Ducks and Shoes:
Underneath My Skin
by Nyssa Jayne

I

I couldn't get home fast enough.  Heat radiated from the sunshine and the asphalt beneath me, drenching my school dress in sweat.  My schoolbag, which had fallen off my shoulder and now hung from my elbows, was clipping my ankles, the rough canvas and sharp buckles scratching my skin and making me bleed.  I still ran like hell.
After a frantic fumble with my keys, I fell into my house, then crashed into my bedroom.  I smacked my stereo's play button and finally felt like I could breathe again.
"I want to need you coz I need to be with you 'til the end..."
My skin began to tingle, as I sighed in relief and delight.  Nicotine addiction aside, this music cured the shittiest day at school, or the unfair argument with my parents, even a blue with my "boyfriend".  I craved it, it was the only thing that told me that whatever I'd done wasn't a sin, that I am going to be okay.  We're going to okay, because I'm going to hold you and love you in my arms and then.
Me and thousands (more?) of other girls (boys?) around the world were doing the same thing -- indulging in music and the fantasy of reaching out and touching the band that touched us so much, reciprocating the love songs and lullabies they offered us.
I vowed to myself and the posters on my wall that I, Claudia, would get underneath their skin, just like they had mine, all in the name of true love.

II

"Natalie's not real," I typed on my keyboard, watching the letters appear on my screen.  "It seems so impossible to date these brothers.  No one has, no one has told a scandalous tale of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll for the fans to eat up.  No one has gotten underneath their skin."  I hit the "post" button and watched my entry appear on the forums.  It didn't take long for someone to reply.
"Believe me, she's real, and she just became the new Mrs Taylor Hanson.  Go check the news -- the official news."
I giggled and clicked the news link.  I remembered someone a couple of years ago talking about a Natalie.  Taylor flew out to Georgia to go to her prom the story goes, and despite the cash sums I was offered to find out who she was, all I could do was explain calmly that there was no Natalie.  These guys weren't datable.  Not that I'd given up on my vow, but they were too much of an indestructible, never-say-die  rock 'n' roll unit to be separated and in love.  No one could even claim being friends with them, aside from forum moderators too busy to talk, at best there was a typed letter or your name on a autograph was as close as anyone got.  There was no shortage of people who had tried and no one had succeeded.
The news finished loading.
"Taylor Hanson has married Natalie Anne Bryant in a small private ceremony..."
I was in shock.  Natalie was real.  And she'd succeeded in breaking through a barrier long thought to be impenetrable.  I wanted to know how she did it; how did she achieve the impossible?  I tried searching, but all I found were the matching wedding photos, which were just more proof that this was real, I mean, they looked like Hanson photos.
I asked the girls on the forums.
"Silly whore must've forgot her pill," was the only reply I could get.  "I bet he knocked her up."
The answer was plausible, but there had to be more to it.  How did she get into his bed and his family?  I wondered if he'd touched and she'd touched him in return.  I put a Hanson CD on as thinking music.

III

I became somewhat of a forum fiend, plus a bosom buddy to webmasters in high places and anyone vaguely connected to the music industry.  And still I came no closer to finding out about but the goings on behind Natalie's name change.  She did have a baby, just like the bitter fan predicted, but I kept remembering stories about the prom in Georgia that suggested she was more than a one-night-stand that would now last another generation.
These contacts did get me a concert ticket.  I took my own flight to NYC, and stayed with another forum fiend.  I daydreamed about writing an editorial that would feature a well-written, witty, and oh-so-mature account of the inner-workings of a family closer than the Bradys and the Partridges put together.  I would post it on my website, which would be pastel yellow -- reminiscent of better days, but not too bright and happy.
I decided the concert would be the place I could do some research.  I'd read the reviews.  The whole family would be there, including those invited in by married.
The music had always excited me, but to see it live was... something else.  Voices once squeaky had settled into husky and tested instruments, piano keys took on a more suggestive tone, and guitars that weren't plugged in told stories about cars and girls and the time of your life.  I wanted to ride in the front seat, fuck them in the backseat; I was madly in love, or lust, or something.  Beyond wanting them, after that show, of which there is more detail to read about on my coming-soon pastel yellow website -- I needed them.  No longer a research task it was now a mission.  To get in.

After the show, I started creeping around the venue, trying to find my way in.  It didn't take me long to find someone who could help me.  She was sitting on the step of the bus.
"Are you... Natalie?"  The girl looked up at me.  Her gaze was blank and empty; she showed no emotion whatsoever.  She nodded yes to my question.  I tried to be cool.  She probably had girls come up to her all the time, she's probably sick of them trying to hit on her husband.
"... how did you meet Taylor?"  I sat with her on the bus step when she made no move to shoo me away.
"At a show.  I remember I couldn't just say goodbye with an encore, that I wanted, or needed, more.  I wanted to be the first girl to come out alive with a story.  So I did what you're doing now, I did everything I could to get close."
"How did you get under their skin, I mean, meeting them is one thing, marrying them is another."  I remembered asking my parents how they met, which resulted in smiles and goo-goo eyes.  Natalie showed none of this upon reminiscing.  She just continued her gaze into nothingness.
"I just kept following them and following them, all over the country, until Taylor snapped.  "So you really want to be one of us?"  I nodded and uttered, "I love you."  That's all I remember until the doctor told me I was pregnant."  She told the story in bored monotone.
"What do you remember about that?"
"It was the first thing I really felt.  And I felt scared, I think."
"You don't remember?  Sorry, but how can you just forget huge chunks of your life?"  Natalie shrugged.  "Do you even love Taylor?"
"You'd think so."
"You don't love him?"
"I don't know."  I was starting to become frustrated, but Natalie was still zombie-girl.  She wasn't reacting.  "Argh!  How can you not know?"  Blank.  "Okay then... can you introduce me?  It's all I've ever wanted."
"It used to be all I wanted," said Natalie, pointing to Isaac and Zac heading towards the bus.  "Now I have him... and I couldn't care less."  She stepped up inside the bus upon the cry of her baby, without another word.
"It used to be all I wanted... and now I couldn't care less."
"And what's your name?"  I looked up to see Zac and Isaac.
"Claudia."
"Hi Claudia."  The tones in their voices were so charming, you could tell where the stage charisma came from.
"We heard you talking to Natalie... she's great, isn't she?"
"She's really nice," I replied very slowly.
"She understands music, she understands about how consuming it is."
"Taylor's really lucky."  I nodded, remembering the soulless look in her eyes.
"And now, I couldn't care less."  Did this mean she couldn't cure an itch with a song, that she didn't spend hours on forums in search of friendship and understanding, that she wouldn't ever feel love; even just emotion again?  That she wouldn't ever experience the warmth of having something, someone beneath her skin again?  Not even a baby could barely bring her out of it.  All her desires were satisfied, she had nothing to strive for because her husband became all she wanted -- and now, all she had.
"Time for an an introduction-"
"I know who you are," I said, standing up.  "And I think I need to get home... I have your new CD.  I want to listen to it."

Maybe it was a fine line between an obsession with someone and being consumed by someone, but at least I could still feel what was underneath my skin.

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