Relevance

The cursor flashed before my eyes and I continued to stare at it whilst biting the inside of my cheek . My fingers knew exactly which keys to press, but I remained hesitant.

Margie had left a couple of hours ago but she left her curiosity behind—and it began gnawing at me. She hadn’t seemed surprised when she searched his name, shouldn’t that be a good sign?

I shortened the distance between myself and the keyboard, taking a deep breath in before filling the blank page before me.

-------- John Cornelius

Suddenly, it dawned on me that the only thing I knew was his name and middle name. These two facts didn’t render me much information.

--------John Cornelius was an English Catholic Priest

Yeah, right.

--------John Cornelius band

The first result shown was about some man named Johny Hodges and something about an orchestra. The second was a strip of images of a face I knew all too well.

I clicked on images and various facets of John popped up—all the ones he never told me about. In most of the images, he was holding a microphone, seemingly singing his heart out. Some were old, which appeared to be him in his high school days. Others contained quotes of him.

Overall, he looked happy in most of them. I clicked on a random photograph. John Cornelius O’Callaghan V, the description read. I considered researching further, but it wouldn’t change anything.

I closed my laptop and looked over at my phone as it rested on my desk. I hopped out of bed and grabbed it, dialling his number.

When he picked up, I whispered, “Hey.”

“Oh thank God! You’ve got me calling every mutual friend of ours. What happened? Are you okay?”

I smiled from hearing care drip from his voice like honey. “Yeah, I am. I’m so sorry for being distant. You can mail me your phone bill,” I joked as a means to lighten up the mood, lessen the burden I had given him during the last few days.

“Sure thing,” he laughed and the sound of it tickled my ears. “Can I come over?”

“Margie and I are heading out soon to some place where sweatpants aren’t allowed. Rain-check for tomorrow?”

“I suppose that’s a good thing? At least you know it’s not the gym,” he chuckled. “I’ll see you then, keep safe sweetheart.”

“I’ll see you then,” I repeated before disconnecting the call.



“This is our night out?” I asked, perplexed at the building standing in front of me. It was a dilapidated tavern, which wouldn’t seem like one if it hadn’t been for the neon sign in the front. “Tim’s Bar?” my brows were in a knot of regret for wearing skinny jeans and I was longing for my bed.

Margie hooked her arms into mine, dragging me inside. “C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

When we arrived inside, Sam and Lauren were already sitting by a booth in the furthest corner of the badly-lit interior. A few beams were on full-display on the ceiling and they threatened to fall at any movement.

“Hiiiiiiiiiii!” Sam and Lauren spoke in unison, clearly tipsy already.

Margie swung her bag over her head, throwing it next to her, “Hey you guys!” she said, lifting a finger to call the attention of anybody who could bring her a drink.

“Hello,” I laughed at how they giggled as a response to my greeting. “When did you guys get here? You seem to have already partied,” I smirked.

Sam struggled to get a hold of her drink’s straw with her mouth. “Some guys who left a little before you arrived were nice enough to buy us some drinks.”

Any word spoken was a motive for Lauren to laugh and I couldn’t help but join her—she had one of those contagious laughters.

When a waitress tended to Margie’s call, she proceeded to write down a bunch of drinks and some appetisers to snack in between.

“Our first round will be tequila ladies!” Margie shouted with excitement over the loud music that resonated inside my chest.

The girls gave out a thrilling scream, celebrating something I wasn’t aware of. I smiled to hide the fact I wanted to be home right now.

“It’s been so long since we last hung out! I barely got to see any of you during the wedding! Margie’s got a green card, but you Georgie? I only caught a glimpse of you during the ceremony!”

My smile faltered when Lauren mentioned the wedding. My mind was kind enough to provide me some flashbacks of the weekend, allowing certain feelings to resurface. Where is that tequila, I wondered.

“Uhh, yeah,” I nervously snickered, “that weekend was such a blur—”

“You looked gorgeous by the way!” Sam interrupted, out of herself at this point, one step away from blurring out words thanks to her previous drinks, whatever they were.

I was out of smiles and this outing felt too far from my comfort zone. “Thank you!”

“Yeeeeeees!” Margie cheered when the waitress returned, carrying a tray filled with colourful liquids in glasses of all shape and size.

Everybody grabbed a shot as though it would disappear out of thin air if they didn’t. I followed their lead, hoping Margie would let me off the hook if I stayed for a couple of drinks.

“To tonight,” she said through a smile, “may it be great!”

“To tonight!” the others chanted and I joined in the last syllable.

I hated tequila with a passion—I was a wuss for it. Just from watching their face twist in displeasure, I could already feel the burn of the liquor.

“Here goes nothing,” I thought out loud, downing the drink and reaching out for the nearest glass of water to drink next. The burn travelled down my throat and it make my stomach jump even before I swallowed it whole.

“Yuck! I don’t know how the hell you guys can endure this,” I said with a twisted face that lingered even after I drank half the glass of water.

“Practice, baby!” Margie boasted, already accustomed with the taste after drinking one too many during her college days.

I ordered a mojito to prevent them from handing to me any more tequilas. After a few rounds, Margie joined the girls in drunken laughter. I took her inebriation as my cue to leave without her holding me back.

While touching her forearm to grab her attention, I said “I better go, Scott will drop by in the morning.”

“Oh no, stay!” she whimpered with pleading eyes, “You’ve yet to see the best part!”

“What part?”

As if on cue, the eardrum bursting music came to a stop and the lights on the stage were lit up.

“Good night everybody!” The crowd cheered, more clueless about who he was than I was a day ago. “My name’s John.” He strummed his guitar in random notes, adjusting the off tunes.

He was in an all-black outfit, his hair combed back for once. “I’ve never played this song before,” he confessed. His eyes searched the crowd until he found my eyes. He lifted a corner of the mouth and shrugged, “But I hope it does its job.”

I looked at him with a wide-eyed gaze and a sinking feeling—seeing his face carved a hole somewhere in my gut, leaving me susceptible to his laser green eyes. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before he began strumming the strings, bringing life to a melody.

“The only thing I'm really sure of, I’m unsure of almost everything. But I'm looking up and looking forward. There's nothing back there for you or me.”

John’s eyes remained shut and I fought the urge to walk out, unsure I could handle this situation after a shot of tequila, a mojito, and the aching his presence caused.

“So you say you are broken, beaten, used and mistreated. Tired, shattered, bruised and battered. The only thing I'm really sure of, I’m unsure of almost everything.”

“But I know, I know, I,” he opened his eyes to find me already looking at him, “I only wanna talk to you.”