by Marilyn Grey
“Honestly, I have my days. My bad days probably look like your average days though. There’s no secret really. I think to myself . . . I could die any second. Right now, I could have cancer eating away my life. I could get in the car today and be gone, just like that.”
“So, thinking about death makes you live life with more joy?”
She laughed. “You could look at it that way. Thinking about death makes me want to live more. It makes me appreciate every second more. And in all of those seconds I’m given, I want to love. To give myself to others constantly.”
“Serving others? Is that what brings you joy?”
“No, my friend. It’s my joy that makes me want to serve others more. But it’s not just about that. It’s about giving something back. One day we’re all going to be dead. What kind of memory will I leave behind in the hearts of those who knew me? A black cloud or a sunny day?”
“Definitely a sunny day.” I looked at my left hand and the missing ring on that special finger. “I’m afraid I am the black cloud, huh?”
“Not at all. You are a hurricane. You’ve got wind, hail, crazy disastrous weather, but there in the center you have peace and sunshine.”
“I think I’d rather be a black cloud.”
She laughed. “You are unpredictable. Sometimes you are predictable because you want to be, other times you switch it up. I don’t know what to expect with you, only to expect the unexpected.”
“I guess I am kind of like a hurricane. What kind of man would want to marry a hurricane? You’d think two black clouds could find love together, but no one wants to run full-force into a hurricane.”
We finished cleaning the kitchen in silence. My brain sifted through memories, wondering who would show up at my funeral and what they would say. She’s right. What kind of impact would I leave? What imprint would I stamp on the history of this world?
The kitchen sparkled from top to bottom as Sarah and I walked into the living room.
“I think we’ve got everything cleaned now.” She looked around the room. “And I’ve got everything packed. What about you?”
I picked up my planner off the crisp white coffee table, opened it, scanned my checklist, then said with confidence, “Yes.”
“You want to know my first spoonful of sugar for you?”
“Huh?”
She took my planner and ripped a few pages out.
“What are you doing?” I reached for it. “Are you crazy?”
She pulled back, laughing. “I am known to be crazy.”
“Seriously, Sarah. I love that thing.”
“This thing”—another rip—”does not love you.”
Knowing I would not win, I sat on the couch. “I don’t understand what my planner has to do with anything. Why can’t everyone just let me be? Everyone is always trying to fix my life. Ripping up planners, forcing me on car trips away from the shop, none of this is going to make me find a husband.”
“Okay, rule number one. No planning. Just live, okay? I miss the old Ella.” She sat down next to me. “Rule number two. Stop relating every instance in your life to your future husband, if you even have one. For all you know, you could end up single for the rest of your life.”
I looked around at our bags. “Are you ready to go now?”
“Don’t be mad at me.” She held my hand. “I’m not trying to fix you. Trust me, that’s beyond my capabilities.” Her laugh never hid from life. Always there. Even in the most unwanted times. Like now.
“Seriously, Ella. I’m trying to love you. To get you out of this mood you have been consumed by and help you find some laughter again.”
“Okay, okay. Are you ready to go?”
We picked up our bags and walked into the hallway. She locked the door, I walked down the steps and out the front door of our apartment building. Together, we stepped outside and inhaled the scent of a humid city morning. Cars swished by, creating blurs of color and bursts of different music. The bright green leaves glistened in the morning rays.
“Do you hear that?” Sarah said as we walked to her car.
“It’s someone in that building.” I pointed to the left at the beautiful, historic hotel-looking building. Similar to the one we lived in. “I think we can see their window from our apartment. I’ve tried to look, but couldn’t see much. Whoever it is plays amazingly on the piano.”
“Wow. I love that.”
We piled our stuff into her car and hopped aboard the Nissan Altima. She turned up the music. I pressed the button and watched my window disappear into the car door. I could still hear the piano as we drove off.
Sarah never asked, but I knew she was thinking it.
Ch. 6 | Matthew
Lydia came over Saturday morning. I opened my apartment door to see her emerald eyes staring into mine. She smiled, that weak smile that wanted more from me than I could give. I tried to smile back, took her hand, and pulled her into the apartment. She took my other hand, squeezed, and closed her eyes.
“Play me a song.” She walked into the dining room.
I followed. Watched her hips move with her graceful walk. Her strawberry-blonde hair sweeping over her shoulders and climbing down her back. She placed her hand on the keys, turned her face just so. Bands of sunlight sparkled in her eyes from the open window in front of her. In the secrecy of my mind I touched her cheek and pushed the hair out of her face, behind her ear, like I did so many times before.
She looked down, waiting for me to play something.
“Are you sure?” I said and took a step closer to the piano.
She nodded and stepped aside. I took my place and set my fingers on top of the keys. I closed my eyes, inhaled, exhaled, and began to play. Minutes traced the silence of our relationship, drawing a picture of unanswered questions. My song echoed the unknown. The very thing she didn’t want to hear.
As I played the last note she sighed. “I guess I have my answer.”
I took her hand in mine and looked up at her closed eyes. I hated that I made her cry.
“I love you,” I said.
“I don’t see your love, Matthew.” The only person who still called me Matthew after knowing me for years.
“It’s just not the right time.”
“I can’t wait anymore. I can, but I’m not willing. I want a family, a husband who loves me. I’m tired of waiting for you to figure out with your mind what your heart already knows.”
“I just need to figure things out.”
“What’s there to figure out?” She readjusted the bag on her arm and walked into the living room.
I trailed behind her, watching her hair glow, wanting to hold her again.
“There’s nothing to think about,” she said. “If you don’t know that I’m the one you want to be with for the rest of your life at this point, then how will you ever know? It’s not like we just met. I know everything about you, Matthew. You know everything about me. If you don’t know by now, you will never know.” She opened the door. Her eyes, that soft glow still there, like I had never hurt her at all.
How could she still love me?
“Do you hear me?” One foot outside of my apartment, the other inside.
I didn’t want to hear her.
“Why don’t you talk to me?” Both feet outside of my apartment. “This is all I can take. I love you.” One tear landed on my bare foot. “I will always love you.”
And with one last touch of my arm, she left.
Stamped in my memory. The first time Lydia walked into my life. Her long, wild hair curved around her face and clung to her cheeks. My brother sat on the couch waiting for her. I sat in the dining room working on a college Psych paper. She looked in my direction and sat next to Andrew. His face beamed, so did mine.
She held his hand. “Andrew, how are you today?”
No response. Only a smile as big as Pennsylvania.
“I brought some puzzles.” She pulled out a few toys and a puzzle.
He rocked back and forth, smile
stretching to Ohio.
She looked at me again. I looked away, pretending to type on my laptop. Fingers flying a mile a minute, typing nothing and looking at her smile every chance I could. I watched her talk with my brother, one of the only other people besides myself who could make him smile like that. A bright joy in her presence hugged anyone who came within ten feet of her. My brother loved her immediately. I couldn’t blame him.
She took him down to the basement to play and Mom wasted no time. “Pretty, isn’t she?”
I nodded.
“Nice, too.”
I nodded.
“She smiled at you.”
My grin walked its way to Indiana.
“And you’re still smiling.”
I closed my laptop and looked at the light coming from the basement, then ripped a sheet of paper out of my spiral notebook and scribbled a note. I looked around the room, then saw her purse on the couch. Very trusting of her. I slipped the note into her bag and went to my room. A few minutes later she came up from the basement.
“Thank you for sharing your son with me, Mrs. Ryan. He is wonderful.”
“Which one?” Mom laughed.
I wish I could’ve seen her face. “I will be back next Wednesday.”
“That sounds great, Lydia. You have a safe drive home now.”
The door closed. I hurried to the window in my room. She opened her car door, sat down, and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. She must’ve reached for her keys and saw the note, because she stopped to read something. I backed away from the curtain and peeked through a small slit. She looked toward our house and gave a thumbs up.
She couldn’t have seen me. Could she?
I played some music and waited the rest of the night for her to call.
Lydia always loved me. There’s no doubt about it. From that first thumbs up to the last chance she gave me as she stood by the piano, waiting for me to serenade her with our future as husband and wife. Only I played a depressing song. Again.
Gavin stumbled out of his bedroom and found me in the living room, still holding the door knob.
“What’s going on?” He scratched his head. Eyes still adjusting to the summer light. “Thought I heard you playing something depressing again. Could’ve been a nightmare though.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Thought I heard Lydia.”
I nodded and closed the door.
“She really letting you go this time or what?”
“I hope not.”
“Come on, man. You can’t string the girl along forever. You know how lucky you are to have a love like that. And you want to throw it all away for some stupid reasons that make sense to no one but yourself.”
“I don’t want to string her along. Maybe if she finds someone better then I’ll know it wasn’t meant to be.”
“What you’re looking for doesn’t exist, Matt.”
“Then what are you waiting for? You are looking for the same thing.”
“No.” He pointed to my chest. “I’m looking for what you already have.”
“This goes down as a great moment in history.”
“What does?”
“The first time Gavin Kessler was jealous of something I had.”
“Not jealous. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I will have my girl soon.”
“Don’t be so sure of yourself.”
“So what’s your plan for today?”
“Need to run a few errands, give an estimate to someone, then nothing.” I walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice. “What about you?”
He followed and poured a glass for himself. “No plans here.”
“Shocking.”
We downed a glass and poured another. “Was thinking of taking a drive to the beach.”
“A drive to the beach? Why?”
“Who needs a reason to drive to the beach?”
“Long drive for no reason.”
“Want to come?”
“No, thanks.”
“Come on.”
“Nope.” I set my empty pulp-covered glass into the sink. “Hey, I tried Chances the other day. It’s pretty nice in there. You’d probably like it.”
“Oh yeah, I have a few friends who have their art in there. I should talk to the owner and see if I can get some of my paintings on the wall. Another guy I know sold some of his work for $3,000 a piece.”
“No question there. I’d definitely ask.”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll head in there now. You wanna come with me?”
I looked at my watch. “I don’t know.”
“Run errands later.” He tapped my watch. “Come with me.”
A few minutes later we were walking down Spruce Street in the 80-degree humid morning. Without Gavin I’d probably had spent most of my twenties alone in my apartment watching too much Jack Black and Adam Sandler.
We rounded the corner onto South 15 Street, walked a little further, and came up to Chances on the corner of South 15 and Latimer. I opened the door and Gavin walked in.
“What a gentleman.” He laughed and scooted in the door.
We walked up to the woman at the register, same as before.
“Nice to see you again,” she said. “And I see you brought a friend.”
“Hey, actually I was wondering if I could talk to the manager,” Gavin said. “Is he around?”
“Actually, that would be me. What can I help you with?” She piled a mountain of whipped cream on an iced coffee and placed it on the counter. “Kenny, your drink is up.”
A slender man took the coffee, tipped his hat, and said, “Thanks, Dee. Be back tomorrow.”
“Rise and shine. See you then.” She looked back to Gavin. “So, what was it you needed?”
He eyed the photographs on the wall. “Actually, I’m wondering if I could show you some of my art. Maybe sell a few of them here in the coffee shop.”
“Oh, oh. That’s not my area. You will need to talk to the owner about all that.”
“Okay. Thank you,” he said. “Is he here?”
“She”—Dee laughed—”is away for the weekend.” She looked up at the chalkboard menu behind her. “Anything you guys want?”
“Surprise me,” I said. “With something different than last time, too.”
“Wow, Matt.” Gavin leaned onto the counter. “This is quite the unusual happenstance.”
“I’m spreading my wings.”
Dee laughed, so did we.
“I’ll take an iced white mocha latte with some caramel in there for good measure,” Gavin said.
“Coming right up. Oh, wait.” She pressed a few buttons on the register. “Total is 9.82.”
I pulled out my wallet.
Gavin pulled out his. “I got it, Matt.”
“You paid for pizza last week. I’ll get this.”
He put his wallet back in his pocket and scanned the walls. He stopped at the same picture that caught my eye last time. I knew he would. Hands in his pockets, he kept walking and stopped at a black-and-white picture of a woman’s silhouette. Violin at her side.
“I’ve seen this before,” he said.
“Really?” The girl said from behind the counter. “That’s the owner actually. She used to play the violin.”
I took the surprise drink she handed me. “Used to?”
“Yeah. She’s never told me why she stopped. I never asked either.”
I took a sip of the drink and looked at Gavin, deep in thought. “Where’d you see it before?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Somewhere.” He walked back to us and took his drink. “I had a friend who sold some art in here. Paintings. Do you guys still take that kind of thing? Or just the photography?”
“Anything.” The girl rubbed her wrist where she had a tattoo of a bracelet. “She loves all kinds of art. You can submit music too if you’re into that. You can even play a show here if you want. She’s pretty picky though.”
Gavin thanked her for her time, said he’
d be back in a few days to drop some things off and talk to the owner. We walked out together.
“You should play a show there,” Gavin said to me. “Some nice moody piano. Can’t go wrong there.”
“Love you too, man.”
“She’s a brick and I’m drowning slowly.” Gavin sang the rest of the way home. A smile painted under his eyes the entire time.
I tuned him out. Pictured Lydia’s sun-shiney face on the other end of the phone. The night she finally called me. She waited until Friday. I’m not one for those three day rules. Why wait if you like the person? It’s annoying.
She waited two days. Not as bad as three, I guess. I didn’t recognize the number on my cell phone and figured I’d probably hear her voice on the other end. When I did, a smile lit my face from that moment until the next time I saw her. They say it takes more muscles to frown than to smile. Could’ve fooled me. Every time I got off the phone with her I had to rub my jaw for three hours.
That’s about how long we talked, too. At least the first night. The second night we talked until four in the morning. I can’t remember what we talked about. She can’t either. All we remember is laughter. And her sweet voice. I still love her voice. Especially when she sings to me.
All those times we’d sit at the piano. I’d play and she’d sing with me. Somehow we never made it through a song without our lips touching.
Maybe I couldn’t imagine my life without her.
Gavin opened the door to our apartment building. “What are you thinking about?”
“Guess.”
“If you love her, then marry her. What’s so hard about that?”
We walked up the stairs to our apartment. I unlocked the door and walked inside, Gavin following behind me.
“I don’t know,” I said, flopping my keys on the end table by the door. “We have tons of good memories. I miss her every time we break up, but I wonder if I miss her because there’s no one else. I miss the idea of her. The idea of having a girlfriend. But not her. She deserves for me to miss her.”
“You mean you don’t miss her at all? You just miss having a girlfriend?”
