sometimes that when she heard sad songs she still associated them with Natalie and her lilting voice. She was supposed to be an adult, with things under control. She wasn’t supposed to still be thinking about her high school friend drama six years later when she couldn’t sleep. But she replayed those nights that split them apart as the ceiling fan whirred above her head. She imagined what she might do now. She couldn’t know. 

The venue was hot. People were already standing around. Camille had been here many times, but it felt smaller now. She was so proud as she saw the room filling slowly. Natalie was really doing it. Doing what Camille was too scared of. Putting herself in front of the world. 

“Good turnout,” the person next to Camille said to her. 

“Yeah,” Camille answered absentmindedly. 

The lights dimmed slowly, illuminating the stage as music played softly through the speakers. She could tell that Natalie had picked these songs. Her music taste hadn’t changed one bit. It was still a scary mix between very sad songs and concerningly peppy songs. Songs that made Camille smile because they were filled with memories that weren’t entirely tainted with memories of friendships that had crumbled apart. 

The song switched and Camille’s heart began to ache. Love Story. A song that only brought back blinding spotlights and faint applause from an audience held captive. Of course she had picked this song. Camille tried to block out the memory and the fact that she could still remember all of the chords she had played that night. She could remember the exact way that Natalie’s voice shook on the very first note. 

The song stopped and Natalie walked onstage into the light. It was funny. She looked so different. Her hair was still shining and red, but nothing else was the same. She was wearing heeled boots. The Natalie that Camille knew could barely walk in high heels and yet here she was strutting onstage with not a care in the world. 

She was aggressively fumbling with the microphone stand when she looked up and Camille locked eyes with her. 

Natalie

Natalie felt the familiar jitters rush into her chest. Her beating heart and her smile told her she was ready. 

She stepped out onto the stage into the light. People cheered. Not that many, but enough to make Natalie have the confidence to step up to the microphone and begin adjusting it. She couldn’t see the crowd all that well. But she could see one face a few rows back into the audience. 

Her heart stopped. Why had she come after all these years? She couldn’t look away. Their eyes locked and Natalie swallowed as she held the guitar that had once been Camille’s. As she prepared to play a song that she had written right after Camille stopped calling her.  

“Hello everyone, my name is Natalie Marine…” She had prepared this part, rehearsed it over and over in the dressing room until she could say it forwards and backwards and probably in a different language if she really tried. 

She froze. She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say next. Her heart was pounding and not in a good way anymore. The room felt far away. She caught Camille’s eyes again, her breath hitched, she wanted to say something, anything. She turned her gaze away and the moment was gone.

There was faint applause. She didn’t look at her as she began to strum over the nicks in the guitar from when Camille bumped it on her dresser. She didn’t look at her as she opened her mouth to sing. 

She walked out the stage door into the cold night. The alleyway was empty. She walked along the broken pavement around to the front of the small venue. A few people were still walking out and zipping up their coats to protect them from the early fall chill that had settled in. Rain had begun to fall lightly, misting Natalie’s hair in a way that she would regret later. She brushed damp strands out of her eyes and pressed on. 

“You were great,” One girl said as she passed in a frenzy. 

It took Natalie a second to even realize that she was talking to her. 

“Oh thank you,” She said with a smile, her face flushed with pride, but unable to stop scanning for Camille, “Sorry, I’m just looking for a friend,” 

There. Her hair in a high ponytail. Her gaze distant. Natalie pushed through the people, muttering quiet apologies. 

“Camille!” She called out, hoping that she might hear it. She kept walking away from Natalie. 

“Camille!” She shouted louder and she turned. 

She looked so different but yet exactly the same as she had that first day. The same wide eyes and pursed smile. Skeptical from birth, she had always joked. 

“Natalie,” Camille whispered, but didn’t move any closer. 

Natalie didn’t know what to say. It had been so long. Questions flooded her brain, but she said nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she managed to say. 

“Me too,” Camille replied. 

There was nothing more to say. There was nothing there to salvage, nothing to save. It all had been lost years ago and no matter how much Natalie wanted to find some connection, some reason to keep talking, she couldn’t. 

“There you are,” She heard someone say behind her, “Are you ready to go?” 

Yes.