Home
![photograph [oneshot] Empty](https://2img.net/i/empty.gif)
Her eyes sparkled with delight, he thought, smoothing out the wrinkled picture that laid in his large hands. He stared into her hazel eyes, warm and comforting. The cold stare that lingered before was gone. He laughed at the faces of his once best friends, his worst enemies, and his long lost crushes. Despite the fact it had been nearly twenty years since graduation, whenever he heard Journey's famous 'Don't Stop Believen' he just had to let a tear slip. He just had to stop, and remember back in his highschool days. Sometimes, he'd forget the name of his teacher- Mr. Shoe? No, not shoe. It rhymed with shoe though. But, looking at this picture, he knew everyone, and anyone.
Slipping the photo back into his front left pocket, he grabbed his wallet, before heading out the door. His mind was still concentrated at the photo though.
Some days, he wonders what would have happened if he tried to leave this town, truely tried to get away from it all.
He thinks back to his highschool life, thinking that he can help those who might make the mistakes he made.
Mostly, no one even thought he'd be teaching. Hell, he barely passes senior year (thank god for Hazel Eyes. Wait, was she Quinn Fabray or Brittany? Oh yeah, Quinn was the smart one). He turned on his car, checking to see what CD he had in. The sounds of him singing filled the small vehicle. Was this sophmore year, or senior year? Sophmore year. The kid with the really high voice began to sing. This was the year so many things had happened.
He slipped the photo out of his pocket once more.
No one looked directly at the camera. They were each talking to one another, high off the victory of winning nationals senior year. So much work, just for a singing compitition. The wheelchair kid (Artie, right?) had a tiny goth girl in his lap (Tilly, or was it Tina?) each snuggling with one another. A case of puppy love, bound to be broken up by the summer. The girl who took all the solos (Rachel Berry. Her name was everywhere now) poked Kid With High Voice (Burt? No, Kurt! The fashion designer now). Black Chick had her arms around Hazel Eyes (Mercedes and Quinn, perhaps.) as they looked like they were in a serious conversation, but the delighted expressions on their faces noted otherwise. He smiled at everyone, just knowing that one day, maybe, they'd cross paths again. He wasn't the only Glee Kid in Lima, Ohio. Maybe, someday, they could all go back to the better days, where a melody would be the best medicine.
He started the car, once more, before letting the radio play. It was an hour filled with the songs he listened to as a highschooler. 'Billionaire' played. He laughed. Didn't he audition with this song?
Or, atleast, he thinks he did.
Driving along, he thinks to himself about that picture.
In that picture, he and his old best friend have their arms slung round eachother's shoulders. His friend is looking towards Asian and Shaft, laughing hysterically at a comment he cannot remember anymore, while he looks at the blonde Quinn Fabray, longing to have her once more.
He loves her still, even though she is no longer Miss Quinn Fabray. He believes she is with someone else, married and happy.
He knows that a part of him wants to know more about her.
Frustrated with himself, he stops at the 7-11 for a slushie, and a pack of gum. The grape slushie reminds him of his past self. Ashamed of what he use to be, he throws the Super Big Gulp to the pavement of the road, popping the spearmint gum in his mouth.
As he arrives at the school, he walks confidently to the Principal, and shows him the picture of his former self, laughing with everyone after winning.
"I want to run the highschool Glee Club again. This is me, back in my senior year. Five years after we graduated, you disbanned them. I want to give these kids a chance to sing again. What do you say?"
"Dear god Mr. Noah Puckerman. You sound like one William Shcuester."
So that's what his name was. Shcue was his director, his mentor, and his teacher.
"There is no joy in these kids! That's why everyone has FacePage!"
The Principal laughed, clearly amused.
"Fine. I'll let you run the Glee Club. It seems the arts are making a comback. Promise me no slushies will come to these kids?"
"Can't promise you that. I can promise I will slushie them back though." He shakes hands with the principal, before walking out the door.
Smiling at what he's about to do, Noah Puckerman goes to the old choir room, before singing 'Don't Stop Believen'.
And all he has to thank is the photograph in his pocket.
"Mama! " Little feet pitter-patter towards her. She swoops up the little angel into her long, warm arms. Her little girl places her head into her mother's shoulder, before wrapping her tiny arms around her mother's petite shoulders. She began to kiss the little girl, repeatedly, on her halo of curls that were not inheritted from her, but her father.
"Gracie, do you like this?" The little girl's laugh tickled her silly, a melody of ringing bells. The little girl named Gracie kissed her mama right back, sloppy little kisses. The tiny three year old began to squirm, and her mother sets her down. They can both here the front door opening and closing. In comes her fourteen year old, practically beaming with joy.
The only thing that she has in common with her kids is the way they sing, their body type and the way they can all be a little bitchy. Her eldest daughter stands proud in her Cheerios uniform, something she never would have guessed would happen. She knew what happened in highschool if you were a Cheerio. Hell, she was one Cheerio way back when. Her daughter, Alexis, smiled, clapping her hands to get their attention.
"We have a Glee Club mom! A Glee Club. Can I audition? I want to be in it like you were." Alexis's is jumping up and down she's so excited. She thinks about it for a second, before (reluctantly) agreeing to her daughter to audition for Glee.
With a new found joy for singing, her daughter bounds up the stairs. The little pitter-patter of feet follow her oldest daughter's graceful steps. A door shuts, and she is all alone once more. She walks over to her wallet, before slipping out the old photo that makes her smile, and makes her think of way back when. To think now she's thirty-nine! It seems like yesterday she was fighting with someone with an M name over a cute boy.
Scanning the photo that rests in her hands, she notices the simple white and black outfits they are wearing. Everyone is talking, a moment where they were all friends. She and her blonde friend (Brittany, that's her name.) are hooking pinkies, giggling like little girls. Only name she can remember though. It seems as if highschool was your life, back then. Where a song was just a few doors down. Where a slushie facial could happen at any corner (usually she was the slushier, not the slushee). Where fighting for what you believe in was cool, and smoking wasn't. Where all you needed was one close friend to help you through thick and thin, who you shared the tinest crush.
Where Glee Club was the best part of the day.
She hears the melodic notes pour through both her daughter's mouths, of some new song on the radio with funky beats and an auto-tuned singer.
She picks up her cell phone, and calls the school, wanting to talk to the new director of Glee Club.
She waits, impatiently, tapping her foot to the non-exsistant beat, and hears an all too familiar voice.
"Puck?"
"Santana?"
"I heard you were staring a new Glee Club. My daughter would like to audition."
"Who is she? I might have her in my Spanish class."
"Holy fuck, you teach Spanish too! Too damn weird."
"Tell me about it. What's her name."
"Alexis White. She doesn't look anything like me."
She hears laughter from the other end.
"I'll say. Why is she so nice?"
Santana openly laughs at that statement.
"So can she audition? And do you need any help?"
"Yes, and maybe. I want to see if we can get in touch with everyone else."
"No, no no. This will simply not do!" He stops his feet, before strutting out of the tense-filled room. He whips out his cell phone, before calling a client whom he needs to speak with. Witha sugar sweet-filled tone, he calmly explains that there isn't much he can do. He wants something vintage, something original. He wants to re-invent a part of himself that has been lost, and he just isn't getting what he wants it to be. His client talks in a rushed voice, breathy almost, before hanging up. His deadline is next month. He smiles to himself, before walking back in.
"Paper and pencil please!" He calls to his assistant. He begins to draw a short skirt, hitting a little above mid-thigh, before pairing it with an off both shoulder's shirt, that is stripped like something he's seen before. Glee Club! Found with new inspiration, he adds a side ponytail, with a cheerleading bow, to the side, and large hoop earrings. He adds in playful streaks of hair, and Converse shoes to the paper model's feet. He adds a messanger bag, with looks like it's brimming with sheet music. Finally satisfied, he remebers the pain and agony he suffered back then. Some how, he's happy he is finished with that suffering, and onto brilliant things. Maybe not better, but still brilliant.
"Get me the material for this, and get me that new model. I think this will suite her. She has the long legs we need, oui?" He sends away another assistant. Twenty minutes later, out comes the model, who looks strikingly familar. With a look into the dazzling hazel eyes of hers, he knows it's the one and only Quinn Fabray.
"Cioa, Quinn!" He air kisses her, and she kisses right back. They hug, like reunited friends do. He walks her over to his desk, and they began to catch up, talk about the good old times. Quinn smiles at the framed picture that rests on his desk.
"There we are. God! It's been so long. Can you believe it?" She hasn't aged a bit, he notices. She looks like she did when she was a highschooler, maybe even better.
"You still look like the one and only Quinn Fabray. I can't believe you haven't aged a bit!"
They share a laugh, before hearing the phone on his desk ring. No one has ever called him directly, but he reluctantly, picks up the phone.
"Hello, may I speak to Kurt Hummel?"
"This is he."
"You will never believe this..."
She belted the words, letting the hot water fall onto her cool skin. She scrubbed out all the product in her hair, watching the shower tint a little green from the excess of the makeup on her skin. She sang for what seemed like forever, but was nothing more than thirty minutes or so. Her loft was eerily silent, other than the melody which escaped her lips. The TV blared some news program that she didn't care to watch. Sighing, the lonely women flops onto the comfy couch, before grabbing a novel to read.
A picture falls out of the novel, her bookmark. She giggles at the picture, thinking about how she was a star then. Dreams do come true, after all. How many got out? How many were succesful? Did her highschool sweetheart(s) have a not so troubling life? She only prays that's what happened. Where has all the time gone? She hasn't dated since highschool, let alone think abuot having a kid. She is still a star though, and she takes another thoughtful glance at the picture.
The vibe flows effortlessly into the empty loft, the sense of accomplishment and victory. There is a bit of sadness in there as well, like everything will suddenly end one day. She shifts, uncomfortably. She should remember more. How did she dress? Was she nice, or a bitch? Did she have any friends (that one she remembers quite clearly)? Was she always so bossy? Was she ever, perhaps, not so star like? Why the hell did she get a tatoo on her hip with a member of the gang of teens when she was eighteen? What did it mean.
She was poking a laughing boy, with gray-green-blue eyes and the face of a twelve year old. His hair flopped into his eyes, like it had been ruffled merely seconds before the shot. Was this her first boyfriend, her first kiss? No, not him, she thinks. Maybe he was a friend. Not a best friend, but a friend. Her eyes rest upon a tall, goofy male. His face is red from laughter, and he is freakishly tall. Him, that's who it is. First true love, not first boyfriend. The guy standing next to him was her first (everything, not that she'll say it though). She giggles at the good times, and wonders what the bad times were. There was a baby, somewhere in the mix, her gut told her. She sighed, slipping the picture back into her book.
For some reaosn, she wanted to go out and have a little fun.
She slips on a short skirt, with a simple shirt and ballet flats. She hails a taxi, and asks to go to the closest club in town. Lots of partying. The taxi driver assumes she's only in her twenties, or so, not realizing she's almost thirty nine, and he doesn't say a word. She looks out to the city, watching the lights swirl around her. He drops her off, and she enters. She is stamped, and begins to have a beer, knowing that she doesn't have a show tomorrow. She begins grinding a guy, who grinds back. Or, atleast, tries to. They begin to talk, but he soons sees someone, and leaves. Another guy comes into the mix, and he's a better dancer than the last. She kicks it up a notch, as does he.
"What's your name?" After a heated dance-off (she won, due to the males liking the way she can get low) they head to the bar for some drinks, and as she sips her wine, he asks her the question of the night.
"Rachel. And you?"
"Matt." They both look at each other, trying to figure out the missing information needed, seeing as they both looked very familiar.
"Matt? Rutherford?"
"Rachel? Berry?"
"Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay. NO! Mom, I'll be fine. I'm thirty-seven, not sixteen. Shuddup! Bye!" A heavily pregnant women waddles to her loving husband, before gently easing herself onto the couch. He looks at her, before breaking into a huge grin. They share a kiss, before he gets up to go make her favorite seven o'clock dish- a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
He can har hear humming an old song, well, a classic song from the times when they were teenagers. He puts the two pieces of bread together, before bringing over the sandwich to her. She takes it, hungrily, before talking to him about her day.
"Tina Cohen-Chang did my hair today. She asked me about you. Said you went to school with her." She talks inbetween bits. Her husband stars blankly. The name rings a dim, dim bell.
"Goth girl." He mutters to himself. His wife stares at him, awkwardly. He excuses himself, before grabbing an old yearbook, as well as a picture he hasn't shown his wife yet, of him twenty years ago. He had his arm slung around his old best friend.
"There's me twenty years ago. That's Tina." He smiles brightly at her. She takes the picture into his own hands, staring at it for a few minutes. He reflects back on the old times he shared, with what would be stranger's now.
The hot brunette he use to date. She was a star now, but he didn't follow her.
The two cheerbitches (as everyone called them) who ragged on everyone.
Tina, and Artie, of course.
Quinn Fabray, the girl he first loved with all his heart. Before, well, she broke his.
The two quiet kids in the back.
Black chick who could sing.
Kurt Hummel, the name that he could never get out of his frikkin head. The first dude to ever have a guy-crush on him.
And then the guy who he had his arm slung around.
What the fuck was his-
Ohh...Puck.
"You looked like you had a lot of fun. I heard from Tina that the Glee Club is back, and that the invitationals are in about three weeks. Wanna go sweetie?"
Finn placed his hand into hers. "Why not?"
"No fucking way."
"Yes, fucking way Kurt."
"I can't believe we didn't keep in touch!"
"You were so busy."
"Damn, I need youy so badly!"
"You going to the invitationals?"
"Fuck yeah!"
"Is Quinn?"
"Quinn?"
"Yes, I will be attending the invitationals."
"I am SO designing us fabulous outfits for this. And I'll make sure those kids look phenominal. Sorry, but Puck cannot tell polyester from plaid."
"It's true."
"Amen white boy."
"So, when are you coming to LA to be beautified by your best friends?"
"I can't afford it Kurt! I'm living with my boyfriend in Georgia."
"I'll put it on my tab. It's the least I can do. Now hurry up, bitch! Go pack, and then I'll text you the deatails. Be at the aiport by nine thirty."
"Your time or my time?"
"Yours."
"Okay! See ya tommorrow!"
"If you were in the McKinnley High Glee Club, back when it came back. Or you ever got a slushie facial- come on up." Noah Puckerman clapped and waved his old teamates up. Everyone-from Rachel Berry to Mike Chang- had said hello, and that they were excited to see what was going to happen. They came up, hugging one another, tears pouring out of their eyes. Puck's voice cracked a little bit, before continuing.
"I wanted to give these kids a chance to sing again. After looking at an old photograph of us winning our senior year. So, as the kids sing, there will be a slide show of past and present pictures up there. We don't care if you laugh at us," Everyone laughed at that statement, "So here are the Star Notes!"
Look at this photograph
Every time I do it makes me laugh
how did our eyes get so red?
And what the hell is on Joey's head?
At that moment, a picture of everyone wearing crazy feather boas on their heads. The audience roared with laughter at the crazy-now in their thirties- teenagers.
This is where I grew up
I think the present owner fixed it up
I never knew we ever went without
The second floor is hard for sneakin' out
A present picuture of the newest Glee Kids in a sing off-all ready came on. The old 'New Directions' members laughed at the imilarity between Rachel and Kurt's diva-off.
This is where I went to school
Most of the time had better things to do
Criminal record says I broke in twice
I must've done it half a dozen times
A picture of Finn and Puck, along side with two other boys came in the view. Both pictures were identical: one tall boy, with his arms around the more muscular boy's shoulder, both grinning devilishly into the camera's lens.
I wonder if it's too late
Should I go back and try to graduate?
Life's better now than it was back then
If I was them, I wouldn't let me in
Oh oh oh
Oh god I, I
Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Goodbye
Remember the old arcade
Blew every dollar that we ever made
The cops see us hanging out
They said somebody went and burned it down
We used to listen to the radio
And sing along with every song we know
We said someday we'd find out how it feels
To sing to more than just the steering wheel
Kim's the first girl I kissed
I was so nervous that I nearly missed
She's had a couple of kids since then
I haven't seen her since God knows when
Oh oh oh
Oh god I, I
Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on the bedroom floor
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
I miss that town
I miss the faces
You can't erase
You can't replace it
I miss it now
I can't believe it
So hard to stay
Too hard to leave it
If I could relive those days
I know the one thing that would never change
Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Look at this photograph
Every time I do it makes me laugh
Every time I do it makes me...
It ended with the picture that inspired it all, the one where everyone could smile, and think of the golden days.
All captured with one phtograph.
Slipping the photo back into his front left pocket, he grabbed his wallet, before heading out the door. His mind was still concentrated at the photo though.
Some days, he wonders what would have happened if he tried to leave this town, truely tried to get away from it all.
He thinks back to his highschool life, thinking that he can help those who might make the mistakes he made.
Mostly, no one even thought he'd be teaching. Hell, he barely passes senior year (thank god for Hazel Eyes. Wait, was she Quinn Fabray or Brittany? Oh yeah, Quinn was the smart one). He turned on his car, checking to see what CD he had in. The sounds of him singing filled the small vehicle. Was this sophmore year, or senior year? Sophmore year. The kid with the really high voice began to sing. This was the year so many things had happened.
He slipped the photo out of his pocket once more.
No one looked directly at the camera. They were each talking to one another, high off the victory of winning nationals senior year. So much work, just for a singing compitition. The wheelchair kid (Artie, right?) had a tiny goth girl in his lap (Tilly, or was it Tina?) each snuggling with one another. A case of puppy love, bound to be broken up by the summer. The girl who took all the solos (Rachel Berry. Her name was everywhere now) poked Kid With High Voice (Burt? No, Kurt! The fashion designer now). Black Chick had her arms around Hazel Eyes (Mercedes and Quinn, perhaps.) as they looked like they were in a serious conversation, but the delighted expressions on their faces noted otherwise. He smiled at everyone, just knowing that one day, maybe, they'd cross paths again. He wasn't the only Glee Kid in Lima, Ohio. Maybe, someday, they could all go back to the better days, where a melody would be the best medicine.
He started the car, once more, before letting the radio play. It was an hour filled with the songs he listened to as a highschooler. 'Billionaire' played. He laughed. Didn't he audition with this song?
Or, atleast, he thinks he did.
Driving along, he thinks to himself about that picture.
In that picture, he and his old best friend have their arms slung round eachother's shoulders. His friend is looking towards Asian and Shaft, laughing hysterically at a comment he cannot remember anymore, while he looks at the blonde Quinn Fabray, longing to have her once more.
He loves her still, even though she is no longer Miss Quinn Fabray. He believes she is with someone else, married and happy.
He knows that a part of him wants to know more about her.
Frustrated with himself, he stops at the 7-11 for a slushie, and a pack of gum. The grape slushie reminds him of his past self. Ashamed of what he use to be, he throws the Super Big Gulp to the pavement of the road, popping the spearmint gum in his mouth.
As he arrives at the school, he walks confidently to the Principal, and shows him the picture of his former self, laughing with everyone after winning.
"I want to run the highschool Glee Club again. This is me, back in my senior year. Five years after we graduated, you disbanned them. I want to give these kids a chance to sing again. What do you say?"
"Dear god Mr. Noah Puckerman. You sound like one William Shcuester."
So that's what his name was. Shcue was his director, his mentor, and his teacher.
"There is no joy in these kids! That's why everyone has FacePage!"
The Principal laughed, clearly amused.
"Fine. I'll let you run the Glee Club. It seems the arts are making a comback. Promise me no slushies will come to these kids?"
"Can't promise you that. I can promise I will slushie them back though." He shakes hands with the principal, before walking out the door.
Smiling at what he's about to do, Noah Puckerman goes to the old choir room, before singing 'Don't Stop Believen'.
And all he has to thank is the photograph in his pocket.
"Mama! " Little feet pitter-patter towards her. She swoops up the little angel into her long, warm arms. Her little girl places her head into her mother's shoulder, before wrapping her tiny arms around her mother's petite shoulders. She began to kiss the little girl, repeatedly, on her halo of curls that were not inheritted from her, but her father.
"Gracie, do you like this?" The little girl's laugh tickled her silly, a melody of ringing bells. The little girl named Gracie kissed her mama right back, sloppy little kisses. The tiny three year old began to squirm, and her mother sets her down. They can both here the front door opening and closing. In comes her fourteen year old, practically beaming with joy.
The only thing that she has in common with her kids is the way they sing, their body type and the way they can all be a little bitchy. Her eldest daughter stands proud in her Cheerios uniform, something she never would have guessed would happen. She knew what happened in highschool if you were a Cheerio. Hell, she was one Cheerio way back when. Her daughter, Alexis, smiled, clapping her hands to get their attention.
"We have a Glee Club mom! A Glee Club. Can I audition? I want to be in it like you were." Alexis's is jumping up and down she's so excited. She thinks about it for a second, before (reluctantly) agreeing to her daughter to audition for Glee.
With a new found joy for singing, her daughter bounds up the stairs. The little pitter-patter of feet follow her oldest daughter's graceful steps. A door shuts, and she is all alone once more. She walks over to her wallet, before slipping out the old photo that makes her smile, and makes her think of way back when. To think now she's thirty-nine! It seems like yesterday she was fighting with someone with an M name over a cute boy.
Scanning the photo that rests in her hands, she notices the simple white and black outfits they are wearing. Everyone is talking, a moment where they were all friends. She and her blonde friend (Brittany, that's her name.) are hooking pinkies, giggling like little girls. Only name she can remember though. It seems as if highschool was your life, back then. Where a song was just a few doors down. Where a slushie facial could happen at any corner (usually she was the slushier, not the slushee). Where fighting for what you believe in was cool, and smoking wasn't. Where all you needed was one close friend to help you through thick and thin, who you shared the tinest crush.
Where Glee Club was the best part of the day.
She hears the melodic notes pour through both her daughter's mouths, of some new song on the radio with funky beats and an auto-tuned singer.
She picks up her cell phone, and calls the school, wanting to talk to the new director of Glee Club.
She waits, impatiently, tapping her foot to the non-exsistant beat, and hears an all too familiar voice.
"Puck?"
"Santana?"
"I heard you were staring a new Glee Club. My daughter would like to audition."
"Who is she? I might have her in my Spanish class."
"Holy fuck, you teach Spanish too! Too damn weird."
"Tell me about it. What's her name."
"Alexis White. She doesn't look anything like me."
She hears laughter from the other end.
"I'll say. Why is she so nice?"
Santana openly laughs at that statement.
"So can she audition? And do you need any help?"
"Yes, and maybe. I want to see if we can get in touch with everyone else."
"No, no no. This will simply not do!" He stops his feet, before strutting out of the tense-filled room. He whips out his cell phone, before calling a client whom he needs to speak with. Witha sugar sweet-filled tone, he calmly explains that there isn't much he can do. He wants something vintage, something original. He wants to re-invent a part of himself that has been lost, and he just isn't getting what he wants it to be. His client talks in a rushed voice, breathy almost, before hanging up. His deadline is next month. He smiles to himself, before walking back in.
"Paper and pencil please!" He calls to his assistant. He begins to draw a short skirt, hitting a little above mid-thigh, before pairing it with an off both shoulder's shirt, that is stripped like something he's seen before. Glee Club! Found with new inspiration, he adds a side ponytail, with a cheerleading bow, to the side, and large hoop earrings. He adds in playful streaks of hair, and Converse shoes to the paper model's feet. He adds a messanger bag, with looks like it's brimming with sheet music. Finally satisfied, he remebers the pain and agony he suffered back then. Some how, he's happy he is finished with that suffering, and onto brilliant things. Maybe not better, but still brilliant.
"Get me the material for this, and get me that new model. I think this will suite her. She has the long legs we need, oui?" He sends away another assistant. Twenty minutes later, out comes the model, who looks strikingly familar. With a look into the dazzling hazel eyes of hers, he knows it's the one and only Quinn Fabray.
"Cioa, Quinn!" He air kisses her, and she kisses right back. They hug, like reunited friends do. He walks her over to his desk, and they began to catch up, talk about the good old times. Quinn smiles at the framed picture that rests on his desk.
"There we are. God! It's been so long. Can you believe it?" She hasn't aged a bit, he notices. She looks like she did when she was a highschooler, maybe even better.
"You still look like the one and only Quinn Fabray. I can't believe you haven't aged a bit!"
They share a laugh, before hearing the phone on his desk ring. No one has ever called him directly, but he reluctantly, picks up the phone.
"Hello, may I speak to Kurt Hummel?"
"This is he."
"You will never believe this..."
She belted the words, letting the hot water fall onto her cool skin. She scrubbed out all the product in her hair, watching the shower tint a little green from the excess of the makeup on her skin. She sang for what seemed like forever, but was nothing more than thirty minutes or so. Her loft was eerily silent, other than the melody which escaped her lips. The TV blared some news program that she didn't care to watch. Sighing, the lonely women flops onto the comfy couch, before grabbing a novel to read.
A picture falls out of the novel, her bookmark. She giggles at the picture, thinking about how she was a star then. Dreams do come true, after all. How many got out? How many were succesful? Did her highschool sweetheart(s) have a not so troubling life? She only prays that's what happened. Where has all the time gone? She hasn't dated since highschool, let alone think abuot having a kid. She is still a star though, and she takes another thoughtful glance at the picture.
The vibe flows effortlessly into the empty loft, the sense of accomplishment and victory. There is a bit of sadness in there as well, like everything will suddenly end one day. She shifts, uncomfortably. She should remember more. How did she dress? Was she nice, or a bitch? Did she have any friends (that one she remembers quite clearly)? Was she always so bossy? Was she ever, perhaps, not so star like? Why the hell did she get a tatoo on her hip with a member of the gang of teens when she was eighteen? What did it mean.
She was poking a laughing boy, with gray-green-blue eyes and the face of a twelve year old. His hair flopped into his eyes, like it had been ruffled merely seconds before the shot. Was this her first boyfriend, her first kiss? No, not him, she thinks. Maybe he was a friend. Not a best friend, but a friend. Her eyes rest upon a tall, goofy male. His face is red from laughter, and he is freakishly tall. Him, that's who it is. First true love, not first boyfriend. The guy standing next to him was her first (everything, not that she'll say it though). She giggles at the good times, and wonders what the bad times were. There was a baby, somewhere in the mix, her gut told her. She sighed, slipping the picture back into her book.
For some reaosn, she wanted to go out and have a little fun.
She slips on a short skirt, with a simple shirt and ballet flats. She hails a taxi, and asks to go to the closest club in town. Lots of partying. The taxi driver assumes she's only in her twenties, or so, not realizing she's almost thirty nine, and he doesn't say a word. She looks out to the city, watching the lights swirl around her. He drops her off, and she enters. She is stamped, and begins to have a beer, knowing that she doesn't have a show tomorrow. She begins grinding a guy, who grinds back. Or, atleast, tries to. They begin to talk, but he soons sees someone, and leaves. Another guy comes into the mix, and he's a better dancer than the last. She kicks it up a notch, as does he.
"What's your name?" After a heated dance-off (she won, due to the males liking the way she can get low) they head to the bar for some drinks, and as she sips her wine, he asks her the question of the night.
"Rachel. And you?"
"Matt." They both look at each other, trying to figure out the missing information needed, seeing as they both looked very familiar.
"Matt? Rutherford?"
"Rachel? Berry?"
"Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay. NO! Mom, I'll be fine. I'm thirty-seven, not sixteen. Shuddup! Bye!" A heavily pregnant women waddles to her loving husband, before gently easing herself onto the couch. He looks at her, before breaking into a huge grin. They share a kiss, before he gets up to go make her favorite seven o'clock dish- a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
He can har hear humming an old song, well, a classic song from the times when they were teenagers. He puts the two pieces of bread together, before bringing over the sandwich to her. She takes it, hungrily, before talking to him about her day.
"Tina Cohen-Chang did my hair today. She asked me about you. Said you went to school with her." She talks inbetween bits. Her husband stars blankly. The name rings a dim, dim bell.
"Goth girl." He mutters to himself. His wife stares at him, awkwardly. He excuses himself, before grabbing an old yearbook, as well as a picture he hasn't shown his wife yet, of him twenty years ago. He had his arm slung around his old best friend.
"There's me twenty years ago. That's Tina." He smiles brightly at her. She takes the picture into his own hands, staring at it for a few minutes. He reflects back on the old times he shared, with what would be stranger's now.
The hot brunette he use to date. She was a star now, but he didn't follow her.
The two cheerbitches (as everyone called them) who ragged on everyone.
Tina, and Artie, of course.
Quinn Fabray, the girl he first loved with all his heart. Before, well, she broke his.
The two quiet kids in the back.
Black chick who could sing.
Kurt Hummel, the name that he could never get out of his frikkin head. The first dude to ever have a guy-crush on him.
And then the guy who he had his arm slung around.
What the fuck was his-
Ohh...Puck.
"You looked like you had a lot of fun. I heard from Tina that the Glee Club is back, and that the invitationals are in about three weeks. Wanna go sweetie?"
Finn placed his hand into hers. "Why not?"
"No fucking way."
"Yes, fucking way Kurt."
"I can't believe we didn't keep in touch!"
"You were so busy."
"Damn, I need youy so badly!"
"You going to the invitationals?"
"Fuck yeah!"
"Is Quinn?"
"Quinn?"
"Yes, I will be attending the invitationals."
"I am SO designing us fabulous outfits for this. And I'll make sure those kids look phenominal. Sorry, but Puck cannot tell polyester from plaid."
"It's true."
"Amen white boy."
"So, when are you coming to LA to be beautified by your best friends?"
"I can't afford it Kurt! I'm living with my boyfriend in Georgia."
"I'll put it on my tab. It's the least I can do. Now hurry up, bitch! Go pack, and then I'll text you the deatails. Be at the aiport by nine thirty."
"Your time or my time?"
"Yours."
"Okay! See ya tommorrow!"
"If you were in the McKinnley High Glee Club, back when it came back. Or you ever got a slushie facial- come on up." Noah Puckerman clapped and waved his old teamates up. Everyone-from Rachel Berry to Mike Chang- had said hello, and that they were excited to see what was going to happen. They came up, hugging one another, tears pouring out of their eyes. Puck's voice cracked a little bit, before continuing.
"I wanted to give these kids a chance to sing again. After looking at an old photograph of us winning our senior year. So, as the kids sing, there will be a slide show of past and present pictures up there. We don't care if you laugh at us," Everyone laughed at that statement, "So here are the Star Notes!"
Look at this photograph
Every time I do it makes me laugh
how did our eyes get so red?
And what the hell is on Joey's head?
At that moment, a picture of everyone wearing crazy feather boas on their heads. The audience roared with laughter at the crazy-now in their thirties- teenagers.
This is where I grew up
I think the present owner fixed it up
I never knew we ever went without
The second floor is hard for sneakin' out
A present picuture of the newest Glee Kids in a sing off-all ready came on. The old 'New Directions' members laughed at the imilarity between Rachel and Kurt's diva-off.
This is where I went to school
Most of the time had better things to do
Criminal record says I broke in twice
I must've done it half a dozen times
A picture of Finn and Puck, along side with two other boys came in the view. Both pictures were identical: one tall boy, with his arms around the more muscular boy's shoulder, both grinning devilishly into the camera's lens.
I wonder if it's too late
Should I go back and try to graduate?
Life's better now than it was back then
If I was them, I wouldn't let me in
Oh oh oh
Oh god I, I
Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Goodbye
Remember the old arcade
Blew every dollar that we ever made
The cops see us hanging out
They said somebody went and burned it down
We used to listen to the radio
And sing along with every song we know
We said someday we'd find out how it feels
To sing to more than just the steering wheel
Kim's the first girl I kissed
I was so nervous that I nearly missed
She's had a couple of kids since then
I haven't seen her since God knows when
Oh oh oh
Oh god I, I
Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on the bedroom floor
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
I miss that town
I miss the faces
You can't erase
You can't replace it
I miss it now
I can't believe it
So hard to stay
Too hard to leave it
If I could relive those days
I know the one thing that would never change
Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye
Look at this photograph
Every time I do it makes me laugh
Every time I do it makes me...
It ended with the picture that inspired it all, the one where everyone could smile, and think of the golden days.
All captured with one phtograph.
