But You Loved Me

“Can I ask you something?” Frank asked as we sat down, coffee in hand. I raised an eyebrow.

“Haven’t you been doing just that for the past few days?” I asked, he smiled, shrugging as he pulled the lid from his coffee, pouring in a sachet of sugar.

“Why do you work at that store? I mean, I’m betting it wasn’t your first choice…” he trailed off, his eyes lifting to meet mine. I paused for a moment, no, the store certainly hadn’t ever been my first choice, but even when we were younger, he’d never asked me anything like that, ever.

“I um,” I paused, clearing my throat. “I want to be an artist,” I admitted quietly, fixating my eyes on the cup in front of me. “I went to art school, in New York, for a while but… things happened and, well it all just kind of fell through. And I didn’t want to have to move back in with my parents so, I had to get a job,” I finished with a shrug, biting my lip gently, not wanting to dwell on it anymore. I knew I was a failure, but I’d still like to avoid thinking about it if I could.

“I wanted to be a musician,” Frank announced, pulling me from my thoughts, my gaze instantly shooting up to meet his eyes. “I was in a few bands here and there during college, but… things happened and, well it all just kinda fell through,” he finished with a half-hearted smile, repeating my words. I frowned slightly, knowing there was way more to the story than that, but the one thing that really bothered me, was that I hadn’t already known that. I chewed gently on my bottom lip, racking my brains as I tried to remember a time he had mentioned playing music. I sighed gently to myself as I came up blank yet again, noticing now that Frank was lost in his own little world.

Silence fell over us for a long while, and I watched – hopefully discretely, although I’m sure he hadn’t noticed either way – as Frank sat, clearly lost in thought, completely ignoring the fast cooling cup of coffee in front of him. I considered breaking the silence on a number of occasions, but floundered, finding myself at a complete loss for words, but eventually, Frank finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine for the briefest moment before he pushed his chair away from the table.

“I um, I’m sorry,” he began as he stood. “I have to go, I um… I just, I’m sorry,” he rushed as he picked up his coffee and turned for the door. I paused for a moment as my brain whirred into gear and I realized what was happening, and then quickly turned after him.

"Frank!" I called back, he turned, forcing a brief smile. I paused, hesitating for a moment, before letting the words slip from my mouth. "What the hell is going on?" I half-whispered, he frowned, stepping back towards me.

"I... I don't-."

"Look, I-. I don't know what kind of game your playing, or why but I just-." I cut myself off with a sigh, running a hand through my hair as I sat back in my chair, mumbling a quick 'forget it'.

Moments later the chair opposite me moved again, and Frank sat back down, setting his cup back on the table.

"Gerard, I have no idea what you're talking about," he told me, I slowly looked up, frowning when I saw nothing but honesty in his expression. "I'm not playing any kind of game, I... I want us to be friends, I just... I'm not used to talking about..." he trailed off, sighing gently. "I... I wanted to be a musician, I had all of these dreams, things I wanted to achieved, things I was going to achieve, I know I did, but… I can’t remember what if feels like to want those things,” He admitted, watching as I frowned again. “There’s this great big… hole in my memory, that I’ve no idea if I’m ever going to get back, and… that kills me,” he finished in a whisper, although I could no longer tell if he was talking to me, or himself.

“I… I don’t understand,” he sighed again, hesitating for a moment before he continued to explain.

“I was about nineteen, I don’t know what I was doing or where I was going but, well… there,” he paused again, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, “there was an accident,” he whispered, pausing briefly one final time before continuing. “The doctors called it an acute subdural hematoma. I had to learn everything from scratch,” he shrugged, “Most of my memories came back, but, there’s still this piece that I just can’t-. And… I just feel like there’s something I’m missing, something important, but I just can’t fucking remember what it is,” he finished. I sat there, stunned as everything sunk in, completely unsure of how to reply.

“I’m sorry,” his next statement was hoarse. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this. It’s not just some ploy to make you feel sorry for me, I promise,” he told me; I shook my head, leaning over the table to cover his hand with mine. He looked up, our eyes locking.

“No, I… you can talk to me. You can tell me anything,” I promised, he smiled slightly before leaning back in his chair. I took the hint and pulled my hand back again.

“Thanks,” he replied. “Look, I um, I should go, but… can I, get your number?” he asked, I nodded gently, pulling out my cell. “And maybe next time we can do this without the sob stories?” he suggested, I smiled gently, and after a quick exchange of numbers, and an apologetic smile, he slipped out of the coffee shop, leaving me to my thoughts.