(in response to the November Notes Writing Challenge as hosted by A Reading Writer and Heartstring Eulogies and a daily prompt!)
I read Sienna’s messages again, looking for what? There was no hidden meaning, no subterfuge. Just her words, her truth. She’d ‘moved on’? Well hoo-fucking-ray for her. What did that even mean? Moved on to what? Or maybe to who? I didn’t want to even entertain that thought, found the very notion of her with someone else irritating, annoying, fucking irksome.
I prowled around my house restlessly, fighting the urge to go see her. My demons were riding me hard today, whispering doubts and lies, telling me she was never mine anyway. Telling me I should move on. Maybe they were right. I picked up the half finished note I’d been working on when her text came in and skimmed over it.
Why was I wasting time, begging her to talk to me when she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested. Didn’t give a flying fuck. Where was my pride? I screwed up the piece of paper and tested out my throwing arm for three points. Rewarded myself with a chocolate from the box I’d planned to send with the note.
Note she would ignore, chocolates she didn’t want, I reminded myself as I shoved another one into my mouth. Before I knew it I’d eaten the whole damned box so there was nothing to send anyway. I felt sick then, not so much from all the sugar, but from knowing I was letting her go.
I went to my studio, found solace the only place I ever did as I picked up a guitar and played. I played the song I’d written for her that had become such a big hit. Then I played the one I’d written for us the day before, that I hoped would become an even bigger hit. It had promise but now, I didn’t know if I’d ever play it again. Lastly I played the first song we’d danced to together, let the memory play through my mind, one last time.
We’d been out to dinner, our first real date. She was wearing a dress, a swirl of pink and red that left her legs bare, a terrible temptation. She’d allowed me to pick her up and now we were parked outside her building, not wanting the night to end but knowing it was too soon for her to invite me in.
Then a song had come on the radio and she’d exclaimed, “I love this song!”
I teased her about her poor taste in music and she’d acted offended but I’d seen her smile and on impulse I’d jumped out of the car and rushed around to open her door.
“Dance with me,” I’d urged. “It’s about all this crappy music is good for.”
She’d flowed into my arms with a smile and we’d danced beneath the stars as she sang softly:
Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah, they were all yellow.
I played the last chord then sat in silence, remembering that at the end of the song we’d shared our first kiss. I remembered how my heart had raced, how my hands had trembled, how kissing her had felt like coming home.
I went and fished that unfinished letter out of the trash. I wasn’t moving on, I wasn’t giving up. I closed my eyes and pictured her when she’d opened her front door and surprised us both. She’d looked happy to see me, if only for an instant. I wanted to see that look on her face again, wanted her smiles and her laughter. Fuck it, I was a greedy bastard, I wanted it all.