To Be Alone With You

It was pouring. Everything around was completely drenched in reflective, opalescent rain, the sidewalks mirrors and the windows streaked with tears. In a stroke of brilliance, I grabbed my raincoat when I left the house that morning. While those around me scrambled to stay dry, I strolled through the shower relatively unscathed. I didn’t mind weather like that, though it was foreign for a late summer day in Arizona. Even if briefly, everything felt refreshed, everything felt new, everything felt promising. I lived for that feeling.

She was standing at a bike rack, struggling with the lock that held her bike captive. Her hood was up in an attempt to shield her from the rain, but judging by the splotchy dark grey appearance of the fabric, it was failing. Taking a drag from my cigarette, I approached her, unable to resist. Something about this girl was magnetic - the way her eyebrows furrowed as she fiddled with the key in the lock, the way her head bobbed in time with the music flowing from her headphones, the way her legs looked in her jeans, like a second skin… I would never be able to tell. She was completely oblivious as I drew nearer, and when I tapped her shoulder she jumped in surprise.

“Need a hand?” I offered suavely. She snapped around to face me, her deep blue eyes stormy like the sky above us. I was caught off guard by just how beautiful she was, with her skin the color of milk and full lips lacquered with dark red lipstick.

“No thanks,” she replied flatly, returning to turning the key over and over in the old, gold padlock. “I can take care of myself.”

I paused to watch her for a moment, trying to assess how to proceed. “I’m John,” I told her as I leaned against the brick wall that the bike rack lined. Her eyes flicked up again through a row of thick, dark lashes before darting back to her task.

“That’s lovely,” she replied, her teeth gritted.

“And you are?”

She glared at me impatiently, lips pursed in an irritated line. “Josselyn.”

I grinned and took another drag from my cigarette before tossing it into the puddle at my feet and crushing it with my boot. “Josselyn,” I mused, crossing my arms over my chest, the fabric of my raincoat making a soft swish as it brushed against itself. “I like that.”

There came no reply from the girl who was now desperately banging the lock against the metal bike rack, as though that would make a difference. I suppressed a laugh.

“Are you sure you don’t want some help?” I was answered by silence, and a lot of it. I studied her as she tried the key again, the slope of her nose, an earbud dangling from the chord, the way her hair flared out from underneath her hood. The music flowing from her headphones was loud and somewhat familiar to me, and I couldn’t resist asking.

“What are you listening to, Josselyn?”

“Brand New.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise. I liked Brand New. And to me, music was the deepest form of personality reflection. As I formed the words to respond, the key turned in her lock, popping it open and releasing her bike into freedom.

“Is this how you pick up girls?” she asked shortly.

I shrugged, a wide grin spreading across my face. “I dunno, is it working?

A small smile flickered across her lips and she turned her head down shyly. The shower around us turned to drizzle and I couldn’t help but notice how brilliantly white her teeth were. Her response, again, was silence.

“It must be, because if it wasn’t you would be on your bike and gone by now,” I teased pointedly with a smirk. Her coloring darkened, an embarrassed blush flooding her capillaries. She swung her leg over her bright blue fixed gear hurriedly.

“Hey, don’t go,” I protested, unfurling my arms and springing from the wall.

She rolled her eyes and jolted the kickstand into the upright position with the heel of her cherry red rain boot, preparing for flight. “I’m here every day at three,” she replied. “If you want to hang out, you know where to find me.”

In a flash she was gone, speeding off down the street, the bike tires spraying rainwater from the puddles as she went. And as I watched her grow smaller and smaller in the distance, the sweetest scent hung in the air – like oranges, roses, and vanilla – the smugness warm in my chest. I had to guess it was her perfume.



“New York, New York!”

Pat’s head was fully out the window as we drove across the Brooklyn Bridge, his wild shouts catching the wind and whipping away from us. I caught the driver rolling his eyes in the rearview mirror and laughed.

“Pat, get your head in the car before it gets chopped off,” Jared commanded through chuckles, the wind flowing through the window ruffling his strawberry blonde hair. Kennedy and Garrett didn’t look amused, both equally exhausted from traveling for what felt like millionth day in a row. Promotional tours grew long after awhile, and New York was the sweet salvation at the end of the tunnel.

I’d always liked New York City; it was a beautiful city filled with beautiful girls. But I’d liked it about as much as any other beautiful city filled with beautiful girls – Madrid, Venice, Los Angeles, Sydney… More than anything else, I had a serious case of wanderlust. There was something about New York that set it apart from the others, and that was its ever-changing atmosphere, that sense of perpetual newness that I loved so much. The sun glittered on the waves of the East River as we sped across it.

I lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and puffing the smoke out the cracked window. Already, I had a million things I wanted to do. Exploring every inch of the city would be my main priority the minute we finished with our promotional business.

“Hey, no smoking in the car,” the driver barked, pointing to a sign above the window next to me that read ‘No Smoking.’ “Gotta put it out, kid.”

I pursed my lips in disapproval but followed orders. After one final drawn out puff, I tossed the cigarette out the window. The magazine that was interviewing us was kind enough to send a car to pick us up at JFK, so I decided I should be kind enough to follow their rules.

“What’s on your mind, John?” Kennedy asked from his spot across from me, his eyes tired and tinted with concern. “You’re quiet.”

I glanced over to the rest of our band mates – Jared and Pat engaged in an arm wrestling match and Garrett with his head leaned back against the seat and his eyes closed – and shrugged. “Just ready to get this article done with so we can get to exploring New York.”

“C’mon,” Kennedy chided, rolling the sleeves of his jean jacket. “Don’t you think it’ll be fun to have a whole expose on us in Alt Music? This is the biggest interview we’ve done before.”

I made no moves to agree, still unimpressed. “Just another interview, Ken. I’m looking forward to New York City bars much more than I’m looking forward to spending a whole day with some reporter following our every move.”

It was Kennedy’s turn to be unimpressed. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“I’ve lost count of how many days we’ve been on the road,” I replied coolly. “I’m ready to go home to Tempe.”

“Soon enough,” he told me, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes. “For now, just try and be pleasant, okay? This’ll be fun.”

I made a face at him and said no more on the subject, again turning to the window and watching the streets – filled with cars and people and lined by a variety of buildings – fly past us. The drivers phone rang, a tonal, musical ring of sorts, like one from the earlier cell phones. I watched as he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear.

His conversation was short, mostly communicating with grunts. Pat jostled me with a hard elbow to the bicep as he and Jared continued to dick around. I shoved him back, his leather jacket cold from absorbing the wind flowing through the car. The driver’s phone snapped shut with finality, and I suddenly was very aware of life going through the motions and feeling like I wasn’t living them.

“Your meeting has been moved from the office to this restaurant on East Broadway,” he called back to us through the divider. “We’ll be there in less than a minute. This place is fairly nice so be on your best behavior, kids.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes before calling, “Thanks!” in return. For everything in me, I was done with meeting people in those types of restaurants, struggling to impress us. The guys and I would have been comfortable just meeting at the offices of Alt Music, maybe even more so, but again with the incessant need to impress us.

The sound of food woke Garrett from his nap. “We’re going to eat?” he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Awesome. I’m starving.”

“What’re you gonna have?” Pat asked after giving Jared one final kick with the toe of his boot. Jared cringed dramatically at the definitive blow, hunching over and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Everything,” Garrett breathed. His shaggy brown hair was wild from sleep, all mussed in the back like a gunshot wound.

“I think I want a burger or something,” Jared proclaimed, rubbing his hands together between his knees. “New York is famous for their burgers right?”

Kennedy shrugged. “They’re famous for everything else. May as well be.”

I closed my eyes and dreamed of all the delicious New Yorker food I could eat during my stay. Pizza. Bagels. Cheesecake. Roadside hot dogs. Real Deli sandwiches. Each different place we visited was a whole experience for me; I did everything in my power to explore to the best of my abilities, from food to sightseeing to drinking, even to shopping if I found something that interested me. Perusing every record store I could find. Learning the history. We had just been in Philadelphia and I’d taken it upon myself to spend a day taking a Revolutionary War tour. Jared had come along but wasn’t nearly as interested in the history as much as he was interested in the attractive tour guide. I didn’t know how much time I would have for stuff like that during my stay in New York, but it was guaranteed that any moment of free time I had would be dedicated to exploring.

“Here we are boys,” the driver announced, pulling up to a building amidst the traffic buzzing around us. “If you need me at all, here’s my card.”

He turned around and thrust his hand through the divider, handing Kennedy a white business card filled with information in black, block writing. Kennedy nodded and smiled, sliding the card into the pocket of his jacket.

“Now get going, traffic’s not gonna let me sit here forever,” he snapped, unlocking the doors surrounding us. We piled out of the car and onto the sidewalk, disoriented from the safety of the car in the hustle of the New York City pedestrian life.

“Shall we?” Kennedy suggested, gesturing to the building in front of us. The storefront was small, but lined with floor to ceiling windows to create a more open façade. The words ‘Bari Fly’ were emblazoned in bright green writing above them, almost intimidating.

“Let’s do this,” I replied, holding the door open for my band mates to file through. The sooner we could get out of this meeting, the sooner I could get on diving into New York.