Chapter Text
October 16th, 1990
Nancy pushed open the door to Cosmic Gecko with her notepad and pen in her hand. The warm air of the bar hit her as soon as she walked in. It felt slightly thick, like she might expect the air to feel if it were packed on a Friday night, but it was only eight o’clock on a Tuesday evening, and there were barely a handful of people sitting at the bar.
Nancy made her way up to the counter, ordered a plain lemonade, and took a few sips before making her way back to the stage. She could already hear the sound of an acoustic guitar crackling through an amplifier. Cosmic Gecko was the go-to spot for most of the fine arts students, and the handful of Communication Studies students that deemed they were “too cool” for the other bars.
Nancy was the lead senior reporter for Emerson’s Student publication, and she was here gathering information for a series of articles they were doing about independent student artists in the area. Her co-writers had already covered comedians and visual artists, and Nancy was working on interviewing a handful of local musicians. Last weekend, Nancy had interviewed an up-and-coming metal band, Corroded Coffin. Even though they played great music and offered a great perspective for Nancy’s piece, she realized that metal music wasn’t incredibly up her alley.
Tonight, she was hoping to catch Robin Buckley, a solo indie artist and fellow Emerson senior, after her set.
She situated herself at a high top table near the back of the performance area. There was a small crowd of probably twenty people mingling in the middle of the floor, most of them lightly swaying to the music as they chatted with their friends. Robin was settled in the center of the small stage area, which wasn’t extravagant by any means. It was more of a raised platform with a few lighting fixtures attached to the ceiling. The stage was adorned with a couple speakers and a guitar amplifier, as well as a felt pennant garland draped across the front of the stage, which Nancy assumed must’ve been supplied by Robin because she couldn’t imagine it belonging to the bar.
Robin’s music was surprisingly mellow, but incredibly captivating. It was really unlike anything Nancy had ever heard before. She had heard Mike’s boombox blaring rock music for years during high school, and she had heard her Mom’s jazz records as she cooked dinner, but she hadn’t heard anything like this. Sometimes the music had a strong guitar backing with light vocals, but sometimes it switched, and had light guitar strums with strong vocals. The melodies almost made Nancy feel like she was dreaming but also like she could conquer the world if she put her mind to it. She really liked it.
She watched the whole set as she scribbled some notes in her notebook about the music and the atmosphere. When Robin was finished, she thanked the crowd that was still left, and started packing up her belongings. Nancy took this opportunity to try and talk to her for a second before she left. She hopped off her chair and walked up to the side of the stage.
“Hi, Robin? Your set was great.” Nancy said.
Robin looked up from her guitar case.
“Hi!” Robin beamed. “Thank you so much, it means a lot!”
“Of course.” Nancy smiled. “My name is Nancy Wheeler, and I am actually the lead senior reporter for The Emerson Print. We’re working on a series about independent student artists at the school, and I was wondering if I might be able to ask you a few questions about your music?” Nancy asked, as she spun her pen between her fingers.
“Oh, really? That is so stellar. Yeah, absolutely. I have to pack up, but then I can meet you on the patio? Does that work?” Robin asked, as she put her guitar pick between her teeth so she could nestle her guitar in its case.
“Yeah, of course.” Nancy smiled. “Take your time.”
Robin gave Nancy a two-finger salute as she continued packing her things, and Nancy turned around and made her way over to the patio.
Nancy opened the door and stepped out onto the concrete. It was a quaint little area, but big enough for multiple groups to be outside without it feeling like they were encroaching on each other’s space. The patio had a handful of unfinished wooden picnic tables surrounded by a small decorative iron fence. Nancy shuffled over and leaned against the side of one of the tables as she waited for Robin. The weather wasn’t exactly warm, but Nancy was fine to be outside in her denim jacket for a while without being cold. Nancy spun one of her rings around her middle finger a few times until she saw Robin emerge from inside.
She had her guitar in one hand and a can of soda in the other. Nancy gave her a small wave to let her know she was ready, and Robin gave a smile and gestured back with her can before making an extravagant deal of skipping over to where Nancy was standing.
“Well!” Robin said, as the smack of her boots on the pavement punctuated her voice. “This is exciting. I’ve never been interviewed before.” Robin set her guitar case on the ground and sat on top of the table, resting her feet on the bench.
“Don’t worry, I’ts nothing too scary.” Nancy said, as she reached in her bag and pulled out her tape recorder. She sat next to Robin on the table and placed the device between them. “Is it okay if I record our conversation?”
“Abso-tootley.” Robin replied. “This is so official.”
Nancy smiled, as she pressed the bright red record button on the machine.
“So, like I said earlier, my name is Nancy Wheeler, and I am the lead senior reporter with The Emerson Print, the school’s student publication. We are doing a series of articles about independent student artists on campus, and this edition is about local musicians. Would you like to share your artist name and what genre of music you perform?”
Robin looked at Nancy, and then down at the tape recorder, and then back up at Nancy. She pointed at the device.
“Do I just speak into the thing or…” She trailed off.
“You can just talk to me. It will pick up what we say.” Nancy replied. She waved her hand above the machine. “Just pretend it’s not even there.”
“Cool.” Robin nodded. “Well, my name is Robin Buckley, and my artist name is Robin Buckley, we’re one in the same.” She quipped, “And I write and perform a weird amalgamation of indie rock and folk music.”
Nancy nodded, and jotted a few things down in her notebook as Robin spoke.
“What inspired you to start writing music?” Nancy asked.
Robin lightly hummed.
“Well, my parents are hippies, so I grew up around a lot of music. Pink Floyd, The Byrds, Ten Years After, The Beatles, obviously , and my dad was a musician, so I grew up just messing around on his guitar whenever I was bored. I started teaching myself how to play in middle school, and after I got pretty good at guitar, I started writing my own songs in high school. It’s almost like a diary, but out loud, you know?” Robin said.
Nancy smiled, looking up from her notebook, taking a break from her writing.
“That’s really cool.” She said. “Do you have any musicians that inspire your work?”
Robin shifted on the table, and started energetically gesturing with her hands, soda can and all.
“Oh! The Indigo Girls. I love them. They were one of the biggest reasons I started pursuing songwriting professionally. Their stuff is so unique. I know they’re pretty new but I really think they’re going to pave the way for a lot of artists.” Robin said.
Nancy nodded with a soft smile.
“And what does songwriting look like for you? What is your process?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, goodness.” Robin clicked her tongue. “I wish I could tell you that I have some organized routine, where I like, meditate, or something to get me in the headspace, and then spend hours pensively jotting poetic words down in a notebook, but it’s nothing like that.” Robin chuckled to herself. “Usually I’m zoning out in class or in my apartment and a clump of lyrics will come to me, so I quickly scribble something down in a notebook, or on a napkin, or a receipt. Sometimes the guitar comes first, sometimes it comes last. It just depends on the song. I wish I had a more eloquent answer for you.” Robin said.
Nancy lightly shook her head.
“No, it’s great. I feel like it makes sense for your music.” Nancy said. “Okay, my last question. If you had to describe your music in five words or less, what would you say?”
“Oh, I love this question. Let me think.” Robin said, as she snapped the pop tab off of her soda and flipped it between her fingers. “I’m going to say, folk-adjacent, that’s one word. It’s hyphenated.” Nancy breathed a small laugh. “Dreamy. Sunshine. Happy. Heartbreak.” Robin said, as she punctuated her statement with a nod.
Nancy smiled.
“Folk-adjacent, dreamy, sunshine, happy, heartbreak.” Nancy said, as she tapped the back of her pen on the page with each word. “I like it.” She shifted on the table a little as she reached over and grabbed her tape recorder. “Those are all the questions I have. Thank you so much for doing this, I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. Thank you for interviewing me. It was really cool. I felt fancy.” Robin said, as she wiggled her fingers to emphasize the end of her sentence. Nancy watched as she flipped the pop tab around between her fingers a few more times, before slotting it between her teeth, gently biting on the metal.
The pair sat in silence for a few seconds, listening to the air rustling through the leaves and the chatter of the groups around them. Nancy took the moment to really take in what Robin looked like. Of course she had watched her show, and just interviewed her for the better part of ten minutes, but most of that time was spent with her eyes on her notepad, scribbling notes about her performance and asking her questions.
Robin’s hair was shoulder length and was a dirty blonde. Or was it light brown? Or maybe even strawberry blonde? Nancy couldn’t tell in the yellow lighting coming from the street lights illuminating the patio. Robin had a handful of freckles scattered across her nose. Her eyes were a soft blue, and Nancy could tell that she was wearing some sort of shimmery eyeshadow. Nancy noticed the pop tab that was still settled between her teeth.
“You did that earlier, with your guitar pick.” Nancy said, quietly.
“Huh?” Robin asked, furrowing her brow in genuine confusion.
Nancy lightly squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She didn’t really mean to say anything about it. She was just taking everything in. Cataloguing her surroundings.
“Sorry, I… The pop tab. Between your teeth. You did that with your guitar pick earlier, as you were packing up.” Nancy said.
Robin smiled.
“Oh.” She said. She took the metal piece from between her teeth and flipped it between her fingers a few times before dropping it down into the empty soda can. “You are very observant, Wheeler.”
Nancy smiled and gave a small laugh. She felt her cheeks flush.
“I guess it just comes with the territory.” She said, holding up the tape recorder and notebook in her hand.
Robin smiled and hummed. She was now spinning the rings around her fingers again, in lieu of her discarded pop tab.
“So, what made you want to become a journalist?” Robin asked.
Nancy exhaled. “Well, I um…” She paused. She couldn’t recall a single time she had been asked this question in her four years at Emerson, other than half-hearted ice breakers on the first day of a new semester. She couldn’t even remember if her parents had ever asked her why she wanted to study journalism.
She thought about it. Barb going missing, spending endless nights running around Hawkins trying to figure out what happened, interviewing every single business owner between Steve Harrington’s house and Barb’s, scouring each newspaper release for any clues that could help figure out why Barb went missing.
Nancy cleared her throat.
“Its uh… it’s complicated. But, to make a long story short, I helped solve a missing person’s case in my hometown a few years ago, and I suppose that’s where I gained my journalistic tendencies . It’s kind of stuck ever since.”
Robin took a breath in, and sighed.
“Wow, that’s… that’s intense. I hope everything worked out.” Robin said, sincerely.
Nancy half heartedly shrugged her shoulders. There was a time and place for revealing how important the missing persons case was to her, and at a bar mere minutes after finishing an interview with someone she just met was not the time nor place.
“It is what it is, you know?” Nancy said. “Well, I should probably get going, I have class in the morning, but thanks for letting me talk with you. Your show was really great.”
Nancy scooted off the table and slid her notepad and her tape recorder into her purse. She turned back around towards Robin and gave her a sheepish smile.
“Thanks for watching my show and talking with me. I had a good time.” Robin smiled, as she mindlessly shook her soda can, the tab rattling in the bottom.
“Yeah, I… Of course. My pleasure. The piece should be out in a few weeks. It will be available for free in the student center.” Nancy said, as she fiddled with the buckle on her bag.
“Sweet. Sounds great.” Robin nodded. “See you around, Wheeler.”
“Yeah. See you around.” Nancy said, after letting out a short breath. She turned for the exit of the patio before turning around and giving Robin a soft smile and a small wave. Robin waved back.
The air was thicker than Nancy remembered just a few minutes ago, but she figured it was because she just dredged up memories of Barb and she felt the awful pit of guilt that had settled in her stomach and was pinching at her lungs. She made the walk back to her apartment taking in her surroundings trying to rid herself of whatever feeling was settled deep in her chest. She noted the cigarette butt that was still glowing red on the side of the alley, the little mushrooms that had grown through the cracks in a brick building, the smell of the late night pizza buggy parked outside of one of the most popular bars, but with every detail she packed away into her brain, she couldn’t get the little words in the back of her head that kept repeating themselves in the raspy voice in which she first heard them.
You are very observant, Wheeler.