Your Voice Was The Soundtrack Of My Summer

I gazed at the top of the mound of lasagna on my plate, fiddling with the noodles with my plastic fork, wondering why we had to live on frozen food.

It was a dinner night that wasn't really, special in its individual terms. Mom and Dad were fighting about work, speaking at a rate of 100 words per second. Me just staring off into space, cutting up my food into thousands of pieces until finally they got up to their computer and I was free to dump my mess into the thrash bin.

But tonight was different of sorts.
My mom made it different really, because of one simple question that seemed harmless to her. She couldn't be more wrong.

“So, Paul, who is this girl you've been hanging out with so much?” she put on a serene smile looking totally oblivious that I felt a sinking stone inside of me sinking lower and lower with every passing second.

My dad looked awkwardly from me to her and I spooned lasagna into my mouth.
Never did it taste so bland in my life.

“Paul, what girl? And why don't I know about her?” my dad wanted to know, looking at me with a harsh tone that could have made the grim reaper curl its toes in terror.

“How do you know about Indigo?” I looked up at my mom in confusion. I never recalled talking to her about Indigo or anything as a matter of fact during this month of sheer pleasure.

I was too scared to look at my dad, looking stonily at my mother wondering how the heck she knew about this secret I tried to keep close to my heart and tried to help unrequited love escape me.

“It isn't exactly a secret Paul. Who always rings our doorbell? Who's house do you always go to? Who do you spend most time with at the beach?” my mom rationalizes.

Haha. That goes to show how I regarded my life without Indigo. I looked at my mother sheepishly feeling embarrassment creep over my face slowly yet surely.

“Well, her name is Indigo. Saunders. In case you know her,” I shrugged, haplessly, still avoiding the obnoxious glare of my father's.

“No, honey, I don't,” my mom shook her head apathetically.

“How much money have you been making with this 'job'?” my dad gruffly asked.

I looked painstakingly his way and met his eyes, which weren't as ferocious as I'd contemplated.

“Um, roughly $300. This month,” I looked at him wondering if his look would convert to perpetual acceptance or maddening disappointment.

Call it mild surprise.

“That's-that's good,” my dad nodded in approval.

I sighed from relief and almost died from shock by the next words that left my mother's lips.

“So, maybe Indigo would like to join us for dinner tomorrow?”

A.k.a; a recipe for disaster and chaotic mess.

-

“Your parents what?!” her eyes nearly popped out of their socket.

“They asked you over for dinner,” I said without humor.

She started to giggle abysmally and looked at me hypocritically.

“Paul, the question is, do you want me to go?” she dangled her legs out from the brick wall, looking at me sideways, anticipating my yes or no.

My parents + Indigo = the unknown.

My down to earth parents against the free spirited and loving Indigo who just so happened to be the girl I was in love with. Ironically enough that was exactly what I wanted to see happen before my very eyes. A fake family loving and caring for each other, a perfect Brady Bunch, only a 3d version.

“I want you to meet them,” I nodded hesitantly.

“Okay then, tonight?” Indigo looked at me happily.

“Yeah, I guess,” I nodded insufficiently.

“And I'm supposed to stay over or what?” she slyly looked at me.

I laughed at her conjecture and tried to imagine the scenario including me, her and my parents trying to convince them of her staying over tonight in my room.

It wasn't a pretty sight and I looked over at Indigo who was still anxious for my response.

“Maybe next time, love,” I smiled knowingly at her.

“Maybe sooner than you think,” she winked at me with a smile that was meant for toothpaste commercials.

My mom did overload this time.
Think stroganoff with buttermilk biscuits that literally melted in your mouth and classic bottle of Coke for everyone.
It was the original '50s suburban family.

Oh, and how could I forget their son’s perfect girlfriend?

The word 'girlfriend' is of course used loosely in this case.

And then the doorbell rang causing frenzy in my mom's part and causing groan in my fathers. I walked to the door feeling a little dread little by little as I opened the door to see my one and only. Indigo.

“Hey Paul!” the girl at the door threw her arms over me in jubilance.

I stepped back to take a look at the girl that I loved from a first impression view. Which is a difficult task by itself, when you know Indigo.

An average 5'4'' height petite figured girl with short ebony hair fraying out in a perfect curve. Her features were inset and imperfect, but in a way that made her more believable and just right for me. Her eyes were tiny and a sapphire-y blue. Lips curved into a perfect smile. A button nose round, yet in perfect alignment. Wearing a billowy green shirt that was dressier than what she usually wore. Tight skinny jeans wrapped around her sticks of a leg. And something she never did wear; makeup and jewelry.

“Hello, Indigo, I’m Mrs. DiGiovanni,” my mother appeared at the doorway, looking happy as a rabid dog.

“Hi, nice to meet you Mrs. DiGiovanni,” she smiled, taking her hand and shaking it.

“And I'm Mr. DiGiovanni,” my dad came out of nowhere faking a smile and holding out his hand for Indigo to shake.

“Indigo Rae,” Indigo flashed a quick smile as I ushered her inside.

-

I avidly looked over at Indigo while I chopped up my food in small tiny pieces. I see the play unfolding in front of me.

The two overbearing parents, who were laughing and smiling on cue. The one girlfriend was smiling and chiding in with her irresistible laughter and charm.

The girlfriend's head is tilted sideways, glancing at the nonexistent producer and winks in a flash of a millisecond at the writer.

Her hair tossed aside and her teeth slightly unaligned, but still perfect, smiling and doing the talking.

A little talk about who she was, her family, her life, what she did, how we met. Etc. etc.
Me commenting on the parts where she taught me how to slow dance earned curious glances from both parental units.

Her explaining my supposed generosity after spending countless days with her and taking her to the fair when she hasn't gone before even as a little kid. Then even more curious glances from the overbearing units.

And just like that everything was over. From the talking, to the food, the fake laughs, the charms, the smiles.

“Thank you Mr. Mrs. DiGiovanni. I had a lovely dinner,” Indigo, smiled, while helping my mother clear out the table.

“No problem, darling, don't you worry about that. I'll clean it up, you're a guest,” my mom pried away the dish that was in Indigo's hand and ushered her into the living room, where I sat watching Indigo put on her polite act.

My mother obviously falling for the charm, while my father had to work his graveyard shift, having left approximately 10 minutes ago.

“You go join Paul,” my mother continued, pushing her towards my direction.

I grinned at her goofily as she plops right next to me on the sofa, grabbing the remote and thrusting it into my hand.

“I like your parents,” Indigo said, looking behind her to see if my mom was watching us.

“Thank you Mr. Mrs. DiGiovanni, I had a lovely dinner,” I mimicked, pushing the power button on the remote.

“Shut up,” Indigo demanded through clenched teeth.

“I'm just saying. Anyways, what do you want to watch tonight?” I handed her the universal object, while she eyed it with a knowing look and slowly she tilted her head up towards mine.

I regret that I ever did this.

Because, 2 hours, and 3 bowls of popcorn, 4 cans of Diet Mountain Dew and strewn popcorn is the equivalent of Indigo and a remote control.

“No! Craig, don't! Ellie is worth more than that you douche!” she yelled at the TV, throwing yet another round of popcorn at the TV, missing Craig's head by just a hair and hitting Liberty instead.

“Indigo!” I said, pulling her hand down attempting to stop her from throwing any more kernels at the screen.

“He's such an ass!” Indigo whined, looking at me with sad puppy dog eyes.

“Well, he is. You know what time it is? It's past midnight, and you're supposed to be long past gone,” I updated her, pointing at the clock.

“Maybe I could stay over,” she shrugged absent-mindedly.

“You can persuade my mother with your charm,” I sarcastically replied, pointing to the study room where my mother studiously was writing paychecks.

“Fine. I'll tell her separate rooms,” she smirked knowingly at me.

“Which will be a lie?” I asked, with hope in my voice.

“Of course.”

-

A soft knock on my door and I didn't need to think who would come in. In the dark lights, I saw a shadowy figure of a petite girl creeping quietly into my room.
I clicked on my switch light, looking at the beautiful girl sitting on my bed at this moment. How in the world did I get so lucky?
Her face was flushed with a tinge of red on her cheeks, a faint smell of mint and soap lingered where she was.

“I'm glad you played to me,” she said out of the blue. I looked at her in confusion as she pulled in under the covers.

I sat there, watching Indigo's eyes trail across the room, as she drank in the simplicity and messiness of my room.

“What?” I asked her.

“That day we met. Because then I would be in complete disarray,” she commented, forcing her eyes to settle contact with mine own, causing me to have uncontrollable heart ratings climbing up the chart.

“Yeah, but then you wouldn't have a reason to stay here,” I said in a rush, hoping that she wouldn't catch the depression I was suffering already, since every day was one day closer to losing her.

“Yeah, well, so much for optimism,” she smirked at me.

I stroked her short hair longingly and brushed the stray hair out of her face.

“But you can't always hide that fact,” I acknowledged.

“For now,” she added, pulling me under the covers with her. I held her tight then, embracing her in my sleep. Wondering if this world was being merciful or merciless to me.

And at that moment, I really couldn't have cared less.