𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙷𝙴𝚁࿐ ྂ ᴊᴇꜰꜰ ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇʏ

ꜰᴏᴜʀ

MARCH 22nd, 1990
NYC .ೃ࿐

DARLING, LET ME SLEEP TONIGHT ON YOUR COUCH,

No, Jeff thought and crossed out 'darling' and in its place, 'love.' The majority of his notebook in the past week had been filled with song lyrics, usually inspired by his feelings for Polly, which had grown slowly throughout their daily phone calls that week.

And remember...

"Jeff?"

The smell of the fabric.

"Jeff." Brooke broke him out of the concentration he was in on their couch, pen tapping on paper.

"Yeah?" He asked, barely looking up.

"Stop writings love letters to Polly. Let's go!" She said eagerly, throwing his jacket on his chest.

He stood, mumbling something about how it wasn't a love letter, and rather a song. He shrugged on the jacket and followed Brooke out the door.

"Where are we even going?" Jeff asked, annoyed he was taken so abruptly out of his songwriting.

Brooke opened the door for him and pointed across the street, "Barrows."

Barrows, one of the many tiny and damp music venues.

"Pollys coming." She told him as they crossed the street, knowing that would make him less annoyed with her dragging him out of their apartment.

"Okay." He replied, and Brooke smiled, knowing that no other complaints would be heard now.

Polly was near the entrance of the bar, rum and coke in hand. At the sight of the two, her dampened mood brightened as she rushed over. She slung her arms around the both, as if she hadn't seen them in years, when really it'd only been a week.

"Buzzed already?" Brooke laughed at her friends alcohol-induced affection.

"I guess!" Polly yelled enthusiastically over the music, "Lets get you two a drink." She suggested, taking another sip from her glass, leading them to the large bar.

The lights from the bar glowed a dark red, showering the patrons in warmth as they got drunk.

"Polly?" Brooke leaned into her ear to be heard and gain her attention, "Jeffs been talking about you."

"Really?" Polly asked, her voice sounding much more sober than it was.

Brooke squinted at her, "What?"

"He has?"

"Dont be so surprised, Pol." Brooke looked at her wide-eyed friend, glancing to Jeff. "Just do me a solid, yeah?"

"What is it?"

She took a long sip from her drink, "Dont break his heart."

Polly stared at her, and burst out into a drunken laughter, knowing she couldnt ever do such a thing, and then Brooke knew it too.

Brooke left her spot by Polly, wandering off towards the stage, where an unfamiliar band played, playing their originals and Smiths cover.

Jeff took Brookes spot, "I missed you, y'know." She told him, grabbing his beer from his loose grip and taking a sip, leaving a ring of pink gloss around the bottle.

"Thats mine..." He trailed off, "you missed me, huh?" He asked, knowing her flirting was probably a product of the drink in her hand.

"Mhm." She stared up at him and brought her hands up to his collar, smoothing it over.

She set her empty glass down on the bartop, deciding it'd be the last one. The last thing she wanted was Jeff to believe that she didn't actually care for him, thinking she was just drunk. She knew he wasn't just a bar hookup or a guy she forgot the name of the next morning. He was different, and that had been obvious since the first day they'd met.

Polly joined Brooke by the low stage, and while she tapped her foot along to the rhythm she could slowly feel the effects of her drinks fading as her thoughts became more lucid. She jumped up and down to the faster songs, stood beside Brooke during the slow ones.

An hour had passed of this until the band retreated and Jeff was on his fourth cigarette. He stood towards the corner, watching the smoke curl up from his lips and dance in the red light. He looked at Pollys short dress, dark with small flowers, under the familiar corduroy jacket. The song he had begun to write earlier popped once more into his head. He searched his pockets for a pen, finding one, he then looked for a scrap of paper. He grapped a loose old flier from the bartop and began to write the lyrics that had been stuck in his mind.

Love, let me sleep tonight on your couch

And remember the smell of the fabric

of your simple city dress.

He crumpled the page and stuffed it into his pocket, knowing he'd have plenty time to finish it later. He looked up from his heavy boots on the dirty floor, and saw Polly walking to him. Her blue eyes were outlined with smudged liner, her hair wavy with little braids in it, and the flowered dress she wore fell so perfectly over her figure. For a moment as she walked, Jeff found it hard to believe she was real. He knew she was by the way she spoke, the way she drank and the way she played piano so delicately- she was real, so real.

༻✦༺

Jeff played guitar quietly in the living room, Polly and Brooke in the next room talking amongst themselves. Polly fumbled with Brookes camera, messing with the roll of film it refused to take. Her attention wasn't on the camera or Brooke, not at all. She listened intently to hear Jeffs playing, wishing he'd play just a bit louder to reach the kitchen.

She set the camera down on the table and walked to the living room, taking a seat next to Jeff. "Sounds good." She encouraged.

"Just figuring out the chords..." he said in a hushed voice, deep in concentration.

"I can help, if you want." Polly suggested, "its easier on the piano." She smiled.

He strummed a few more times, "yeah, I think that'd help." He put his guitar down and stood.

Polly yelled to Brooke, telling her they were leaving, but she had already retreated to her bed.

The thursday night was cool, and if not for the arifitial light and smog, there would be a sky full of stars, something Polly hadn't seen since her days living in upstate New York. Her and Jeff sat at the wooden bench, as she showed him different chord progressions, he played them, until he found one that he particularly liked, and wrote them down on the crumpled flier from his pocket. Polly played as Jeff wrote lyric after lyric, stopping every once in a while to watch her play.

This was a moment in which Polly had no desire to document with her camera or video recorder, she wished to live it forever through her eyes, and not through a lense.