Chapter Text
“You expect me to publish this crap in our newspaper?”
Nancy’s boss scrunched up the paper she had submitted. It wasn't like she hoped for a smile —he never smiled—, but in that precise moment, he looked as if he was about to have a stress-induced heart attack.
The question was a rhetorical one, she knew that. What made her run her mouth however, was the thought that he expected her to forevermore mutely bear the verbal lashing whilst smiling docilely.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Do you think our readers give a fuck about old people being sad?”
So much for the slogan of caring about every reader. “How would we know if it’s never on the news?” Nancy said, trying to not show how much this was affecting her.
“For a reason! Listen, sweetie. You’ve been pestering me for months to put you in charge of Health and Society.”
“Yes, and I appreciate the oppor—”
“And still you take one week for this crap! Do you have an actual article that I can post?”
Nancy’s eyes were fixed on the desk, avoiding whatever expression he was making.
“You’re fucking due tomorrow, if you can’t meet that deadline there’s nothing you—”
“I do.” Nancy grimaced. “Have another article.” She managed to say with more conviction. “The one you asked on…how to lose weight after Holidays.”
“Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Submit that one.” The fact that he sounded placated only riled her up more.
“I… I left it at home.”
Her boss paused, the momentary satisfaction gone in a furrowed brow.
“I swear, Wheeler, if you’re lying…”
“I’m not. The article will be on your desk, first thing in the morning.”
“It better be. If not, you’re fired.”
The moment she closed the door behind her, she made her way to the computer. The sound of her heels was muffled by the gray carpet. Nancy quickened her pace and let out a sigh when she reached her desk. She typed in her password in a flash, only to find a login error message. She bit her lip and tried again. Error. She groaned as she pressed key by key. Logged in.
When she was about to open the word processor, Bob approached her desk.
“Wheeler, you’re not busy, right? Can you transcribe these interviews for me?”
Surprisingly enough, she somehow managed to plaster on a smile this time around while glancing at the wall clock from the corner of her eye. “I’m kind of–”
“Perfect, thank you, Wheeler.”
Before Nancy even had the time to react, Bob dropped a recorder on her desk and turned his back.
She didn't wait for him to walk away to spare him her huff of irritation. She plugged her headphones into the recorder without a hint of delicacy and began typing in her blank open document. Twenty minutes, the audio on the recorder was twenty whole minutes long. What did she know about politics? Why was she always the one transcribing ideology debates?
“Suck it up,” she told herself.
She was ten minutes in when a faint tune appeared in the back of her mind.
…
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is comin' on
The sudden bang of her forehead hitting the table made Nancy’s coworkers jump. They sent her annoyed looks for interrupting their work. Nancy couldn't blame them, but the responsible one was the person currently singing. Even though Nancy was the only one capable of hearing it.
There was no way to know how long the song was, for Nancy did not recognize it. Maybe she had heard it before in her mind, but she had stopped keeping track long ago. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe it would only be three minutes long.
But instead of moving on to the rest of the song, the chorus hit again, and again and again.
She ripped the headphones out of her ears, hoping this particular episode would last less than usual. The word ‘useless’ in the chorus was starting to sound mocking.
In theory, she could go home early if it lasted for longer than one hour. It was written in the Fair Labor Standards Act under the section ‘soul-bonded individuals’. The reality, however, was different. Her boss would have her head. Or fired. There was a reason why, in her interview, she had said “no, not a problem, they are very quiet”.
Bullshit. Quiet days meant humming at best. At worst, a four minute song could stretch out for thirty minutes.
By the accelerated rhythm and the times it looped right from the beginning, Nancy knew that was exactly what was going to happen.
When the clock struck six, Nancy packed all her things and drove home like a madwoman. She turned on the radio and switched stations until she found a peaceful voice without any background sound. The actual content didn't matter, so long as it didn’t have music. She always had that part covered.
Once she got to her apartment she called out while making her way to her room.
“I have work to do, Eddie. Keep the noise down or I'll murder you.”
She grabbed her computer, opened a completely blank document and started typing as fast as she could. One hour, two hours. Writing hollow words was easy enough, she just had to write interesting generalizations, and sprinkle in some science facts. Write it in a fancy way, and done. People would now see themselves in her words, with a newfound and fabricated worry.
Feel better and get back on a healthy track with these tips…
A tiny bell jingled in her brain.
No.
The biggest culprits are cheese, red meats, and processed foods…
A louder ring.
I just want you for my own.
Fuck.
Like cookies and chips.
More than you could ever know.
Overeat high-fat or high-sugar holiday foods…
Make my wish come true.
“We’re in fucking January,” she exclaimed so strongly that she was sure Eddie heard.
All I want for Christmas is you.
The worst part was definitely that she had heard it enough times that she knew the lyrics to a T. And much to her chagrin, she had to clench her teeth. She was not going to sing.
There was no point in waiting and hoping for some peace and quiet. No way of knowing when they were going to shut up, because this stranger, who insisted on making her life a living musical hell, was apparently allergic to any kind of consistent pattern. The only respite Nancy was guaranteed was at bedtime.
I just want you here tonight
Holding on to me so tight
What more can I do?
Oh, all I want for Christmas is you
She couldn't wait for the day she'd finally get her hands on her soulmate.
Four a. m. She had finished the article at four a. m. after taking an involuntary break from work every twenty minutes —time she tried to make up by formatting the already written words. As always, the noise stopped after midnight, as if they were saying “hey, I'm not that much of a prick”.
After having a coffee for breakfast, Nancy entered the car and started the engine to drive to work. The radio came on at the same station as the night before. Her shoulders tensed when a melancholic rock song blared out her speakers.
Sometimes, I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then—
She turned it off before rubbing her eyes until she saw black spots. What would happen if she just ripped the entire stereo out?
It was the most useless thing in the car, anyways. She didn’t need company or background noise. Sometimes Nancy’s soulmate began to sing again first thing in the morning.
She fixed her eyes on the road, her mind wandering to what her boss would say as soon as she handed him the draft. Firing her would certainly save him a lot of headaches, but her paper was good. Nancy was sure of it.
The silence only lasted a minute, before her soulmate was at it again. Full guitars and drums this time.
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes, I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then, I walk alone
She almost slammed on the brakes. Almost. But might still well be on the verge of a premature death from the drop in her blood pressure.
Was that…?
There was nothing on the tiny screen of the radio, so she had turned it off and yet, the song in her head was unmistakably the same she'd just heard.
Her jaw hurt from how hard she was clenching it as she turned on the radio again with a hand that trembled more than she would have liked.
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dream
The same bass, drums, voice. A chill ran down her spine and her heart picked up speed. She had always dismissed the idea, too idealistic and romantic, but the fusion of her inner and outer worlds felt… intoxicating.
She stared at the numbers on the dial. 1430 AM. It was so high on the dial that it had to be a local, low-budget station.
Her mind fell completely silent for a few minutes, before the song ended.
“That’s Greenday for you, baby! For today's newscast of irrelevant yet interesting things. I have some gossip.”
The host’s voice was kind of raspy and brisk. She talked faster than most people, but Nancy tapped on the steering wheel as if to hurry her to shut up.
“A pet parrot who broke dreams by ratting out a cheater. Imagine that your girlfriend has a parrot and one day the parrot says ‘I love you, Gary’ That’s the name of her coworker, by the way, not her boyfriend’s.”
Just as the caster said that, a sad trombone played.
“What the hell is this broadcast even about? Just put on some music.”
“You would think that if you’re cheating you would be more careful with recordings of you, get it? recorders? Because parrots repeat?” A chorus of boos was heard from the back. “Tough crowd. Nevermind. Fun fact! Parrots, not any kind of parrots, I'm talking specifically about gray parrots. They are capable of learning up to a thousand words and they use them remarkably well in context. That’s more exes names that you’ll ever have in your lifetime. So if I were you, I would watch my back around those feathered friends.”
Nancy let out a small and quick chuckle just as a fake woman’s scream followed the monologue.
“Or just don’t cheat, that’s way easier. I, for one, would never cheat on my partner. What a completely unnecessary headache. Okay, hear me out, this random piece of news made me think that there are so many people out there who have something to say. I’ve been talking with my colleague here, Steve, you guys know Steve, he's the one that talks with our boss. About having some people on air, if you like the idea, I cordially and warmly invite you to send us a letter… Stevie is laughing, but I assure you it’ll be fun! We can talk about whatever you have in mind, like big debates: Big Foot. Real or not? Or is it strange to believe aliens exist or is it a matter of human hubris? Anyway, think about it. For now, it’s time to turn on the time machine… Hit it, Diana!”
A cyclic wheezing, groaning noise filled Nancy’s car followed by drums and an electric guitar in a disco beat.
Upside down
Boy, you turn me
Inside out
And round and round
The music didn’t echo in Nancy's mind, but she was sure they were listening to the same radio host. Mixed feelings scrunched her heart. That was the closest she’d ever been to her soulmate.
It had been years since the last time Nancy wondered what they looked like. Her feet tingled on the brakes as she smiled at the possibility of being closer to finding them. And stepping on them, hard.
She didn’t get fired. But for some reason, coworkers kept asking her if she was alright. Nancy smiled and dismissed all their false concern. During quiet moments, she succumbed to the temptation of searching up the radio frequency on the search bar, but every time it loaded, someone approached her desk and she would have to click back to work.
All in all, it was a good Friday. There was no incessant musical bombardment, and no song got stuck on loop. All cheerful songs –hardly ever sung completely– that Nancy had never heard before.
On vous souhaite tout le bonheur du monde
Et que quelqu'un vous tende la main
A French day, apparently. French days were nice. Unintelligible songs didn’t make her feel like kicking things.
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away, oh-oh-oh
Nevermind.
Nancy flung the apartment door open.
“Jesus, Wheeler.” Eddie exclaimed from the sofa. “Are you trying to break the door? I, for one, would very much like to get the deposit back.”
She felt a pang of guilt. In retrospect, every door around the house has survived numerous violent streaks. “Sorry. They’re singing Blue.”
“Again? Ouch. Did they sing it yesterday too? Is that why you were pissed?”
“You know they never shut up.” She breathed in and let out a smile, imagining a world where she didn't feel the need to constantly kick doors. “There's a small possibility of that changing soon.”
Eddie drank from a beer can, not turning around to see her face, but listening, because he knew better than to ignore her.
“Did you find a way to murder someone with your mind?”
“I’d love to, but no.” Nancy chuckled, heading to her room. “I think they listen to a local broadcaster.”
At that, Eddie was up in a heartbeat and leaned against the door frame. “Holy shit.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, it's an AM frequency. And I don’t know if they tune in regularly.”
Nancy opened her laptop, finally able to look up the frequency. Stranger Things. A perfect name for all the nonsense on the show. It didn't have a website… no surprise there. At least the local broadcasting guide showed that they were in a big building that housed a handful of other radio stations in that county. She had driven past the front of it a few times.
"Shit. It’s Monday to Friday. 8:00 to 11:00.” Nancy muttered before slamming the laptop shut. She would have to wait the whole weekend before potentially getting more of a lead.
“Maybe they stay on the same frequency on weekends.” Eddie shrugged.
“Or not. Also, there are dozens of stations.”
“Well, good thing you’re not thrilled to meet them, right?”
It was a common joke between friends. Killing her soulmate, never meeting them… it wasn't funny that day, but that wasn't Eddie's fault.
When she was alone in her bedroom, Nancy’s eyes fell on the desk drawers. She somehow expected them to open up by magic, and release wickedness into the world. She shaked the feeling away and opened them with a sigh.
As expected, no demons crawled out. It only showed three dusty notebooks. Much had happened since the last time she had touched them. The first entry was from 1992: Ducktales intro, the first song she remembered. A few pages later Animaniacs intro and The Countries Song.
Halfway through the diary, the titles were colour coded by genre and mood. And there were some notes analysing the lyrics.
The list, however, grew longer with each page, not leaving space for investigation. Also, the songs became more obscure, until by the end of the journal there were no more titles, only fragments of first time heard lyrics.
No patterns, no breaks, no clues.
None of Nancy’s attempts to contact them were even documented in the journals— those ended up in the trash. The last entry dated back way before her last try, before she decided to not give them a single note of hers anymore. Years of the silent treatment, and yet the music in her head remained erratic just as it had been from the very first day. It left her wondering why she should try again to reach out to someone who clearly didn't want to listen.
I'm blue dabedee da ba daa
Scratch that.
They were going to get a fucking piece of her mind.
Of course the first clue in ages had to be an eccentric radio host. So be it. She bit her bottom lip, grabbed a pencil and a blank piece of paper, and began to write.
Hi!
It was my first time tuning in and I think live calls are an excellent idea. Feels more interactive, and less like a one-way broadcast. In my experience, sometimes research is not valid without testimonies. Context matters and people should be able to explain themselves.
N. W.
Was it too formal? Whatever. It was a letter of encouragement. It might be the only letter they ever receive.
“Good morning, Indiana! This is your host, friend, entertainer, and DJ, Robin Buckley, AKA Rockin’ Robin.”
The apartment was filled with drums and a light flute that sounded like a bird. Nancy sat down in the kitchen chair, drinking her first coffee.
“Welcome to Stranger Things. It's a rainy day... fourteen degrees… But hey, at least we’re not in Minnesota, I heard they have twenty two degrees below zero…”
The sound of teeth chattering escaped the speakers.
“First day of the week, woohoo! Just four more days to go.”
The radio crackled a round of applause.
“Thank you, thank you. So, you know how I usually complain about the weather for a few more minutes? Not gonna do that today because… we’ve got mail! Let's see…this person is sharing their take on: cereal or milk first. Making good points but wants to develop it more in a call, I won't say more, but I totally agree. Next…”
Nancy began drumming with her fingers.
“I would love to hear Steve's voice, will I get lucky with a call?” I mean, I don't understand why you'd want to talk to Steve, but here, lemme fix that.
It was the first time ever that Nancy heard the sound of brushing on the microphone.
“Say something, Steve.”
“Get that thing out of my face.”
“This person might think you sound hot, don’t leave them hanging.”
“Robin, seriously, what’s wrong with you?”
“He gets very serious and shy, but off air he's such a dingus. C'mon, you get to read the next letter.”
“Ugh, ok, fine. ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, PLEASE, I want to talk about aliens and existentialism, where do I sign?’” He intoned in a flat voice that tried to sound excited.
“Yes! That's what I'm talking about! More! Gimme more of your theories and rants. The next one…”
Well, that was more mail than Nancy could have expected for the show.
“‘Feels more interactive, and less like a one-way broadcast…Testimonies? Context matters and people should be able to explain themselves?” Robin brushed the microphone. "Wow, that took a twist. That sounds… Are you sure you're giving people the chance to… Nevermind, we're overcomplicating. We’re not exactly known for making sense here. Relax, just for this once, sit back and listen.”
Even though she was completely alone, Nancy gasped. Sit back and listen? The nerve. The fucking nerve. When did she ever interrupt or censure someone? She was cool, relaxed. When she wasn’t, it was due to lack of silence.
“I have to admit, I give terrible advice. Because I have terrible ideas. I had a marvelous one the other day. I was tired of boiling water every time I made pasta, so for a split second I thought of boiling a gallon and freezing it… One moment I’m telling you to listen and the next, not to! I’m multifaceted like that, like Meredith, turn the time machine!”
I hate the world today
You're so good to me, I know, but I can't change…
…I'm a bitch I'm a lover…
Nancy rolled her eyes before approaching the radio. The vibrant song didn’t resound in her mind. But her legs were restless as she fought the impulse to turn it off.
“Now that's more like it! I know you're waiting for me to tell you about this random fact early in the morning, but I don't have any… because I couldn't make up my mind up.”
Nancy clenched her jaw, slumping her shoulders. Maybe her soulmate was a one-time listener and wasn't interested in the chaos of the show. Or maybe they both found the host insufferable and entitled. Funny thing that, it would be the first thing she and her soulmate might have in common.
“You see, I was searching for the unluckiest man alive and man, did I find some unlucky bastards. The first candidate is Jean-François Daraud, AKA the Unluckiest man in France. Thirty five accidents, forty fractures, almost two thousand days in a hospital, three comas. Yikes. What's next, entering politics?”
There was a comedic rimshot with drums. Nancy wheezed a bitter laugh.
“The second candidate is France Selak, a Croatian music teacher, he's cheated death seven times, but here's the interesting bit. He won the lottery two days before his seventy-second birthday. You heard that right. He actually won the lottery. It only took seven near death experiences. And that’s about it, those were some of the unluckiest men out there. Let me ask you something, who’s the unluckiest person in your circle?”
“Me?” Nancy retorted.
“If your answer was ‘me’, we have to talk. And I have the feeling you’re gonna like this next song.”
A soft piano melody began to play while Nancy began to frown.
Because you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
The song hit the back of her brain, overlapping her inner and outside world. She pressed her lips together hard to lock up the grin that wanted to escape her lips. She had to calm down. Three was the minimum number to establish a pattern.
By the third time the song cycled through her head during that afternoon, she didn’t have to fight any smile. The song was ruined. A bad day, without a doubt.
Nancy sat at her desk, and decided to redirect her feelings into a letter.
But the moment the pen touched the paper, she stopped. Wasn't it easier to be direct and stop addressing the host? Mixed feelings clouded her mind. Would her soulmate stop tuning in if she was direct? Would that asshole of a broadcaster help her?
Deep down, she knew she was overreacting. It was something in Robin's tone, too casual for Nancy’s liking. Like the kind that would say you looked prettier with your mouth shut. To be fair, however, she didn’t get the “stranger” part of the “things”. That didn’t stop her blood from boiling.
She could always be direct in the next letter or call.
Writing it was satisfying enough. Nancy would have to tune in one more day to see if her soulmate was listening, but writing made her part of a world she hadn't been a part of before. She would introduce herself as a soul-bonded individual. Yes. That would suffice.
Hello,
Are you always this funny? Context matters more than content. Especially when someone is difficult to follow. Imagine you would have said “frozen boiled water” to your boss out of nowhere. What would they think? Now think how it was supposed to land with the audience.
And by the way, telling a soul-bonded woman to shut up is offensive. See? you can’t even be sure if I’m overreacting or joking. Not enough context. But I'll give you the chance to defend yourself. I'm nice like that.
N. W.
“Good morning, Indiana! This is your host, friend, entertainer, and DJ, Robin Buckley, AKA Rockin’ Robin.”
Michael Jackson’s cheerful version of Rockin’ Robin hit again. Nancy hated simple songs, because they made her shuffle her feet. A dangerous response, but in the last five years she had mastered how to ignore her earworm.
“Welcome to Stranger Things. Today is finally sunny! Hey, hold up, what are you doing? Don’t leave your umbrella at home. Are you insane?”
This time around, Robin spent more time talking about the weather. Nancy guessed that she couldn’t rely on getting enough mail to read every morning to fill the time.
“Anyway, I think that a pretty day like this deserves a great hit…”
In a flash, the same notes hit the speakers and the back of her mind simultaneously. Nancy grinned. Her soulmate was already singing along to the first song. The same piano cadence that had been haunting her for months.
Would you be the savior of the broken
The beaten and the damned?
The pattern was starting to form, after years of nothing. There was a dim light of logic at the end of the tunnel, no matter how random it still was the rest of the day. The action was the DJ, the consequence was the singing, the victim: her. How long had her soulmate been listening to this show?
For the time being, there was nothing she could do to progress the investigation. Now that she had the confirmation that her soulmate was a regular listener, she could turn off the radio. Instead, she grabbed her notebook to get ahead of some work.
“I apologize, sunny days make me reflect a lot. A year has passed since the end of the world. Don’t worry if you’ve missed it, there’s one coming up in 2012. But I’m talking about an explosion on the Moon. Last year a meteoroid slammed into it. The blast was equivalent to seventy kilos of TNT. That’s basically like blowing up two city blocks.
That was my personal confirmation that the moon was not made of cheese. The second most tragic day of my life, after learning that you-know-who didn’t exist. Anyway, one year later, and the Moon’s still there. How crazy is that? Reminds you of how small we actually are. And so many small things are out there for us to discover.”
Nancy blinked a few times, trying to focus again on the notebook.
“Talking about cheesy, there are a lot of boring facts about this explosion, like some of the gathered data can be used to send someone to the moon again. Blah. Blah. But I found this one quote that just clicked in some way.”
Robin cleared her throat.
"From Dr. Suggs of Marshall’s engineering directorate to us, mortals who are awake this early: People just don’t look at the Moon anymore…It makes you think, right? Like how can we ignore something that is a constant in our life? And one as beautiful as the moon?”
Nancy wrote down the doctor’s name without thinking.
“Steve wants to point out that we don’t see it because it’s currently daylight. Hilarious.”
A laugh track played.
“Oh man. I went full on philosophical there, please turn on the time machine.”
Nancy expected the loud, sci-fi sound before it came, and the next melody was surprisingly gentle.
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
The song fitted, and not because she loved Frank Sinatra, nor because she had to bite her tongue to suppress the urge to sing along. It simply did. Apparently, her soulmate agreed. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment of the show when they started to hum.
The monologue had enrapt her, no matter if it hurt to admit it, Robin was good. Every transition felt rehearsed and genuine at the same time. Intimate without being too near or personal. It made Nancy’s mind focus, but probably on all the wrong things. Five more minutes and she would have been late for work.
“I’m weird like that, I like slow and sad songs when it’s a beautiful day. Was that enough time for you to finish your coffee? Hit it, Katrina!”
I'm walking on sunshine, wooah
I'm walking on sunshine, woooah
I'm walking on sunshine, woooah
And don't it feel good!
No letters were read during the show. Maybe it was for the best, it was a nonstop day. One song after another, and another, and another, to the point her head hurt. The only reason she managed to stand and keep working was because the transitions at least made sense.
The day began by repeating the morning songs. At noon, the key word was evident.
Walking on walking on the moon
After lunch a song in Spanish appeared.
Dime, luna de plata
From there Spanish words accompanied her all day long. She almost found it surprising how completely impossible it was to guess which songs they knew by heart. And which ones they could only half-remember. Weirdly enough, foreign languages always went through cleanly.
Tengo la camisa negra, porque negra tengo el alma
And then…
A dios le pido, que si me muero sea de amor
Y si me enamoro sea de vos
Y que de tu voz sea este corazón
**
Un dos tres, un pasito pa lante, María
She just knew there wasn’t going to be anything in English for the rest of the day. All thanks to a meteoroid that crashed into the moon.
“Sorry for not reading your letters for so long. Steve’s a party pooper.”
Nancy’s hand tightened around the wheel while Robin began to read the mail. A week had passed since she’d sent the last letter. She couldn't remember the specific wording. However, now that she had listened more to the show, she was sure it was unnecessarily harsh for a person who said silly things for a living. Well, there was no certainty that she picked Nancy’s letter.
“Holy sh- Molly. N wrote again. I thought for sure I'd lost you by now. Well, you might not even be listening right now.”
Nancy’s cheeks felt warm. It was the only show she ever tuned in to. Robin's nervous laughter echoed in Nancy’s car, followed by the sound of the running engine filling the void.
One beat, two beats. Then she let out a burst of laughter that was drowned by random noises from the soundboard.
“You got me, N. Context matters. My personality is all the context you need, though. Okay, hypothetically speaking. If I had told a soul-bonded woman to shut up, which I didn’t, by the way. Did she stop overthinking? Did she relax? What a poor defense. Hence the reason I'm not a lawyer.”
The question lingered for a few seconds before Robin blurted “what?” which usually meant she was reacting to something off-mic.
“Huh, I didn’t read the letter out loud, did I? Oh god. Anyone who missed Monday’s show won't get this. You’re right I’m a pain to follow. Oh well, I stand by frozen boiled water.”
Robin stopped talking and hard drums and guitar blasted through the speakers, only through the speakers. As Nancy rolled her eyes, a relieved smile already formed on her lips.
It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just want to live while I'm alive
“Okay, quick word, I might be overthinking. I'm a hypocrite. But I like to joke around, a little too much. I don't mean to offend anyone or shut down a theory. That's why I want to read your rantings or ramblings. Everyone deserves to be heard. No matter if they freeze boiled water or not.
Now, coming back to today's episode: the YOLO expression.”
Hello,
Please don't read this on air. I apologize for my last letter. It's hard to relax when there's constant noise you can't turn off. I drive my roommate crazy with my mood swings.
For the record, I was mostly joking. I agree that it's hard to keep up the pace, but thanks to you I drink two coffees in the morning instead of three. I'll try to stop psychoanalyzing your show from now on. Emphasis on trying. I'm curious by nature. Trust me, you don't want me ranting.
N. W.
The last few days had been glorious, quiet days. Not only had Nancy caught up on work: It was as if a light bulb had gone off in her head and the words just flew from her mind onto the paper. Her concentration worked as a shield from being bothered by coworkers, and repetitive tasks became more bearable.
Not that her soulmate was quiet, but their interventions served as a small bell to remind her to grab something to eat, to look away from the screen. But in general, Nancy’s mind was filled with hums and short fragments. Nothing too popular, nothing too silly.
There she goes
There she goes again
**
Well, Crocodile Rocking is something shocking
When your feet just can't keep still
**
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
Years ago, Nancy would write them down, looking for the relation between songs. Overthinking whether her soulmate was trying to send a message. Then she spent the next years hating every sudden change.
At that moment, Nancy found herself coping better. She just listened. Ironic, cause that was exactly what she had been doing from the beginning.
Just like she did every morning. Without noticing, Robin's eccentric comments had made their way into her routine, passively accompanying her morning coffee, breakfast, and commute to work.
“Okay, so let me make myself clear. I want to hear from everyone. You too, mysterious listener in the corner.”
“Me?” Robin answered herself with an exaggerated high-pitched voice.
“Yes, even you. Also you just lost the game. Sorry. Hope you write to me anyway!”
Hello,
You should be more careful of what you wish for. Listening to my feelings being read on air? Shoot me next time, that might hurt less. Some people are emotionally allergic. Ever heard of that? You’d be feeling bad after cracking jokes. And that would be a shame. I’ve been inspired by your speeches, submitted a draft inspired by one, and my boss is actually considering it. Finally! So… Thank you for that.
N. W.
Robin read the letter of the day while Nancy was making herself some toast. She deflated a little when she realized it wasn’t her letter, but she was relieved at the same time.
She had written it without thinking, immediately after her boss had shown interest in her article about the moon. About slowing down. Paying attention to small things instead of getting trapped inside your own head. A cheesy response to a cheesier idea.
It had felt dumb, so she wouldn't admit it, but Robin was the first person she talked about it with. And Nancy felt even dumber when she signed it and realized she hadn't brought up the subject of soulmates again.
She had sent it anyway, it would be a waste to rewrite it. Maybe in the next letter. Except that it would impolite to write another one before Robin read the first one.
Her eyes drifted toward the radio as she bit into her toast. The strawberry jam, normally too sweet for Nancy's taste, helped to wake her up. Or maybe it was the energetic rock melody that filled her ears.
Welcome to a new kind of tension
All across the alienation
Where everything isn't meant to be okay
“This is me sharing my greatest treasure: Green Day. I won't say I care about you guys, because half of you would go ‘aw, feelings’ and the other half would go ‘ew, feelings.’ I’m telling Steve instead. I love you, man. Uh oh, he’s getting kind of emotional. Oh wait, no. That’s just irritation. Well, Steve, I'm sharing my favorite band with you, showing interest in your complaints, and being happy about your achievements. That's all I'm here for. Anyway…did you know Tom Cruise has been doing stunts for Mission: Impossible III?”
Nancy rinsed her plate while stealing glances at the radio. She tried to remember the exact wording in her letter. It was hard to make a connection when Robin just blurted whatever crossed her mind for hours, about twenty different topics. Every single one was vague enough. At some point, something might sound personal. That was how horoscopes worked too. It didn’t mean she actually read her last letter.
The rest of the day was very calm, the only disruptive event had been Frank Sinatra’s L.O.V.E looping in the back of her head. Hummed first, only to be shut down every time the lyrics tried to surface. Nancy felt like writing a new letter.
Hello,
I don’t know why I’m even writing this. I could be talking to a wall. For my mental health, if you read this, give me a sign, something random like saying ‘crocodile rock’ or something.
I know you're a radio host and everything, but last time I checked, there were more complaints than hours in your airtime. For example, I don't think you'd want one entire page on why I think having a soulmate might be overrated.
N. W.
“I've been wondering about the expression ‘crocodile tears’ This expression comes from the fact that crocodiles actually cry when they consume their victims…”
A burn crossed Nancy’s body, from her head to her toes. She stared at the radio with a blank expression. She’d been so sure Robin wouldn’t reply. A whole segment based on a word?
Do crocodiles actually shed tears? Yes! Yes! Yes! A recent study says that the movement of the jaws might be a possible reason. As the movement forces air into the sinuses –I love that word– of the crocodiles and stimulates the tear glands. I suppose it’s like having a migraine, or the feeling after sneezing. Poor crocodiles, stop calling them insincere!"
A full on giggle escaped Nancy’s lips, but her smile faded once the next song kicked in.
Well, Crocodile Rocking is something shocking
When your feet just can't keep still
Nancy’s heart somersaulted and her brain slowed down, trying to connect twenty-three years of blurry dots. Condense them all into a single thread that led to a song about crocodiles. No way. Robin was a DJ, she must have caught the lyrics. Nothing unusual about that.
Wait. Her soulmate did have a considerable knowledge of lyrics.
Wait. What if the radio host had been the constant this whole time?
Nancy never considered the possibility before. It didn’t make sense, Robin was working, why would she sing on her breaks? On one hand, Nancy had never heard music playing in her mind while Robin was talking. On the other hand, that was also normal, people didn't sing while listening to random facts.
The song finished.
“Well, it’s not that tragic. It might be better to shed tears for the purpose of chewing instead of emotions. Something else has been on my mind lately. I’m thinking of making a special segment for this Friday. It’s about soulmates. I’m genuinely curious about what I’m missing out on. Do we have a lot of soul-bonded individuals listening in? Is it hard? Fun? Tell us, no filter, no judgement. I actually would read dozen of pages about it, but a letter will have to suffice.
It's the kind of thing you hear while growing up, but that always happens to other people, like winning the lottery. There have never been soulmates in my family. We might be cursed or something.”
Oh.
That made sense.
Robin didn’t seem like the type to sing during bad times in spite of her soulmate. There was no way she was Nancy’s soulmate. And that shouldn’t turn out to be such a surprise.
She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. In the end, she went to work without having breakfast. The strawberry jam would have been unbearably sweet that day.