Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
I have to block out thoughts of you so I don’t lose my head.
He had gotten used to the words of that certain song, cresting and falling in his head over the past year. They were there, banging around when he was away and caught himself staring out empty windows, and then again later, with his back to her, just inches away from where they had briefly held hands, his breath jagged, waiting for her to change everything.
Then that night on the beach, her words sick and warm in his gut. He knew it showed all over his face, the way things like this always did. He knew what her words meant, just knew, how to read between her lines, but there were other things to consider, and it was too late. It was too late he had reminded himself over and over in his deliberate way.
Too late he had said again to Karen, when she wouldn’t look him in the eye on the way home, worried about what he was thinking. New York was still on and this changes nothing. But he knew he was already starting to lie. Because maybe, it wasn’t really too late.
And then, that night in New York, downstairs at the hotel bar, there were new songs in head.
I want to swim away but don’t know how. Sometimes it feels just like I am falling in the ocean.
And just like that, that song took the place of the old one, and he slept fitfully, waking up and then falling asleep, the remembered feel of her lips on his, and the realization that all he wanted to do was to go home.
On the drive back, he knew he should be worrying about Karen, the sloppy way he had left things, the damage he had done, but instead he was thinking about yogurt lids. How her fingers had quickly linked the paper clips, as he stood by unable to return to his desk for the wonder of it. And then, regretfully, the day that he dropped his silver medal in the trash as he packed the last of his things.
And now, after those songs that were playing on a constant loop in his head for so long, it was almost impossible to believe that they were here.
He wondered if she remembered the time in his bedroom, in the old apartment on Sycamore Street. He remembered of course, because he had watched her surreptitiously while she examined his “dorky” yearbook picture. Trying to stop himself from completely spilling over, and she unaware, coloring everything in his world. It was an unfocused half memory now, the events anyway, but what was, and is, still very clear, is the pinprick delight, of his heartbeat skipping, tripping in his chest, threatening to break out, and roar over them both.
It was like that a little bit now. Another apartment on another street, but still, she was here. And everything that was familiar felt different because she was. Only this time, well maybe, she wouldn’t walk down the steps with a little wave, and his heart, disappearing into the passenger seat of Roy’s truck.
Do you want a glass of wine?
Ok, yeah sure.
She scrolls through the songs on his IPod while he takes two glasses down from the cupboard, and uncorks a bottle of wine.
His eyes are on her as he does these tasks. On the outside everything had changed, but inside not much had changed since that barbeque at his house. She fills the room and he can’t look away.
You can put in the dock if you want to play music.
Oh yeah, music would be good.
He hands her the glass.
Can I pick something?
Yeah, oh wait . . . I might have something embarrassing on there.
Ooh like what? A devilish grin, making his heart beat faster.
Oh, no, uh I knew you would eventually find out that I have an extensive Kelly Clarkson collection.
That’s ok. I kinda like Kelly.
I was kidding.
She settles on an Elvis Costello song he can’t remember listening to since college.
They each sip silently, not sure what should come next. And as usual every word of every song speaks her name.
The way you walk, the way you talk and try to kiss me
The first time they kissed was when she won a Dundie for whitest sneakers. He’d spent weeks wondering.
And laugh in four or five paragraphs
That one Tuesday when they had spend all morning changing Dwight’s screen saver every time he got up, mostly with pictures of midgets (because Dwight was deathly afraid of midgets).
All your compliments and your cutting remarks
I’m really sorry if you misinterpreted things. It’s probably my fault.
Jim?
Story Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I also don't own the rights to the the music of Blue October or Elvis Costello as referenced in this story.
Chapter End Notes:
More to come!
