Chapter Two
I remember when I had just turned 18, and literally scraped the minimum age to enter the club you were performing at. A knot formed in my stomach- I had never been to a gig before, so I put my best effort in to look at least half presentable, and I kept on ordering Appletisers because I was overheating with nervousness and the anticipation of seeing you singing for the first time. You didn’t think I was supposed to be there- we were supposed to be meeting up at a Zizzi restaurant afterwards, to celebrate me basically becoming a day older, so you didn’t know I was there. I wasn’t surprised, really- I just seemed to blend in with the crowd usually, that was perfectly normal for someone of my stature and appearance. I was gulping down my third beverage and tipping the bartender when I heard you clearing your throat into the microphone before the crowd, which I was standing near the back of. A bunch of drunks were hollering behind me, so I did my best to blend in and not attract any unneeded attention.
The crowd were growing, though you probably couldn’t tell- You were short-sighted, so without your glasses, you’d most likely thought there were only a few people in front of you watching. “This first song’s called Iris,” you said, and warm tears prickled my eyes. You were about to play one of my favourite songs, though you’d probably never have known that. “It’s dedicated to my girlfriend on her 18th birthday, even though she isn’t here with us tonight. I love you, Aoife.” The crowd cheered and I swallowed hard as you began to strum the melody on your guitar. Then the drums kicked in and your voice; it was so beautiful. A lump grew in my throat. That song always made me cry. So that’s what I did.
The group of girls in front of me briefly turned around, and one, who was wearing fake tan, asked “Are you all right?” she was probably in my year group, or should I say, sixth form. I blinked and smiled meekly, nodding. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” My voice sounded croaky. I wanted her to be quiet. Your music was what kept me going from then on. I sang quietly along to the words in the chorus.
After your performance, I speedily walked back to my house, which wasn’t too far away. I changed my clothes, reapplied any makeup I’d lost when I cried, and looked at myself in the mirror. I was too skinny. I could see hollows under my protruding cheekbones, so I put on more foundation and realised how ugly I was. It was supposed to be my birthday, so why wasn’t I happy? Cut. I sighed. I scrambled my wardrobe and covered it up with a sweatband, which, luckily, matched the colour of my dress.
Meeting you at Zizzi made me happy again. I could forget about the world and what I looked like, and just talk to you. We ate and you gave me roses after the meal. Pretty pink roses. You walked me home afterwards, and I hugged and kissed you goodnight on my doorstep. You whispered “I love you, forever and always, I just wanted you to know that.” softly in my ear. “I know.”
YOU ARE READING
Catch A Falling Star
KurzgeschichtenYou were there, since the beginning. And it wasn't your fault. It was mine. I couldn't save you in time. This is a short story of love and loss.
