Almost Maybes

3 years ago

3 years ago

I stood at the garden path, but this time not in my mom's garden, watching the person who seemed oblivious to my presence. This person invited me to come over to their house because, he said, it was his mom's birthday. I even bought a strawberry shortcake - his mom's favorite cake.

I was finally in their house, and I had to hammer this thought into my head.
I couldn't believe it.

I couldn't believe how he talked me into going here.

I was supposed to meet our  college friends so we could go here together, but they told me that I had to be on my own because they had things to do first. So I went alone and bought a strawberry shortcake on my way. I could think of a better present to give to a friend's mom, not just some friend's mom. This friend of mine was dear to me and so was his mom.

His mom, Rachel, was standing behind me. She was the one who welcomed me when I rang the doorbell a while ago. The way her face expressed a quizzical look when she opened the front doors gave hint that my arrival wasn't expected. But after I introduced myself, said I was a friend of her son, and gave her the cake, she let me in. It was like Rachel had put two and two together and realized that having unexpected visitors was what to expect in birthday celebrations.

How could he let his mom open the gate when in fact he was the nearest person in the entrance, I thought to myself.  This guy was really something.

"If you need anything, Ivy, just run into the house. I'll be in the kitchen. Go talk to him," she went on. "Thanks for this sweet present, Ivy."

She sauntered back into the house, the smile on her face looked so permanent it didn't fade the whole time she was talking to me. A trivial thought came to mind, he looked like his mom. Sort of, I guess. I hadn't met his father yet, so my conclusion was baseless. Sort of, I guess. I just repeated the same phrase because I was so nervous just to be here.

Rachel had gone into the house, but I remained standing there for a moment, watching how he was absorbed in his own little world, marveling at the serene scene in front of me. He was strumming the guitar strings effortlessly as if he was born just to do it - as if he was born for music.  I was watching intently, listening to every soft-spoken word offered by the song he was singing. It was like he was doing it to entertain himself, unaware of the presence of his only audience out here.

Don't you ever think I'm bothered by you
Just say the word and I'll drop everything I do
I will try to answer all your questions
Just don't be surprised if I have reservations

I took three steps closer to where he was comfortably seated. An outdoor bench adjacent next to the hammock net he was lying in was enticing me to take a seat. He must have felt that someone was secretly watching.

When I caught sight of him gazing back at me, I instantly looked up, and my eyes voluntarily roved at the picturesque wallpaper the day had featured. The sky was painted blue again, and it seemed that the blue paint was still wet after being painted by the maker of this fine art.

He didn't seem surprised to see me here. He flashed a smile at me, and continued what he was doing. He was not the one singing, but the song was so good, so was his guitar playing and I couldn't think of anything else in this moment aside from perfection.

There are a million little things I wish to tell you
About a million little things that I feel
And a few more little things that I'll keep
Hidden in the dark
Some little things that will prevent a broken heart

It was a fine day, the azure sky showing off the glistening sun. The birds had ceased twittering for a moment, as though they were lending him an ear as he serenaded every flower in this garden. I had never heard the song being played. I looked back at him. He stopped singing, but continued to strum his guitar, looking elsewhere above the horizon.