Coming in November 2000!
ROSWELL'S FIRST FANZINE!

PAST TEASERS

by Kathryn Bognar (Cotti)

(lyrics by Sheryl Crow)

I watched the sun come up on Portland
I waved goodbye to all my friends
I packed my car and headed to LA
I gave away all my loose ends

April the twenty-seventh, 2010.
Four a.m. Tuesday morning.

He looked around the room, empty, bare.

It had been that way for three hours, everything packed in boxes, sealed up tight in the U-haul.  Ready for him to leave.

Seven years of his life wasted, moving—weaving—in and out of the world.

Seven years of his life trying to hide from something that didn't exist.

He kept in touch with Maria; she was the only one who cared anymore. Nobody had spoken much since Liz had died. It hurt too much to think about it.

Liz had been his first love. Maybe his only love; he didn't know anymore.

He let the wasted cigarette tumble to the floor, sparks scattering forlornly across the cement, trying to find purchase, trying to catch, to spread their heat and flame outwards and upwards.  They flickered out on the cold floor and the toe of his boot crushed out the heat rock and the room was immersed in darkness.

Somebody said you gotta get away
To wanna go back home again
I left my universe standing there
Holding the hand of my best friend

May the fourteenth, 2010.
Six a.m. Friday morning.

The wind ran through his hair.  The top was down on the convertible.  He'd left the U-haul behind two days ago. What a waste.

His life—then, now, forever.

Wasted—everything wasted.

He took a sip from the bottle.  Absolut.  Last week it was Stoli.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.  Not anymore.

He thought back to the day he left. It was right after the funeral; he had given the eulogy.  He had said a great many things, but had meant very few of them. That was what death is about; lying about the people you lost so that it doesn't hurt as much.

When he had said goodbye to her, and laid a single black rose on her grave, he got in his car and just drove. He went to Arizona, California, St. Louis, New Orleans.

Every place was the same.  All the faces, the places, the people he met, the people he didn't get to meet, they were all the same.

Nothing mattered, because when it came down to it, he had still been the one who found her. And that would never change.

Neither would the fact that he still carried a small jar of earth from Liz Parker's grave with him wherever he chose to be.

And it's laughter that I feel when I think of you
It's one more dusty rose about to turn
I'll see you when I reach New Mexico
If I'm in the mood to crash and burn

(to be continued...)

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Last Modified:  October 9, 2000