‹ Prequel: 21 and Invincible
Into the Airwaves
the static's where you'll find me
Another crumpled ball of paper hit the rim of the trashcan, teetering a little before eventually falling to the carpet.
As he smoothed out a new page in his notepad, Logan ran a hand through his disheveled espresso hair, gently tugging on the tips in frustration.
The one moment when he needed the words the most was the exact moment that they refused to come.
All she had wanted was a song.
Logan could remember that night perfectly. They had been in his car, waiting at the drive-thru window of a Taco Bell they’d stumbled across. His arm was resting on the open window, and her bare feet were propped up on the dash, leaving footprints across the window. She was staring out the window, watching the cars pass by; her brown eyes would squint up every time a new set of headlights approached.
While she was more focused on the city around them, he was only focused on her.
Her frayed denim shorts hiked up her thighs, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her front teeth gnawed at her lower lip, and when she turned to look at him, a faint smile formed across his lips. Neither one of them bothered to say anything; she leaned forward to turn the radio up before sinking back into the seat.
The familiar clink of the sliding window distracted Logan for a moment as he quickly turned to face the clerk. The gawky boy handed over a white plastic bag and a huge cup of Mountain Dew, and Logan shifted some things around to make room for the new additions.
“That’ll be five-fifty.”
Logan handed over his bank card, watching as the guy slid the green plastic into the slot on the register before quickly handing it back with a receipt. Logan scribbled his name on the copy and gave it back to the clerk before speeding out of the drive-thru and onto the street.
Once again, she reached over to turn the volume up. They were cruising to one of her mixed CDs, one of the many in his collection. She always forgot to take them with her when she left.
As 50 Cent faded out into The Goo Goo Dolls (her mixes never had any sort of consistency, just a clutter of whatever songs she was feeling at that moment in time), he felt her gaze on him, though his eyes stayed focused on the road.
“Write me a song,” she said. Her words were clear and to the point, and coming from anyone else, her request would’ve seemed demanding, almost to the point of being bossy, but he knew that wasn’t who she was. She just didn’t see the point in beating around the bush.
“What?” his question was accompanied by a laugh as his hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel.
“Well,” she began as she reached for her Mountain Dew in the cup holder, letting the straw rest against her lips. “You say you’re such a songwriter, why don’t you write me a song?”
Logan remained silent; he’d never admit that he’d already tried, he never could find the words to describe how he felt about her. Nothing ever seemed good enough.
Months later, he still wasn’t good enough. His pride had kept them from being together. The way he saw things, if she was going to wait until the night before to tell him she was moving across the country, he wasn’t going to bother to show up at the airport to see her off.
He’d give anything to go back to that night. He would’ve changed his decision in a heartbeat.
She was slipping through his fingers effortlessly, the same way sand would gush through his fingers whenever he tried to grab a fistful from beneath the tide. Logan was left to rot in his new apartment, empty-handed and alone.
His fingers brushed against the stack of mixed CDs, their blank silver surface glimmering beneath the rays of sunlight peaking through his window. He’d always get annoyed with the fact that she never labeled any of them, but when he moved into his new place, he just couldn’t bring himself to throw them out.
His favorite photograph of them together still set in its frame on the nightstand beside his bed.
He searched through the leaning stack of discs until his eyes fell upon the only one that had any writing on its cover, his name drawn out in green Sharpie in her cursive script.
Logan carefully placed the CD into the boxy black stereo at the corner of his desk.
As the melodies poured from the speakers, his words began to flow onto the page.
That girl was finally going to get her song, even if it was too late.
As he smoothed out a new page in his notepad, Logan ran a hand through his disheveled espresso hair, gently tugging on the tips in frustration.
The one moment when he needed the words the most was the exact moment that they refused to come.
All she had wanted was a song.
Logan could remember that night perfectly. They had been in his car, waiting at the drive-thru window of a Taco Bell they’d stumbled across. His arm was resting on the open window, and her bare feet were propped up on the dash, leaving footprints across the window. She was staring out the window, watching the cars pass by; her brown eyes would squint up every time a new set of headlights approached.
While she was more focused on the city around them, he was only focused on her.
Her frayed denim shorts hiked up her thighs, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her front teeth gnawed at her lower lip, and when she turned to look at him, a faint smile formed across his lips. Neither one of them bothered to say anything; she leaned forward to turn the radio up before sinking back into the seat.
The familiar clink of the sliding window distracted Logan for a moment as he quickly turned to face the clerk. The gawky boy handed over a white plastic bag and a huge cup of Mountain Dew, and Logan shifted some things around to make room for the new additions.
“That’ll be five-fifty.”
Logan handed over his bank card, watching as the guy slid the green plastic into the slot on the register before quickly handing it back with a receipt. Logan scribbled his name on the copy and gave it back to the clerk before speeding out of the drive-thru and onto the street.
Once again, she reached over to turn the volume up. They were cruising to one of her mixed CDs, one of the many in his collection. She always forgot to take them with her when she left.
As 50 Cent faded out into The Goo Goo Dolls (her mixes never had any sort of consistency, just a clutter of whatever songs she was feeling at that moment in time), he felt her gaze on him, though his eyes stayed focused on the road.
“Write me a song,” she said. Her words were clear and to the point, and coming from anyone else, her request would’ve seemed demanding, almost to the point of being bossy, but he knew that wasn’t who she was. She just didn’t see the point in beating around the bush.
“What?” his question was accompanied by a laugh as his hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel.
“Well,” she began as she reached for her Mountain Dew in the cup holder, letting the straw rest against her lips. “You say you’re such a songwriter, why don’t you write me a song?”
Logan remained silent; he’d never admit that he’d already tried, he never could find the words to describe how he felt about her. Nothing ever seemed good enough.
Months later, he still wasn’t good enough. His pride had kept them from being together. The way he saw things, if she was going to wait until the night before to tell him she was moving across the country, he wasn’t going to bother to show up at the airport to see her off.
He’d give anything to go back to that night. He would’ve changed his decision in a heartbeat.
She was slipping through his fingers effortlessly, the same way sand would gush through his fingers whenever he tried to grab a fistful from beneath the tide. Logan was left to rot in his new apartment, empty-handed and alone.
His fingers brushed against the stack of mixed CDs, their blank silver surface glimmering beneath the rays of sunlight peaking through his window. He’d always get annoyed with the fact that she never labeled any of them, but when he moved into his new place, he just couldn’t bring himself to throw them out.
His favorite photograph of them together still set in its frame on the nightstand beside his bed.
He searched through the leaning stack of discs until his eyes fell upon the only one that had any writing on its cover, his name drawn out in green Sharpie in her cursive script.
Logan carefully placed the CD into the boxy black stereo at the corner of his desk.
As the melodies poured from the speakers, his words began to flow onto the page.
That girl was finally going to get her song, even if it was too late.
♠ ♠ ♠
Day five: that song