Stories In Scars
Inside This Sad, Sad Song
He picked up the phone and dialed a number that was written on a notepad.
After about ten minutes, I had an appointment, to get rid of this thing, in a week.
----------
Today, I had my first appointment, where the doctor checked me out, to see if everything would be okay, for the, uh, procedure. He was really nice. I made Spencer and Jon come with me, since I was closest to them since Ryan and I broke up. Brendon stayed back on the bus with Ryan.
I hadn’t really talked to Ryan much. I suppose, we just didn’t have anything to say to one another. But still, it was sad. I mean, I was carrying his child, even though I was going to... abort it. You would think he would have something to say to me.
Anyways, the doctor said everything was okay. So, I had scheduled the procedure for a few days. Right now, I really can’t think about it. Not at all. It’s too hard.
After I went on the bus after the appointment, I picked up my notebook and headed out to a coffeehouse.
“Hey,” Spencer called, “do you want some company?”
“Sorry. Not this time. I think I just need some time to think.”
“Well, call if you need anything.”
I put in m order for a large coffee, with soy milk. Sitting down on a couch, I pulled out my notebook and pen. I started to write:
“all i see in anymore are black and white still frames.
imaynevergetusedtothis.
i don’t think i’m supposed to.
help. help me please.
hell knows i need help more than anything.
i’m only a memory to you.
to them.
to everyone.
am i really that unimportant?
wait.
don’t answer that.”
Suddenly, I saw a young man sitting beside me.
“You looked really deep in thought. Sorry to disturb you,” he said while getting up.
“No, no, you’re not disturbing me. I think if I write anymore, I’ll start breaking down sobbing right here and now,” I reply. “Please, sit.”
“I’m Alistar.”
“Grey. So, Alistar, what do you do?”
“I’m an artist. A painter / photographer. You?”
“Musician.”
We continued talking for an hour, until I got a phone call from Brendon, wondering where the hell I was. Alister and I quickly exchanged phone numbers and emails, and we went our seperate ways.
----------
Well, it’s over. Ryan and I barely said words to each other the whole past week. The only time we really interacted was on stage. We pushed back some of the dates for tour, so I could get through recovery with little stress.
Even sitting in the hospital bed, with it’s crisp white sheets, it’s still hard to believe I had just gotten an abortion. Atleast Brendon, Jon, and Spencer were there.
“You alright, Grey?” Spencer asked, concern filling his eyes.
“Yes. No. I will be...” I tell him trailing off.
“Let me go find some coffee. I’m sure that will lift your spirits some,” and with that, Spencer left.
“I’m gonna go with him. No offense, but I’m no huge fan of hospitals,” Brendon said, while taking off.
Jon smiled at me.
“Are you disappointed in me? For doing this?” I ask him.
“No. Not in the least. I actually think it was the bravest thing you could do.”
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Everything.”
Jon and I both leaned in, our lips touching, in the most elegantly passionate way I had ever experienced.
After about ten minutes, I had an appointment, to get rid of this thing, in a week.
----------
Today, I had my first appointment, where the doctor checked me out, to see if everything would be okay, for the, uh, procedure. He was really nice. I made Spencer and Jon come with me, since I was closest to them since Ryan and I broke up. Brendon stayed back on the bus with Ryan.
I hadn’t really talked to Ryan much. I suppose, we just didn’t have anything to say to one another. But still, it was sad. I mean, I was carrying his child, even though I was going to... abort it. You would think he would have something to say to me.
Anyways, the doctor said everything was okay. So, I had scheduled the procedure for a few days. Right now, I really can’t think about it. Not at all. It’s too hard.
After I went on the bus after the appointment, I picked up my notebook and headed out to a coffeehouse.
“Hey,” Spencer called, “do you want some company?”
“Sorry. Not this time. I think I just need some time to think.”
“Well, call if you need anything.”
I put in m order for a large coffee, with soy milk. Sitting down on a couch, I pulled out my notebook and pen. I started to write:
“all i see in anymore are black and white still frames.
imaynevergetusedtothis.
i don’t think i’m supposed to.
help. help me please.
hell knows i need help more than anything.
i’m only a memory to you.
to them.
to everyone.
am i really that unimportant?
wait.
don’t answer that.”
Suddenly, I saw a young man sitting beside me.
“You looked really deep in thought. Sorry to disturb you,” he said while getting up.
“No, no, you’re not disturbing me. I think if I write anymore, I’ll start breaking down sobbing right here and now,” I reply. “Please, sit.”
“I’m Alistar.”
“Grey. So, Alistar, what do you do?”
“I’m an artist. A painter / photographer. You?”
“Musician.”
We continued talking for an hour, until I got a phone call from Brendon, wondering where the hell I was. Alister and I quickly exchanged phone numbers and emails, and we went our seperate ways.
----------
Well, it’s over. Ryan and I barely said words to each other the whole past week. The only time we really interacted was on stage. We pushed back some of the dates for tour, so I could get through recovery with little stress.
Even sitting in the hospital bed, with it’s crisp white sheets, it’s still hard to believe I had just gotten an abortion. Atleast Brendon, Jon, and Spencer were there.
“You alright, Grey?” Spencer asked, concern filling his eyes.
“Yes. No. I will be...” I tell him trailing off.
“Let me go find some coffee. I’m sure that will lift your spirits some,” and with that, Spencer left.
“I’m gonna go with him. No offense, but I’m no huge fan of hospitals,” Brendon said, while taking off.
Jon smiled at me.
“Are you disappointed in me? For doing this?” I ask him.
“No. Not in the least. I actually think it was the bravest thing you could do.”
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Everything.”
Jon and I both leaned in, our lips touching, in the most elegantly passionate way I had ever experienced.