The Lays Will Have to Wait
The Lays Will Have to Wait
“Come on Tia, I swear it’ll be fun,” Pat says, tearing the throw quilt off me. He grabs the remote and turns off the TV, not allowing me any time to protest.
“Pat-“
“You’ve watched (500) Days of Summer every day for the past week, and that family sized bag of baked Lays hasn’t left your side. It’s time for you to get out and have some fun.” He cuts me off and grabs my hand, leading me to the bathroom.
“This is called a shower. It’s what people take when they want to be clean, so you should hop in there and scrub because you haven’t taken one in a week.” He says, pointing to the shower. “I know you’re upset about the break-up, but you need to get your mind off it.”
I sigh and stare at him, wiping some crumbs off my shirt. He folds his arms and stares back at me, giving me his signature “if you don’t do this you’ll die” look. After catching a small glimpse of myself in the mirror, I decide to take his advice.
“Fine, but you better make this worth it. The Lays get lonely without me.”
Before I know it, we’re pulling up to a dingy old building with a flickering red fluorescent sign that reads “KARAOKE”. Pat looks over at me and offers a smile, holding his breath because he’s unsure of how I’ll react.
“Okay Patrick, I think the movies would suffice,” I say between gritted teeth. He lets out a sigh and unbuckles his seatbelt, staring at me.
“We’re going in, Victoria. You need to loosen up and realize it’s not the end of the world. Have an open mind, okay?” He replies, and I know I have to listen to him because he called my by my full name.
“Fine, but I’m not singing.” I mumble, opening the car door.
“That’s what you think,” He chuckles, ushering me into the bar.
Compared to the outside of the building, the inside was great. There was a stage at the rear and a girl was jamming out to Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8r Boi”. As she sang the words that popped up on the jumbo screen, everyone in the restaurant joined her for the chorus. The hostess brings Pat and I to a table close to the stage, and everyone claps loudly as she finishes the song. Her friends applaud her and hand her a shot as she comes back to the table, and a heavyset man takes her place on the stage.
“That was fantastic! We’re ready to raise the roof on this next one! Who’s up for ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Journey?”
Pat grabs my hand and raises it for me, waving it around so that he would notice. As much as I fight, his grip is tight and my grunts of protest aren’t enough to make him let go. Before I can do anything else, the heavyset man comes over to our table and pulls me up to the stage.
“Looks like we’ve got a volunteer for this next one!” He roars, and the crowd reciprocates with claps and whistles. My heart is pounding and the room is spinning and my breathing speeds up, indicating that a panic attack is brewing. I stare at Pat with wide eyes and he waves, smiling and giving me thumbs up. All eyes are on me as the song starts and my hands shake, struggling to grip the microphone.
The words begin to show up on the screen but my whole body freezes up and I feel like I can’t breathe. Between my anxiety, nervousness, and the looming feeling of depression since the break-up, I can’t do it. I can’t stand up here and sing in front of all these people; this certainly isn’t my idea of fun.
Before I can even step down from the stage, I hear another voice coming from across the stage. Looking over, my heart flutters when I see it’s Pat. The song starts over and he stands next to me, nudging me in the elbow and offering me a smile.
“JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRL,” He belts out, causing the crowd of people to erupt in laughter, applause, and shrieks.
Pat nudges me again to sing the next line, and something in me takes a deep breath and re-gains control. He’s next to me, it’s a run-down karaoke joint, and no one is judging me. This is fun, Tia. This is fun.
“LIVIN’ IN A LONELY WORLD,” I continue, and the crowd erupts in an even wilder bout of laughter and applause. Pat claps along with them, giving me more confidence and allowing me to loosen up a little bit more.
We take turns singing each line, singing the chorus together, and finally finishing it out. Everyone in the restaurant goes wild, and Pat bows as I just laugh it off. Maybe, possibly, I am feeling a little better. Pat always knows how to help me.
He grabs my hand and leads me off stage, a deep grin plastered on his face. On the way out the door, I hear the heavyset guy hooting and hollering at how great we were. Pat and I always made a great team.
“Tia, I’m really proud of you,” Pat whispers, pushing a lock of hair out of my face. I blush and smile, looking down at my feet.
“Why? You’re the only reason I was able to sing, so thank you. And thank you for dragging me off the couch and getting me out, because I wouldn’t have left if it weren’t for you. I owe you a lot for actually letting me have a good night.” I reply, grabbing his hand and lacing my fingers with his.
He blushes at the contact and just smiles and nods, hesitating for a moment before his lips finally meet mine. I smile into the kiss and pull him closer, and he reciprocates.
He pulls away and looks down at his feet, blushing furiously and stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” He whispers.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I dunno. I just want you to be happy.”
“I’ll only be happy if I’m with you.”
“Good.”
I peck him on the lips and grab his hand, pulling him back to the car.
I guess the Lays will have to wait for now.
“Pat-“
“You’ve watched (500) Days of Summer every day for the past week, and that family sized bag of baked Lays hasn’t left your side. It’s time for you to get out and have some fun.” He cuts me off and grabs my hand, leading me to the bathroom.
“This is called a shower. It’s what people take when they want to be clean, so you should hop in there and scrub because you haven’t taken one in a week.” He says, pointing to the shower. “I know you’re upset about the break-up, but you need to get your mind off it.”
I sigh and stare at him, wiping some crumbs off my shirt. He folds his arms and stares back at me, giving me his signature “if you don’t do this you’ll die” look. After catching a small glimpse of myself in the mirror, I decide to take his advice.
“Fine, but you better make this worth it. The Lays get lonely without me.”
Before I know it, we’re pulling up to a dingy old building with a flickering red fluorescent sign that reads “KARAOKE”. Pat looks over at me and offers a smile, holding his breath because he’s unsure of how I’ll react.
“Okay Patrick, I think the movies would suffice,” I say between gritted teeth. He lets out a sigh and unbuckles his seatbelt, staring at me.
“We’re going in, Victoria. You need to loosen up and realize it’s not the end of the world. Have an open mind, okay?” He replies, and I know I have to listen to him because he called my by my full name.
“Fine, but I’m not singing.” I mumble, opening the car door.
“That’s what you think,” He chuckles, ushering me into the bar.
Compared to the outside of the building, the inside was great. There was a stage at the rear and a girl was jamming out to Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8r Boi”. As she sang the words that popped up on the jumbo screen, everyone in the restaurant joined her for the chorus. The hostess brings Pat and I to a table close to the stage, and everyone claps loudly as she finishes the song. Her friends applaud her and hand her a shot as she comes back to the table, and a heavyset man takes her place on the stage.
“That was fantastic! We’re ready to raise the roof on this next one! Who’s up for ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Journey?”
Pat grabs my hand and raises it for me, waving it around so that he would notice. As much as I fight, his grip is tight and my grunts of protest aren’t enough to make him let go. Before I can do anything else, the heavyset man comes over to our table and pulls me up to the stage.
“Looks like we’ve got a volunteer for this next one!” He roars, and the crowd reciprocates with claps and whistles. My heart is pounding and the room is spinning and my breathing speeds up, indicating that a panic attack is brewing. I stare at Pat with wide eyes and he waves, smiling and giving me thumbs up. All eyes are on me as the song starts and my hands shake, struggling to grip the microphone.
The words begin to show up on the screen but my whole body freezes up and I feel like I can’t breathe. Between my anxiety, nervousness, and the looming feeling of depression since the break-up, I can’t do it. I can’t stand up here and sing in front of all these people; this certainly isn’t my idea of fun.
Before I can even step down from the stage, I hear another voice coming from across the stage. Looking over, my heart flutters when I see it’s Pat. The song starts over and he stands next to me, nudging me in the elbow and offering me a smile.
“JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRL,” He belts out, causing the crowd of people to erupt in laughter, applause, and shrieks.
Pat nudges me again to sing the next line, and something in me takes a deep breath and re-gains control. He’s next to me, it’s a run-down karaoke joint, and no one is judging me. This is fun, Tia. This is fun.
“LIVIN’ IN A LONELY WORLD,” I continue, and the crowd erupts in an even wilder bout of laughter and applause. Pat claps along with them, giving me more confidence and allowing me to loosen up a little bit more.
We take turns singing each line, singing the chorus together, and finally finishing it out. Everyone in the restaurant goes wild, and Pat bows as I just laugh it off. Maybe, possibly, I am feeling a little better. Pat always knows how to help me.
He grabs my hand and leads me off stage, a deep grin plastered on his face. On the way out the door, I hear the heavyset guy hooting and hollering at how great we were. Pat and I always made a great team.
“Tia, I’m really proud of you,” Pat whispers, pushing a lock of hair out of my face. I blush and smile, looking down at my feet.
“Why? You’re the only reason I was able to sing, so thank you. And thank you for dragging me off the couch and getting me out, because I wouldn’t have left if it weren’t for you. I owe you a lot for actually letting me have a good night.” I reply, grabbing his hand and lacing my fingers with his.
He blushes at the contact and just smiles and nods, hesitating for a moment before his lips finally meet mine. I smile into the kiss and pull him closer, and he reciprocates.
He pulls away and looks down at his feet, blushing furiously and stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” He whispers.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I dunno. I just want you to be happy.”
“I’ll only be happy if I’m with you.”
“Good.”
I peck him on the lips and grab his hand, pulling him back to the car.
I guess the Lays will have to wait for now.