Let You Go: a heart-wrenching second chance romance story that will make you believe in true love

by Jaxson Kidman

  “Ask away,” I said.

  “Look at these two pictures.” She reached into her bag. “Tell me which one makes you want to drink coffee.”

  “What?” I asked with a laugh.

  Rose handed me two pictures. Two different women. Two different places. Two different poses. One looked happy in thought, one looked deep in thought.

  I held the pictures up and put one on either side of Rose’s face. I got close to her, maybe too close.

  “Foster…?”

  My eyes scanned left to right, then back again.

  Then I handed the pictures back to Rose.

  “Well?” she asked.

  I touched her chin, softly. “I’d rather watch you drink coffee.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be cute? It sounds stalkerish.”

  “Fine,” I said. “The one with the woman in the window. Deep in thought. Caring for her heart. Her soul. Exactly what coffee is supposed to do. Much like music.”

  We stared at each other again.

  Seconds ticked by.

  Rose whispered, “Thanks. I’ll, uh, remember that.”

  She slipped away and said goodbye to Stephanie as she opened the door. I stood there and watched her get into a newer looking SUV and drive away.

  I rubbed my chin.

  I told myself after the last time with Rose that I should have left town. Just gotten away from it all for good. But I stayed, a cheap excuse in my heart.

  Then again, even if I was away, I wouldn’t be gone.

  I snapped my fingers.

  There it was.

  My missing lyric.

  Even if I’m away, I won’t be gone.

  A packed house consisted of the tables being full, people sitting on the super narrow ledge of the window, and a handful of people outside as they took and made phone calls, sent texts, and smoked cigarettes. I couldn’t exactly play all that loud because people needed to be able to order drinks and snacks at the counter. That also meant no full band.

  Which left me on stage all alone.

  A black barstool. A black acoustic guitar. A mic. My old, beat up amplifier. And a single white light that felt like the sun’s fingertip pressing against the middle of my forehead.

  The best part of the little gigs were when I could silence the people. Take them away from their conversations, and more importantly, take them away from their phones. Even if it was for a three minute song, it was well worth it. I had a catalog of songs that I’d written throughout the years. My time of becoming rich and famous had long since passed. Broken bands, failed demos, dive bar shows, roads that all looked the same hardened my skin, and eventually had me settle into what I truly enjoyed. Which was just the art of the song. If one person connected, it was a great show.

  Of course, this gig involved zero money. I had a deal worked out with Stephanie. She didn’t charge me rent to use the basement for lessons as long as I played a show a week. It brought people in, they spent money, and everyone was happy. She even let me take tips, which meant I took my favorite baseball cap and flipped it over and balanced it on the edge of the stage. I never once mentioned the hat or money while playing. That’s not why I was doing it.

  I had been working on a new song for a little while and my meeting with Rose gave me the final line I needed.

  Even if I’m away, I won’t be gone.

  I finished the second of ten songs and was surprised to see everyone applauding. Not the pity applause either, but people actually looking at me.

  I gave a wave with my guitar pick between my fingers.

  “Thanks,” I said. I reached down for a bottle of water. I took a drink. “You know, to make me look cooler up here, I’m going to tell you this is vodka.”

  A few people laughed.

  Okay, comedy wasn’t my thing. Hey… why is a frog always happy…

  I smiled.

  Before I could even think her name again, the door to the coffeehouse opened and in walked Rose.

  I froze for a few seconds, waiting to see if anyone was with her.

  Someone was with her.

  Another woman.

  Not a guy.

  I smirked.

  “Okay,” I said. “You don’t want to hear me ramble. Any requests?”

  It was crickets.

  I laughed. “I’m kidding. Why would you know who I am, right?”

  “We love you, Foster!” someone yelled out.

  I pointed. “Okay, someone cut her off. Too much caffeine.”

  Now that got a little laugh.

  I strummed a few stray chords and eyed Rose as she stood near the counter.

  “You might not guess by the tore up jeans and cheap looking flannel here,” I said as I strummed the same chords, “but, uh, I like flowers. I mean, I don’t have any in my apartment. They would be dead in twenty minutes.” A few more laughs. “But I like flowers. I can appreciate them. So this song is about my favorite flower. This is called Hey, Rose…”

  I strummed the chords and started to play the song.

  Now I played that song probably five times a week on a bad week. Just for fun or during my shows. It was my secret song, or at least the meaning, since I played it for so many people already. With Rose in attendance, it now had a new feel to it. I wrote the song outside, after a gig one night with one of the failed bands. The guys had already taken off, and by taken off, I mean everyone went in a different direction. The club owner decided not to pay us for the show either. So I sat on a stack of milk crates, balancing myself, with a pen and paper, staring out to what three in the morning looked like.

  And I wrote a letter. Just a guy trying to find his way through the world, writing a letter to someone he had to leave behind because she’d already found her way. Even though she didn’t realize it. It wasn’t exactly a sad song either. Just a song about the shit I’ve seen and done, and even a road at the end of the world still felt like the road back home when I thought about her.

  It was probably my worst song. The song that had everyone looking down at their phones. But I enjoyed playing it. And it was my stage for a little while.

  After that song, I ran through the rest of what I had planned, including a new song at the very end. I was able to sing that last lingering lyric and the night was complete.

  When I was done, the crowd gave me a decent applause and with a wave, I made the awkward walk off the stage. It was awkward because I didn’t get to go backstage and catch my breath. I literally just walked off the stage and joined the crowd. I asked Stephanie for a bottle of water and she jokingly told me it was a buck fifty. I told her to put it on my tab.

  I had a one track mind, getting to Rose.

  When I got close enough, she applauded me as she held a coffee cup with one hand and tapped the side of it with the other.

  “Nice job,” she said.

  “That was great,” her friend said.

  “This is Molly,” Rose said. “She owns the coffee company.”

  “Oh, that shitty coffee they sell here?” I asked.

  “What?” Molly asked.

  I winked. “I’m joking. I drink enough of it to know it’s good. Really good.”

  “Hey, maybe we should get you a t-shirt to wear up on stage,” Molly said. “Sponsor your gigs.”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  Molly swatted at Rose. “Why didn’t you think of that, huh? You’re the marketing person.”

  “True,” I said. “Where’s your head at, Rose?”

  “Really?” Rose asked. She looked at Molly. “Really?”

  “I’m serious,” Molly said.

  “I don’t sell my soul that cheaply,” I said. “Coffee is good, but not that good. Now, if it was beer…”

  “Tomorrow we expand into beer,” Molly said. “Get on it, Rose.”

  “You two are idiots,” Rose said.

  Molly laughed. She slowly inched away. “I’m going to go talk to Stephanie. Give you two some space.”

  “Wow, she’s fast,�
� I whispered to Rose.

  “It’s all she knows,” Rose said. “If it wasn’t for me reeling her in, she’d be bankrupt.”

  “Want to go outside and get some air?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I opened the door for Rose as a few people came up to tell me they enjoyed my set. I thanked them. Weirdly enough, one person wanted a selfie with me. I raised an eyebrow, figuring it was a joke. But it wasn’t. What the hell would this selfie prove? I took the picture and went outside.

  “Famous,” Rose said as we walked along the front of the building, away from a small group of people smoking.

  “You know it,” I said.

  “That was really good, Foster. Seriously. I mean, I knew you were good. Haven’t seen you play in a while though.”

  “It’s fun now.”

  “It wasn’t fun before?”

  “Not like this,” I said. “I just get up there and don’t give a shit. There’s a lot of freedom in life when you just don’t give a shit. When you just let it all go.”

  “Right. Let it all go.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Rose,” I said.

  She turned and walked around the side of the building. I went after her and gently caught hold of her arm. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. It’s just what you said. It’s so true. It’s so you, Foster.”

  “What did I say?”

  “That you don’t give a shit. That you just let it all go.”

  “Ah, fuck, Rose…”

  “No, I get it. And then that song you played. Nobody was listening, but I was. You’ve never played that song before. I’ve never heard it.”

  “I play that song all the time,” I said. “You just haven’t been around.”

  “You didn’t want me around, remember?”

  “Whoa. Don’t say that, Slug…”

  “Don’t call me that right now.” Rose looked away. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I knew this was going to happen.”

  “What? What is happening?”

  “This. Us. We can’t be near each other, Foster. We try to talk, joke, but it always goes back to the same thing. We talk about my father, my sister, your father, and next thing I know I’m standing there and you’re singing a song called Hey, Rose and I have Molly whispering into my ear, wanting to know if the song is about me.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “What do you want then, Rose? We can’t erase the past, right? Your father was and still is the most important figure in my life.”

  “Yeah? When was the last time you saw him?”

  I curled my lip. “I’m not doing this.”

  “Oh, you don’t like being told when you’re wrong. Typical.”

  “Typical,” I said. “You trying to point out everyone’s flaws, Rose. Instead of just taking this as is.”

  “As is… what? What is this?”

  “Jesus,” I whispered. “I thought it would be nice for you to come here and hang. Watch me play a set. Have a conversation. I don’t know. I don’t have every second planned out. I’m not you.”

  “Me? You think I have everything planned out?” She laughed. “You don’t know me as well as you think then.”

  She tried to move and I grabbed her wrist. “Then let’s fix that. I didn’t mean to bring you here and get you upset. You want me to apologize for the past? I will. But I don’t want to bring up the past.”

  “You know what, it doesn’t even matter, Foster,” Rose said. She pulled her hand away. “This is my fault. I came here. I knew what could happen. Being near you is instantly dangerous. And not just because of the past.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because it’s you, Foster,” she said. “It’s you. You’re dangerous. To me. My mind. My heart. Everything.”

  I nodded. “Right. Yet we live in the same town and we’ve seen each other how many times? Now all of a sudden it’s an issue.”

  “I didn’t say it’s an issue. I just said…”

  “Said what?” I asked. “You’re crossing the lines, Rose. Not me. Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I invited you to come here tonight. I didn’t mean to play a song that would get you this upset…”

  “You don’t get it,” she said.

  “Get what?”

  “A stupid song does this to me,” she whispered. “What do you think that means, Foster?”

  We were lit up by a streetlight buzzing high above us. At the side of the coffeehouse, near the corner where there was little traffic. It was a cool night but I was seconds away from breaking out in a sweat being so close to Rose. Her brown eyes shined like polished wood. I couldn’t tell if she was getting emotional or what.

  “What do I think that means,” I whispered.

  I stepped toward her.

  I curled my lip. Rose was the only woman who could ever bring out the emotions that I worked so hard to hide. I already knew who I was to her. First love. First heartache. But I’d always assumed that anything that looked like forever was just a dumb fairy tale. Shit, she had lived through enough with what happened to her mother. I had lived through enough with my parents too. Although they were two very different worlds.

  “I think it means what it’s not supposed to mean,” I whispered. “And that’s the worst part, isn’t it?”

  “Probably.”

  “Which means you should go.”

  “Probably.”

  “Which means we should try harder to avoid each other.”

  “Probably,” Rose whispered.

  “I’ll leave,” I said. “You stay with Molly. Go let some guy buy you a coffee and talk about his new tech startup company. Or maybe he’ll brag about his fancy cell phone and all the cool stuff he and his friends learned while backpacking through Europe so they could find themselves. And then you could talk about you marketing for a cool coffee company.”

  She slowly nodded. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

  I dared myself to reach for her, but at this point in my life, I actually tried to do this thing… you know, where you do the right thing.

  I inched away. “I didn't want you to be here and get upset. I didn’t trick you into hearing a song. I had no intention of messing with my own heart. Just for the record.”

  “Foster,” Rose called out.

  “Yeah?”

  “What kind of shoes do frogs wear?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What’s with you and jokes?”

  “A defense thing,” she said.

  “You’re scared of me, Rose?”

  “I’m scared of us.”

  “You know, someone once told me you have to face your fears.”

  “That’s true.”

  Ah, fuck this…

  I walked toward her and she managed one step before my hands found and settled right against those precious curves of her.

  Our lips touched and it was just like home. The kiss I could never forget. The kiss I would crave. The kiss I could never replicate with anyone else, no matter how hard I tried, and no matter how many hearts I broke.

  It was a quick kiss.

  I broke it and asked, “So tell me… what kind of shoes do frogs wear?”

  “Open toad,” Rose whispered.

  “That’s stupid.”

  “I know.”

  I kissed her again.

  A lyric I took out of a song tonight popped into my head.

  Hey, Rose, I still love you - today and probably tomorrow.

  WHEN THEY WERE YOUNG

  4

  The Party Thing

  Rose

  I opened the bathroom door and a guy stood there, peeing into a toilet. I let out a yell, but was seriously thankful he was standing with his back to me. He threw his head around and smiled.

  “I’ll be done in a second,” he said. “Need to make room for more beer.”

  “Ohmygod,” I whispered.

  I backed away and shut the door. I turned and looked at the stairs. There was another b
athroom downstairs, but there was also a sea of people.

  My father would get really mad at me for being at a party, but I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I wasn’t Vivian. Little Miss Goodie Girl was downstairs flirting with two different guys, sipping some kind of fruity drink out of a bottle. She was smart enough to not get herself into trouble, but I was still keeping a close eye on her.

  The bathroom door opened. “All yours.”

  I looked and felt my cheeks turn red. Why was I the one blushing? I wasn’t the one who got caught using the bathroom.

  “You ever hear of locking the door?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Really?” he asked back. “It’s a bathroom. No shock what happens in there. Are we really talking about this?”

  “I’m not talking to you,” I said.

  He reached for the bathroom door and pulled it shut.

  He stared at me with a cocky grin on his face.

  “Wow,” I said. “You’re so cool now. Holding the bathroom hostage.”

  “You look like you need a drink.”

  “You look like you need a change of clothes.”

  He laughed. “I like you. You’re Rose, right?”

  “What? How do you… whatever.”

  I started to walk away. It wasn’t worth the effort or the time.

  “Hey,” bathroom boy called out.

  I turned at the top of the steps. “What?”

  “I’m Foster,” he said. “Don’t pretend like you’ve never heard of me.”

  When he said his name, that’s when it clicked. I gasped.

  That was the guy. The guy who saw me that one summer day, sitting on the porch. When I was crying because…

  “That’s what I thought,” he called out. “And don’t worry, I washed my hands.”

  Bathroom boy… Foster… he walked away.

  I stood on the first step for a few seconds, waiting to see if he was going to come back, but he didn’t. There were a lot of stories about Foster that floated around, including that Foster wasn’t even his real name. That somehow, someway, he was able to pick his own name. That was pretty cool, if you ask me. I sure as heck didn’t like my name. Rose. It sounded like an old woman’s name. Of all the flowery type names, I got stuck with Rose. What about Violet? Maybe not the flower, but the color. My sister… she got Vivian. An elegant name.