by H. L. Logan
It wasn’t until I sat down in front of my computer that I realized it was anything but gone.
My fingertips sat motionless on the keys, and I couldn’t summon a single creative idea to my mind. The only thing that seemed to come forward now was the thought of Kendra.
Enough of this shit, I thought. I got up and poured myself a whiskey. I’d never been in a relationship before, and things certainly weren’t going to change now. Life was too busy for romance. I had my work to concentrate on. My business was the only relationship I needed.
I was able to churn out a bit of code, but my mind continued to hop back to Kendra. I went over program functions in my mind and how to implement them, only to have those thoughts fade away and be replaced by repeating memories of the things we’d done last night. The weirdest part was that it wasn’t the sex that I was remembering. To reminisce over a night of amazing sex wouldn’t have been so unusual for me, but I was thinking about her. The dinner, the conversation, the way she talked so passionately about her music, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke, and the way she moved so quickly from passion to shyness. My thoughts were all about her.
She was an interesting, unique person, so of course I’d think our conversation was memorable. That was it, or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself. So why did it feel like more than that?
It’s not more than that. That is all it is. Concentrate on work, and she’ll slowly fade from importance.
I put on a record and dove back into work, forcing myself to push forward. It felt like she was tugging at my mind at every moment. Once the afternoon hit, I’d managed to churn out a fair amount of progress, but once again felt unhappy with what I’d done. I decided to go for lunch—a walk might help clear my mind. And maybe if I got to see her again… I could put an end to these ridiculous thoughts.
I stopped at my favorite Greek restaurant near the end of the Riverwalk promenade and got myself a gyro, and after eating I walked towards where Kendra had been set up the day before. Why the hell was I so nervous? My heart was racing, and it only got worse the moment I caught the steady sound of a drum beat from off in the distance. From the skill level of that rhythm, I knew immediately that it was her.
The crowd was even bigger than yesterday, and I pushed my way through so that I could get a view of her. She sat cross legged, her eyes closed as her hands blurred across the variety of makeshift instruments she had in front of her. I noticed she’d added two more new pieces to her kit—a small plastic bucket and a block of wood.
Her playing was incredible. I wished I could hear her play on a real drum kit. It was such a fucking shame that she couldn’t do it. I thought about the story she’d told me the night before, and wondered how a mentor could put a student down like that, to the point where she’d fail and be unable to play again.
Stop worrying about her. Stop involving yourself.
I tried to remind myself why I was here.
See her, listen to her, then forget about her forever. A bit of closure, and that’s it. We don’t even need to talk. She’s a stranger. She’s no one, and all she’ll do is get in the way of work.
I took a breath and backed out of the crowd before Kendra had a chance to open her eyes and see me.
Alright. That’s it. Now you never need to see her again.
I walked home from the Riverwalk, my heart feeling unusually empty. I was miserable, and I couldn’t understand why she’d had this effect on me.
Over the next three days, I was able to make steady progress on the program, mostly fueled by the panic I felt when I saw that the user numbers for my most popular app had experienced a massive drop. Still, despite my productivity, I wasn’t happy with the work I was doing. Something was missing. I also broke my daily routine and avoided going back to the Riverwalk. Kendra had refused to leave my mind, and seeing her the other day had definitely not made it better. So now I figured I ought to just avoid seeing her altogether in order to “reset” myself, and get back to normal.
I wondered if she was having the same thoughts about me. Was I torturing her as much as she was me?
On the fourth day, I gave in.
Years of routine, of being completely in control of myself, gone. And all because of a street drummer. I returned to the Riverwalk, this time with the intention of talking to her again. As I walked, I started to get nervous, and then I got excited. I wanted to talk to her. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t interested in seeing me again, I just wanted to talk to her. And then, maybe I could finally be rid of this thing.
When I neared Kendra’s usual spot, it dawned on me that something wasn’t right. Over the bustle and chatter of the Riverwalk’s afternoon crowd, there was something missing: Kendra’s drums.
Why didn’t I hear her drums?
The spot was occupied by a duo: a girl on an acoustic guitar accompanied by a violinist. They’d attracted a sizeable crowd, and were playing a lively Celtic style song. An elderly couple danced, while a toddler jumped around to the music. They were damn good. I stopped to listen to the rest of the song, and dropped a twenty into the guitar case that was open on the ground.
“Hey, thanks,” the guitarist said.
“Do you guys happen to know the drummer that was set up here a few days ago?”
The guitarist shook her head and turned to her partner. “Brianne?”
The violinist—Brianne, I guess—shrugged. “Didn’t know there were any street drummers here.”
“They must be new,” said the guitarist. “We play here pretty often.”
“I think she only just started playing here this week. Anyway, thanks. You guys kick ass, keep it up.”
“Thanks! Here, hold on a second.” She went over to the guitar case and pulled out a flier. “Come check us out this weekend. We play shows here regularly. There’ll be food and art. It’ll be a good time.”
“Beasley Illustration Graduate Show,” the flier said. “Shadetree Collective.”
I wasn’t so much into the whole pretentious artsy-fartsy scene, but I folded the flier neatly and gave it a pat of acknowledgement before slipping it into my pocket. “Thanks,” I said, and as I left to patrol the rest of the Riverwalk, the two of them broke into a cover of Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love.”
I walked the length of the Riverwalk promenade, but never once caught the sound of Kendra’s drums. When I passed Malabar, I caught the spicy aroma of their food and flashed back to our dinner. So, she hadn’t come to play today. She’d told me that she worked, so maybe that was why she wasn’t here. I felt surprisingly deflated.
Come back tomorrow, I thought. Talk to her then.
But what if she wasn’t here tomorrow? What if she decided street drumming wasn’t her thing? What if she decided to go somewhere else in the city?
Then you never have to worry about her again.
My ability to psyche myself up and mentally motivate myself through difficult situations was one of my strong traits. It was what gave me the ability to write software and start my business while finishing grad school with top marks, helping me to defeat the crippling self-doubt that prevented so many other, more talented peers from succeeding. It was the one thing I could count on when the going got rough—and it disturbed the hell out of me that it wasn’t making me feel any better right now.
I considered the possibility that maybe I’d just shut myself in for too long. It’d been a long-ass time since I’d gone on dates or hooked up with anyone, and it’d been even longer since I’d gone out with a friend. I’d practically cut off all non-business related connections when I’d decided to take on this project. Maybe that was all I needed.
When I got back to the condo, I pulled up the contact of an old friend from school—one of the girls who was on the same page as me and was always reliable for a fun time. She was straight, but had an uncanny ability to pick out the bisexual—or bicurious—and lesbian women in a bar and hook me up with them. I wasn’t looking for a wing-woman, but Denise was probably the best friend
I had. A little depressing, considering I hadn’t been in contact with her in one and half years.
“Hello, Denise Hoover speaking.”
“’Sup, girl. How’s it going?”
There was a silent pause. “Oh, shit! Is that who I think it is? Melany Crawford, it’s been a long time. I thought I’d never hear from you again after I lost my phone with your number in it.”
I laughed. She hadn’t changed, it seemed. “I know, I kind of vanished into thin air. I feel like shit about it, but you know how it is.”
“Right, right. I know your business got off the ground while we were still in school. I don’t blame you. Go with the money, as we used to say.”
“Yeah, the work really took me. So, how’ve you been?”
“Oh, good. Good. I’m still in Rosebridge, working for an import/export company.”
“Awesome. I’m glad you’re still in town, because I wanted to see if you’d be down to go out for a drink. Catch up.”
“Oh, bitch! You know I do.” She lowered his voice. “Actually, I just got engaged, so I gotta keep my head down. The fiancé doesn’t know about the rager side of Denise. But I got you. Just like the old days.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Denise. I just wanted to grab a drink and catch up, no booty chasing for me.”
“Damn,” she said, sounding surprised. “Really? Oh, I got it, you’re in a relationship too. Wow, Melany P. Crawford in a relationship. Things have changed.”
“No, still single. I just want to catch up.”
“Huh. Okay. It’ll be awesome to see you again, Mel.”
We made arrangements to meet that night at a bar downtown, and after we hung up I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. Denise Hoover, engaged? That was definitely a surprise for me. Denise was like me—she’d always been so focused on work and success, never bothering to make time for romantic relationships other than getting laid. She’d even told me once that she planned to die single in a bed of money, surrounded by a harem of the world’s hottest male models.
That evening I drove to go meet her, and found myself making a quick detour to check out the Riverwalk. Kendra wasn’t there.
“Stupid,” I muttered to myself, and went back to my car.
“There she is!” Denise jumped off her stool and pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s good to see you.”
“Likewise, Denise,” I said, grinning. “Let me get our drinks. What’ll it be? An Old Fashioned, just to keep it old-fashioned?”
“Sounds good to me. Thanks, Mel. Next round is on me.”
We sat at the bar, and the bartender mixed our drinks. “So, engaged? I wasn’t expecting to hear that one.”
“I know, I know,” she said, fingering a cocktail napkin. “You know me. I never could’ve imagined that happening.”
“So, what changed?”
“Two Old Fashioneds.” The bartender placed the glasses of amber drink in front of us, and I put down a fifty.
“Keep the change,” I told her.
“I met someone,” said Denise, sipping her drink. “Mm. Good shit.”
“Okay, but you’ve met dozens of someones,” I said, laughing.
“Yeah, but this someone was different. He—Marc—wasn’t like anyone else I’d been with before. He wasn’t like any man I’d ever met before. It was fucking weird, but I somehow knew that he was right for me.”
“Shit, he must’ve been special for you to have given up on your business projects. You work for someone now? What happened to starting that landscape maintenance company you always talked about? You were so sure you could strike it rich in that niche.”
She shrugged. “Things changed. Marc became my life. And who knows, I might even cut back so that I can have a kid.”
I shook my head in disbelief, and took a swallow of my drink. “Crazy.”
“Tell me about it. It came out of nowhere.”
“What was it about him? Is he an entrepreneur? Someone in finance?” I could imagine Denise being interested in someone who she could talk business with—though so many guys could be insufferable when it came to talking business with a woman. Always patronizing.
“Librarian,” she said. “Works for the Rosebridge City Library.”
“Shit,” I said, stunned.
“I met him at an associate’s wedding. He was sitting at my table, and we talked, and something just clicked between us. I couldn’t get him out of my head.”
An image of Kendra’s face flashed through my mind. I tossed down the rest of my drink, and Denise ordered us two more.
“I’m happy where I am, anyway,” she continued. “My career rocks, and I’m helping Marc with a project idea he had for cataloguing books. Honestly, Mel, I didn’t know what I was missing. Everything feels so much more rewarding with him by my side.”
I laughed. “Jesus. Denise the romantic. I never could’ve imagined.”
Denise laughed too. “So, what’s new in the life of you? Still making your weekly catches, you little minx?”
“Not anymore,” I said. “That’s long behind me now.”
“Because I’m not there to wing for you?” She smacked my arm.
“Business, Denise, business.”
“You were one of the few who actually made it right out of school,” she said.
“In school,” I reminded her. “I started on a new project. I’m going big this time, no more small apps.”
“Big for you must be really big. You’ve got my attention.”
“I don’t want to give too much away, because I’m still working on a first build. But I’ll say this much: think BluTech.”
Her eyes widened. “It’s a good time for that. Damn good time. If I knew how to code, I’d offer to give you a hand.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I teased. “You have a fiancé to think about now.”
She smiled. “Well, if there’s anyone from our class that could succeed in taking on a company that big, it’s you. I’m sure you’re killing it with the alpha builds. It’s probably amazing.”
“It’s getting there,” I said. No, it isn’t.
“So, you haven’t been seeing anyone?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Well, hell, girl. I could hook you up with someone tonight, I’m sure. I may have been out of the game for a while, but I know I still haven’t lost my touch.” She leaned in close and spoke in a private voice. “The bartender. She’s into you.”
“No way. She’s just happy because I gave her a generous tip.”
“Trust me, Mel. She definitely wants your generous tip. Or tips.” She swatted my boobs.
I groaned and turned away to shield myself from any more gropes. I was still a little tender from Kendra’s ballistic drumstick.
“Want me to get the ball rolling?” she asked.
The bartender was tall, with olive skin and a model-perfect face. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she were a model. Her dark hair was pulled up in a neat little ponytail, and I thought again about Kendra.
Fuck. Maybe I needed this to get my mind straight again.
I shrugged coolly. “Fine. Show me your magic hasn’t faded, Denise.”
She smiled and patted my arm. “Leave it to me.”
I walked out into the night and pulled Denise into a hug. “It was really great to see you,” I said. “It was great to catch up.”
“Definitely. We should do this again sometime.”
I agreed, but we both knew that this would likely be the last time we’d see each other unless somehow business brought our paths together again. We were both in completely different places in our lives now.
She leaned in and squeezed my arm. “Have fun tonight.” She winked.
Denise hummed as she strolled off into the night. It was nice to have caught up with an old friend, but it had left me feeling strange. Denise was getting married. Her story about finding Marc, and how she’d known he was special—I could never have imagined that happening to her. She always seemed like
she was at her top form when she was invested in her business and living the wild single life, but, I had to admit… I’d never seen her this happy. It was something I could just feel that was different about how she was acting, and her energy was different too.
What did this mean for me?
Nothing.
What about Kendra?
The question floated through my mind like a whisper.
What about Kendra? She was just a girl I’d met, and that was it. She was just like…
