I Guess I'll Never Get To Call You Mine
CHUCK
I left Jerry’s right after Aline sped off in a cab, not caring where I went and letting my feet lead the way. As I walked, my conscience constantly berated at me. What have you done you stupid man? Do you know you are married with a wife waiting for you at home? How could you have thought of doing such a thing? I took the scolding silently and sighed. I know, but I just can’t help it. When she sang that song…it’s like…like there’s this feeling stirring inside me, and bizarre at it sounds, I suddenly can recall things.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember those blur of images that had popped up into my mind when Aline played me that song: a hot summer day, Aline and I were all excited and pumped up to see all the rad new bands that were going to play at the Montréal jazz festival; it was the night before my first band, Reset, was about to play live, and Aline had come to visit me backstage to squeeze my hand for good luck; it was very early in the morning, and I heard rattling sounds on my window, and had drew the curtains to see her standing atop a branch on a tree across my house, staring at me with those hazel eyes of hers…
Small flashbacks, all of them with Aline in it…they all came back to me. It was such a powerful and electrifying moment and I’ve felt things that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and it was all just too overwhelming to take in at once.
I stopped walking and looked up glumly to see where I end up. It was just an ordinary building, but I went in anyway. I think I must’ve been here before, because my feet carried me toward the elevator and up to several floors, and through a crisscross of hallways before they stopped in front of a door. Without thinking, I pushed it open to see a surprised looking Pierre Bouvier, clutching at a guitar and a notebook and pen in front of him, clearly in the middle of a songwriting session.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember those blur of images that had popped up into my mind when Aline played me that song: a hot summer day, Aline and I were all excited and pumped up to see all the rad new bands that were going to play at the Montréal jazz festival; it was the night before my first band, Reset, was about to play live, and Aline had come to visit me backstage to squeeze my hand for good luck; it was very early in the morning, and I heard rattling sounds on my window, and had drew the curtains to see her standing atop a branch on a tree across my house, staring at me with those hazel eyes of hers…
Small flashbacks, all of them with Aline in it…they all came back to me. It was such a powerful and electrifying moment and I’ve felt things that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and it was all just too overwhelming to take in at once.
I stopped walking and looked up glumly to see where I end up. It was just an ordinary building, but I went in anyway. I think I must’ve been here before, because my feet carried me toward the elevator and up to several floors, and through a crisscross of hallways before they stopped in front of a door. Without thinking, I pushed it open to see a surprised looking Pierre Bouvier, clutching at a guitar and a notebook and pen in front of him, clearly in the middle of a songwriting session.