A New Chapter: Transient Suburbia, the College Years has begun

After not being able to write anything for my novel for a few months, I've finally written the first new chapter for Transient Suburbia. I wanted to include Harper's college years and some of her adventures in Nashville. I haven't edited this section so please excuse any typos, things that don't make sense, or grammatical errors. You can read other Transient Suburbia posts here.


Third Street Bar, Nashville, TN, December, 1999


“It’s an inevitability. Eventually all of the music we love will become classic rock. Music gets classified at the twenty year mark. One day, Nirvana will be classic rock. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.” Harper took a sip of her beer, eying Nate carefully. She wasn’t in the mood for a debate, but knew that’s what was about to happen.

“Your casual dismissal of this as an ‘inevitability’ is troublesome. For someone who loves music as much as you do, you’re giving up pretty easily.” Nate smirked at her.

“It has nothing to do with my love of music. If anything, supporting the classification of music protects the music for generations to come. It guarantees that I’ll be able to hear some of my favorite music will always be on the radio. In twenty years, my children will be able to listen to the music of my youth without that much effort. And, of course, know how super-fucking cool their mom is.” Harper rarely cursed. Nate’s insufferableness brought it out in her.

“You can’t base this on children you don’t yet have. That makes no sense.” Nate signaled the bartender for another round.

“Sure I can. My dad once told me that when he heard The Rolling Stones and Big Star for the first time, he knew he was listening to music he would share with his future children because it would last. It would change how people thought about music and always be there. Just like our Nirvana and R.E.M. and Pearl Jam.” Harper smiled, thinking of her dad and their shared love of so many bands. She sent him a bunch of records the other day from her most recent record store/thrift store trip. Hopefully, they got there by the time she called home later in the week.

“I still think you’re giving into an inevitability that isn’t actually one. None of those musicians sat down to write their songs with classic rock inevitability in mind. They them to be cool and maybe be different.”

Harper laughed, “No they didn’t. Most of them sat down to write songs that would get them girls. However, I bet at least half of the rock musicians my dad loves, did sit down with the idea that one song would make them immortal. A legend. That proves the inevitability of the classic rock classification system.”

Nate stared at Harper, contemplating his next move. Harper knew, given their four months as a sort of couple, that he was trying to decide whether he could win this argument or give up and change the subject. She hoped for a change of subject. Harper loved to talk about music and go see music and would love nothing more than to spend the evening talking about Nirvana, but she loathed the competitive way Nate was with certain topics. He could never just talk about music; he had to have the last word about whatever they were discussing. She liked him a lot and sometimes wondered if she liked him too much. He could be exhausting.

“You have won this round, but I intend to win this debate.” Nate seemed to get she wasn’t in the mood for a debate. He reached for her hand around their beer glasses.

“I appreciate your confidence, but this is not about winning. I’m right. There will be no fight. This is done.” Harper glanced their hands. She didn’t hate the butterfly feeling she still got when he held her hand. She didn’t love the constant debates. Just because he was a political science major didn’t mean she had to be. Her brain rocketed back to the first time they met.

It was six months ago. Harper’s roommate, Marilee, dragged Harper to a house party the first weekend classes were in session. Marilee felt that Harper needed to party more this year. Surprisingly, Harper agreed with her. She also disagreed, but it was mostly agreement. She was trying hard to embrace the wild party side of college. Totally not her style, but she was going to try.

The house party was like every other house party she’d ever been too. Lukewarm, cheap beer was in one corner, sad snacks were in another. People she didn’t know were in pairs and small groups in every space that could hold people. Marilee seemed to know everyone; she was that kind of person. Friendly, outgoing, chatty. Her New Orleans accent and her habit of calling everyone “darlin’” was infectious. She was a great roommate and friend. Harper loved her stories and her ability to get people to do whatever adventure she had planned. The pair, along with Harper’s best friend, Amelia, had been going on their weekend road trips since they met freshmen year. In Marilee, Harper and Amelia had found their third musketeer. Amelia lived one floor down in the same building. They had opted not to room together to both broaden their social circles and not ruin their friendship. Marilee fit perfectly. So far, their trips had taken them all over Memphis, Tupelo, MS, and New Orleans.

Amelia was at rehearsal, but had promised to meet them at the party as soon as it was over. Marliee steered Harper to the back of the house where there was a porch, grabbing cups of beer along the way.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Marilee said as they got to the porch.

“Really? Is it a boy? I wish you had told me; I would have changed.” Harper was dressed like just about everyone else in jeans and a concert shirt. She suddenly felt underdressed.

“Oh no. You look perfect, darlin’. Trust me.” Marilee patted her on the shoulder and led her to the porch.

The assembled group was classic late 1990s college party: a guys was playing guitar. Two couples were making out, tucked into the dark corners of the porch. A girl dressed exactly like Courtney Love and another dressed like Dolores O’Riordan, were arguing about Soundgarden. Three other guys, sporting their best shaggy hair and flannel, were in the middle of an intense conversation. As Harper and Marilee moved closer the trio, she finally heard what they were arguing about.

“Reservoir Dogs was far superior to Pulp Fiction,” Shaggy 1 declared.

“Why? Because it was the first? The story isn’t nearly as interesting.” Shaggy 2 replied.

“It far more clever than. Pulp Fiction is too many plotlines in too short of time. He did too many things.” Shaggy 1 retorted.

“Not true,” Shaggy 2 continued. “Pulp Fiction is a great example of using interconnected stories in film. And the soundtrack is killer.”

Shaggy 3 said nothing, simply nodding at his friends.

Before Shaggy 1 could reply, Marilee broke in, “Nate, still debating Tarantino? You’d think you’d tire of the same argument day in and day out.”

Shaggy 1, or Nate as Harper now had to think of him, smiled at Marilee and Harper, “Well, you know I have strong opinions on his movies. And I love a good debate. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Harper. She writes the music column for the paper.” Marilee introduced Harper and the other two Shaggys, Brent and Jason.

“Marilee told me she knew the famous music pilgrimage girl. Nice to meet you. What are your thoughts on Pulp Fiction?” He asked, directing his gaze to Harper.

Harper wasn’t pleased with being called a “girl”, but at least he read her work. “I like Reservoir Dogs, inventive, fun, ambiguous at the end. Great use of music, some truly shocking moments. Pulp Fiction felt forced, like he wanted to make a great movie rather than just make one. However, Uma Thurman is genius and the soundtrack makes up for a lot of the problems.”

“See Brent? That’s exactly my point about Reservoir Dogs.” Nate smiled at Harper and moved away from Brent before the debate could continue. He moved closer to Marilee and Harper. As Harper thought back on it now, the rest of the evening passed in a blur of the two of them talking about music and movies and the other things people talk about as they get to know each other. Marilee floated away at some point. The night ended with Nate walking Harper back to her dorm. They had their first date two days later at a showcase for a bunch of local bands. Or rather, Harper thought it was a date. This thought jolted Harper back to the present and the current debate the two were having. Four months later, she wasn’t entirely sure they were dating or if they were friends with benefits. Or something else that she didn’t know how to define. Nate didn’t want to label things or be serious about anything. Harper thought he was being a jackass. Harper decided today was the day to bring this up again. She didn’t know why, but she had to do it.

“I’d rather not spend the entire rest of the evening debating this...again. We have some version of this conversation every few weeks, usually when you want to avoid talking about our relationship.” Harper watch Nate’s reaction closely.

“That conversation again?” Nate dropped her hand and crossed his arms defensively.

“Look, I’m not asking you to marry me, but I’m not comfortable being your debate partner and hook up. That’s not my thing.” Harper sat back in her chair.

“I like you a lot, Harper. You know that. You’re fun and one of the smartest people I know. You have great taste in music, although I question your love of Xanadu, but no one’s perfect.” Nate’s attempt at a joke fell flat.

“But?” Harper asked

“But? What do you mean ‘but’?”

“There’s a ‘but.’ ‘Harper, you’re great, but…’. Finish your thought.” Harper demanded.

“There’s no ‘but.’ I just don’t think we need to be so official. Labels are so passe. Why can’t we just spend time together and stuff? Why does it have to be more than that? We’re in college. We’re supposed to be having fun. Let’s have fun.” Nate reached for her hand again.

Harper sat further back in her chair. “I’m not really having fun. Maybe at first I was, but not anymore. It’s stressful and I feel like I’m wasting time with you. I’m also guessing you’re seeing other people if we’re just supposed to be having fun.” Harper finally said what had been sitting on her heart for a month.

“Wasting time? That’s pretty harsh. I don’t know how you could feel that way.” Nate looked hurt, but Harper wasn’t buying it. He also didn’t deny the other people comment.

“I’m not sure it’s harsh enough. I was pretty clear at the beginning that I don’t casually date or sleep around so don’t act like I’m the crazy one. You didn’t deny the other people comment, so there’s that too. We’re done.” She got up abruptly, shaking the table. Nate’s beer spilled across the table and into his lap.

“Harper, don’t leave. Let’s talk about this some more. I don’t want to lose you.” Nate grabbed her arm, trying to stop her from leaving.

“Nope. Nothing else to talk about. We’re wasting time. I don’t want to waste anymore time.” Harper shrugged him off and stomped out of the bar.

As soon as she was outside, Harper started to shake. Her breathing was short and she was suddenly sweating. She felt better than she had in a month, but she couldn’t help but be upset. He never denied seeing other people. She wanted to believe Nate was a good guy, but the fact that he didn’t argue that one point this time made her think otherwise. She was his debate partner who he occasionally slept with. She needed someone who wanted more than a debate. She didn’t want to be tired all the time. She wanted to be in love and to be loved back.

She made it back to her dorm, still in a dark mood. Marilee and Amelia were waiting for her. It’s almost like they knew she needed them to be there when she got home.

“Back your bag,” Marilee said, “We’re going to Georgia.”

Harper said nothing, but nodded at her friends. She quickly backed her overnight bag and grabbed a CD case for the car. The three women said nothing of Nate or love or the inevitability of music classification. They jumped in the car, heading to Athens, GA on another musical pilgrimage.