First Night With Ruslana
Written 9/22/24
A semi-sequel to May 1968. Takes place shortly after Emile returns to L.A. from his country town.
!!! Content warning: !!!
Ableist sentences are present in both parts, particular part one which is told from Ruslana's perspective. She is not a very good person... frequently judging Emile's intelligence and weight in the prose. As always, everything is told strictly through the minds of the characters but if you'd be uncomfortable reading, then skip out.
Part Two: Emile's Perspective
Blue morning light shone through the window and onto the bed where Emile laid. Distantly, he could hear birdsong and the quiet rumble of cars. The soft sheets were very similar to his own, but for a moment, confusion stirred alongside him as he wondered where he was. Then the memories flooded back.
The words that came out of his own mouth while he cried to Ruslana stung the same wounds as before. They were words that he had kept private for so long. Words that he had, in hidden ways, convinced himself were fully true. He never would've expected himself to open up to anybody, and yet in a short amount of time, that woman made him feel more comfortable than even his close bandmates had. Maybe it had to do with her accent...
Thinking back to the time they had first met, it was easy to notice that trait of hers. Yet she didn't seem very interested in talking about Russia. All he still knew was that it was the place of cold and bears. Just now of Ruslana, too. She was only a waitress, older than he was, but practical, mature, and alluringly modest. She never judged him like some other, flashier women. As such, she was perhaps the best friend he'd ever had outside of the Bloodhounds. Now that they were gone, he didn't know who else to turn to. Even then, he could only hope that she would listen one more time.
Thinking back to her recent hospitality, he felt rather guilty having rudely thrown his problems on top of her as fast as he did. It was just like him to go on about himself, wasn't it? But he couldn't deny how her responses eased the pain, if only a little. As hopeless as it still was, she had sounded so sincere, so clever. He longed desperately to believe her.
Turning over to stare at the ceiling, Emile laid there for a little longer. It wasn't clear what would happen now. He could only assume that there was no hurry for him to leave. From somewhere in the apartment, though, he suddenly picked up the smell of food, interrupting his thoughts about last night. And immediately, he sat up, pulling the covers off of himself. What time was it? The question only just occurred to him, but there was no clock in the bedroom. He could only stumble towards the door and figure it out from there.
The lights in the living area were all turned on, and following the sound of sizzling, he caught the top of Ruslana's blond hair behind the short wall separating the kitchen. When his feet met tile, she remained fully engrossed in what she was doing. Already, she wore a tight green dress with a white scarf around the waist. Although he had just gotten up, he felt a little embarrassed having his hair all ruffled and wearing only a t-shirt and shorts. Still, it felt polite to clear his throat.
"Good morning."
Reaching over the stove to turn it off, she replied in a level tone without looking at him, "Good morning, Emile."
As she began to move the pan away, the golden scrambled eggs caught his eye and he hesitated to leave. With a watering mouth, he watched her walk past him and towards a small round table next to the window. There she began emptying the pan onto a plate- no, two plates, one on each side. Both of them already had a side of toast, small glasses of water, and forks neatly aligned on the wood. At first he was confused, not remembering anyone else living there aside from Ruslana. His doubts were quickly lifted when she spoke.
"This one is for you." She tapped one of the plates with the spatula before promptly walking to the sink. Meanwhile, Emile stood there for a moment with his mouth slightly gaped, at a loss for words. He didn't have to ask for any breakfast. She just made it for him. His eyes darting back and forth between Ruslana and his plate, he slowly pushed the chair back and sat down. As she was walking back to join him, he briefly noticed that his portion was considerably larger than hers. But already she was sitting down, lifting her fork, and his attention returned to her generous act.
"Uh- thank you, Ruslana," He said quickly, to which her stoic blue eyes met his.
"It's nothing," She merely stated in a tone that he thought he heard before, her fork slowly falling back to the table alongside her gaze. Drawing a breath, he leaned closer.
"I really should repay you for all this, you bein' so kind."
She exhaled- a tiny hint of a laugh, before gently shaking her head. "Eat your food, Emile."
Although he still felt like there was more he ought to have said, the two chewed in mostly silence as the sunshine over the table grew brighter with the coming day. He took his time with the food that she had made, not only because it was well-made, but to also hopefully savor the moment a little longer. It only felt polite, after all. And for a while, it started to feel strangely natural, as if they had always eaten together this way.
Nevertheless, it was to his surprise that Ruslana had finished slightly before he did. Just as he brought the last piece of egg to his mouth, she rose from her chair.
"I should go now," She told him, pulling out a pocket mirror to check her teeth, "My shift begins soon."
Being abruptly reminded that, of course, Ruslana had her own life, Emile couldn't help but feel a little downcast. He felt guilty, too. He couldn't feed off of her forever- it would be selfish to wait any longer. Then again, they were just friends. They could only do so much for each other.
As such, he dropped his fork and got up himself, awkwardly raising a hand to pause her before she walked away.
"I outta leave myself," He said slowly, "I can call a cab now and start gettin' my things-"
Before he could continue, however, she gently pushed down his lifted arm by the wrist, protesting, "Do not worry about it. I will be gone only until three. There is other food here for you."
His arms falling dumbly limp, Emile blinked at her. Her words made his head spin. For a reason he couldn't explain, his mother came to mind. Briefly, thank goodness, for he knew that she would never show him such hospitality even if she did stay in the shack with the rest of the Duncans. No, Ruslana was different. He could tell. Then, for a longer period, he could see Jo. On nearly all levels, she and Ruslana were opposites. He wouldn't have even thought to compare them, and even now, he wondered why. When the Surfers started, he had stayed at Jo's apartment. But what else? Why did it occur to him now?
Suddenly, he was back in the present, Ruslana's unreadable gaze still fixed on him. "Are you sure?" He finally pressed, his voice falling low. She nodded, slowly looking towards the distance.
"It is usually so quiet in the morning here," was all that she said on it before eventually drawing a breath and glancing towards him one more time. "See you soon, yes?"
Even as Emile responded with a small "Yeah," she was already walking through the living area, grabbing a handbag and some other small items from the coffee table before making her leave. The entire time, he stayed rooted to his spot next to the table. Her final statement replayed in his head over and over.
Was she lonely, too? With curiosity piqued, he felt only less excited to leave this place. It would have to happen soon, though, wouldn't it? He would have to find a new place, get a new job. The thought of the journey filled his heart with dread, however. The only thing that felt certain was that he wouldn't join a new band, not anytime soon. Everywhere else, though, he was utterly lost. And all he could think about was that dark year after the Surfers broke up. How stupid he was, unable to live on his own, unable to be a proper adult.
Before Emile knew it, he was on the couch again, his head in his hands. As self-absorbed as it might have been, he couldn't help but wish to stay a little longer. Maybe he could even get to know Ruslana better and try to return the favor. But for now, she was at work far away. He would have to wait.