To Be Alone With You

We were sitting in John’s room, fiddling with our guitars in an attempt to squeak out a new song. Just him, Jared and me. He’d called us a week or so before, asking if we wanted to replace members of his band who left for sudden differences. And if it was a favor for John O’Callaghan, I couldn’t resist. The kid was golden – hilarious, talented, connected. With all of us together, we really had a chance at doing great things. I really believed we did.

“Kennedy,” John said to me, his voice rough and concentrated. “Can you grab me a new pick off my dresser? They’re in the blue cup.”

“Sure,” I agreed, leaning my guitar against the bed and crossing the room to the nightstand. It was cluttered with a slew of things – empty cups, crumpled packs of cigarettes, pens and pencils, sunglasses, and finally, the blue cup. It was placed haphazardly in front of a picture frame. My curiosity got the best of me, encouraging me to push the cup aside and see who was in the picture.

It was a photo of John and a girl I’d never seen before; a close up capture of them laughing together. She was beautiful, in a way I hadn’t really seen before. Her hair was dark, loose and wavy around her shoulders, lips a dark blood red, teeth startlingly white. John was looking at her with a look of utter happiness, one that I hadn’t seen him have in a long time.

“Who is this?” I asked quietly, gesturing to the picture and glancing over my shoulder to look at John. His face had paled, eyes dark and sharpened.

“No one,” he growled, crossing the room and snatching the photo from sight before tucking it in the drawer of his nightstand. “Never ask about her again. And quit snooping.”

A feeling of regret permeated my stomach, sorry for even asking. I had seen John upset, but he never spoke the way he just spoke to me, so angry and hurt. But the face of that beautiful girl was haunting, and against my better judgment I longed to know her story.

I thought about her consistently for the next few weeks, wondering who she was, where she was, and why John was so insistent on not talking about her. His mood changed for those few weeks afterward, like I’d unearthed something much darker than I’d previously understood. He was cold, quiet, secluded.
It wasn’t until he stormed out of band practice one Thursday afternoon that I snapped and asked the rest what was going on. It wasn’t fair for him to act like this and not explain himself, to keep us in the dark on something that seemed to be so important.

“She’s Josselyn Stevens,” Garrett muttered, seated on the plaid couch in Pat’s basement with his eyes fixated on the floor. “And she broke his heart. That’s all you need to know.”

But her eyes were so blue and her smile was so pure and I needed to know her. I needed to know the story behind her.



“You were a fucking mess last night,” Jared told John from across the table, slicing into his cheese drenched omelet.

We were all recuperating from our late night out on the “town,” though that was an understatement for New York City, and decided that trying some top-rated food may be at our advantage. We were all half-dead in the booth in Penelope’s, remedying our hangover with more liquor, a weak brew of Southampton Beer Shandy. John looked the worst of all of us, his eyes bloodshot and clothes wrinkled.

I was in a panic all morning, trying to cover up my shameful footprints from the night before like a criminal. Josselyn and I had kissed. I had kissed the girl that John once loved and refused to talk about. It was a blatant violation of guy code, and even my drunken state wasn’t an excuse. If John remembered seeing us, he would be furious. He made no illusions to it though, quietly going through the motions all morning. He was either brooding or didn’t remember the debacle entirely.

“Thanks for reminding me, I didn’t realize that,” he spat lamely, picking at his poached eggs. “Still pissed at you all, by the way.”

“For what?” Pat asked begrudgingly.

“Taking Josselyn out,” John mumbled, too exhausted for a real fight. I stared into my Nutella-stuffed French toast, suddenly not very hungry despite the delicious food in front of me. I felt like throwing up instead. He did remember.

“I thought you guys were supposed to be on my side,” he continued, finally taking a bite of his food. Everyone looked embarrassed, ashamed, trying not to make eye contact with him in fear that he would choose to make an example of him.

“We are on your side,” Garrett insisted timidly. “But she was writing an article on us, she was spending the day with us. It was just part of her job. You’re being ridiculous.”

Garrett was kind to cover up the fact that in truth, I’d invited her to come out with us in an effort to make her feel better about the whole situation. Or maybe more importantly, that I’d invited her out with us in an effort to spend more time with the illustrious Josselyn Stevens, to get to know the story I’d wanted to know for so long.

John chuckled bitterly, polishing off the rest of his drink. “The last thing I remember is her dancing with you,” he muttered, jerking his head in my direction. A strange mix of relief and sickness overcame me – he remembered, but not the important part. I glanced around to everyone, hoping to give them a pleading enough look to help them understand not to tell John about what happened.

“We were drunk John,” I groaned, preparing myself for the lie. “Nothing else happened.”

“You passed out on the bar almost right after that and we called a cab to get you home,” Jared clarified further, nodding to me in solidarity. “We all went home. It was a long night for all of us.”

John glared to his plate, not wanting to admit he was over reacting. We’d spun it just right, in a way not to hurt him and also to convince ourselves that it all was okay.

“We’re done with her now, that’s what matters,” Garrett pressed, slicing into his pumpkin spice waffles. “It’s not important anymore. Time for us all to let it go.”

The rest of us nodded in solidarity and attempted to move on from the awkward tinge of the conversation. Pat asked John what he wanted to do with his day and his demeanor instantly brightened, He rattled off a whole list of things on his agenda and eagerly invited us to tag along, encouraging us to see one of his favorite cities with him.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, alerting me of a new text message. I pulled it out and set it in my lap, greeted by a little block of text under a number I had just saved.

How are you feeling this morning?

Josselyn. I tried to hide the smile on my lips from the rest of the table by scratching at my facial hair, trying my best to appear fascinated by conversation when in reality all I wanted to do was respond as fast as I could.

Pretty awful. All damage has been controlled, though. You?

And almost immediately she replied, Dying a slow and painful death at home.

In a moment of bravery, I responded What are you doing tonight? before pouring some more shandy in my glass. She and I exchanged numbers before she caught a cab back to her house that night and I was honestly surprised that she had texted me. I’d always wondered who this girl was, who this unattainable Josselyn Stevens was. And here she was texting me.

No plans just yet. Would you like to provide some entertainment?

My mind raced. Had she just asked me to ask her out? I decided quickly that she had. I felt like melting into the booth seat, slowly and warmly, like butter left out in the sunlight coming through the kitchen window. I would love to provide her some entertainment, but in a city I hardly knew anything about, that would prove to be a little difficult.

“Ken, what do you think?” John asked from across the table, sipping from his shandy. “Spending the day going around the city?”

“Sure,” I agreed quickly, sort of flustered. I could easily spend the day with them and then sneak off to go out with Josselyn that night. But to do what? No matter how much I wracked my brain, I couldn’t seem to come up with anything.

How about you take me to some of your favorite places. My treat.

It was the best I could think of, but her quick response proved that it was good enough. Excellent. Pick me up from the apartment at like 7?

As we finalized our plans over text, I was finalizing plans over breakfast with my friends. Part of me truly did feel guilty for going behind John’s back, but at the same time I couldn’t care less. I thought of the feeling of her lips on mine, soft and gentle, like she’d tailored the kiss just for me. With the hopes of another kiss like that, I had to at least try and go for it. And John would never have to know.
It was amazing to me that suddenly I had a secret with Josselyn Stevens, the girl with all the secrets herself.