Status: i love writing this | please don't be a silent reader
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Observant
The breeze persisted in making its way through the hems of my shirt, causing my body to shiver in the process. It felt way colder now that we were by the ocean.
The stars were the strongest source of light. Some campfires could be seen far East, but they were little in comparison to the lit sky. My shoes were in my hand and my toes buried under the sand. I wiggled them and it felt oddly pleasant.
Georgia was a few steps behind and I didn’t dare look back at her—she already looked beautiful under crappy, neon bar lights. I couldn’t bear the thought of her under the moonlight. I couldn’t get distracted with her face, I needed her words.
I dropped my shoes a few feet away and sat down, resting my elbows on my propped up knees, clasping my hands together, admiring the ocean that reflected the moon. The waves were tranquil and the sight of them was enough to calm the most stressed person in the world.
She followed my lead and sat beside me. “Have you been here before?”
“Rhode Island?” She nodded. “Yeah, a couple of times. For weddings, too.”
She faintly smiled. She was also staring at the sea, probably thinking a myriad of things, all of which I wanted to hear about.
“I thought I wouldn’t have to teach you how to flirt,” I said through a mocking smile in hopes of sparking a deep conversation. “Crying is not a part of it.”
She picked a handful of sand and squished it as if it were a stress ball. Looking at me under her lashes, she said, “And I thought I would have more than thirty minutes to myself with someone other than you.”
I didn’t respond. I hoped the silence would nudge her into opening up, lashing out the thoughts she held behind her fugitive eyes.
The wedding was on Sunday, two days from now. Whenever I had down time in the hotel room, I attempted to write something that wasn’t about her or inspired by her. I always came up short. Thus far, all I managed was to scribble a song of seven lines. Could that even classify as a song? Probably not. Was this how it felt to be almost 10 years into the songwriting biz? You got dry when you hit the decade mark?
I’ve never seen myself as a great songwriter. I’ve always seen myself as an average one at that. There was nothing special, but people seemed to like it. They seemed to relate to it. And for the first time, I wanted to relate to my songs in a deeper level—one beyond loneliness and drunken thoughts and one-night stands and many other morbid things.
“Growing up, I was always on the road with my parents.” Her voice took me away from my thoughts. “With my dad being a wildlife photographer, my mom was in love enough to follow him around. I took after him, you know, got into photography and all. I wasn’t as good with wildlife, so I ventured off to other areas,” she paused. “But as of lately, I haven’t picked up any cameras.”
This time, I didn’t observe her through the corner of my eye. I actually looked at her, not much concerned about what she’d think of it or if she’d notice.
The moonlight made her skin appear paler than usual and her hair as dark as the sea. Freckles that would go amiss in the daylight could now be noticed while they slept on the bridge of her nose. She had a pretty face, very much the girl-next-door look—the girl-next-door whom you lived next to for years and never realised how pretty she was until the whole neighbourhood had fallen in love with her.
But her eyes didn’t look pretty right now. They looked pained, heavy as if she hadn’t slept for awhile, searching for answers in the ocean. She didn’t need to say why she hadn’t picked up any cameras for me to understand the reason.
I didn’t know what to say. I never knew what to say. Not to her or anyone else. That’s why I always resorted to the truth because that was second nature to me.
My hand longed to reach out to her and offer a pat on the back or some sort of gesture that would be kind and gentle, much like her. But I remained still while the wind blew my hair towards random directions. “It's tough to be anything these days,” I whispered as consolation.
“Is it tough being a musician?”
I ran a hand through my hair instinctively. “It is at times, but it’s way more rewarding. So it balances out in the end.”
“Is it tough being lonely?”
I immediately turned my head to face her, not being able to hide my expression of surprise at her words. I stared at her faint emerald eyes, as she looked at me, and found comprehension staring back. “It is at times,” I repeated with a smile that turned out to be a slight twitch of the lips.
She was more observant than I had coined her to be, and I didn’t know whether that was good or bad. I leaned more towards the latter.
“Life tends to be shitty just before we move forward.” Georgia rested her back on the ground and her hand on her stomach, closing her eyes. “You’ll move forward eventually.”
She had just lost her father and she was the one offering me encouraging words. Guilt sunk to the pit of my stomach.
I pushed it aside and looked away towards the distant campfires, not able to face her quite yet, afraid she’d be observant enough to read the guilt written all over my face. “Why do you like him?”
She was hesitant in answering. The sound of the ebb and flow of the waves filled the silence. “He’s always been there. For the big moments, and the small ones too. I know you might think of it as silly, but at the end of the day, all we need is someone who shows up as if they had never left for work and instead had stayed with you on bed all day. At least that’s what I think,” she shrugged, “I might be wrong.”
I smiled to myself, “That’s not silly at all.” I wanted that too.
Thanks to my history with women, I knew better than to have high expectations at the end of the day. I knew they’d be back by nighttime, but I didn’t know whether they’d be back with the same feelings they left with.
Most of them wouldn’t. Most of them would’ve had the day to overthink my words and their decisions and once they arrived home, they’d go on to tell me how sex wasn’t enough; how they needed more substance. It was ridiculous to think that I’ve said more goodbyes than hellos in my life.
My eyes felt like lead and my mouth was parched. I checked my watch when it struck 02:26. “Shit!” I picked myself up in a heartbeat and desperately reached for our shoes and Georgia’s hand to help her up. “We gotta go.”
She matched my pace as we walked back towards the deserted streets. “Where?” her brows were knitted in confusion.
“Uhm, I—“ I paused and came to a halt, pretending to search for my phone to buy myself some time to think of a lie that would be believable. “I’ve got band practice early up!”
This wasn’t the right time to tell Georgia that I had an interview with a renowned music magazine six hours from now. It wasn’t the right time to let her know that I wasn’t a starving musician. I needed to get through the weekend without her ever observing her way through and out of oblivion.
The stars were the strongest source of light. Some campfires could be seen far East, but they were little in comparison to the lit sky. My shoes were in my hand and my toes buried under the sand. I wiggled them and it felt oddly pleasant.
Georgia was a few steps behind and I didn’t dare look back at her—she already looked beautiful under crappy, neon bar lights. I couldn’t bear the thought of her under the moonlight. I couldn’t get distracted with her face, I needed her words.
I dropped my shoes a few feet away and sat down, resting my elbows on my propped up knees, clasping my hands together, admiring the ocean that reflected the moon. The waves were tranquil and the sight of them was enough to calm the most stressed person in the world.
She followed my lead and sat beside me. “Have you been here before?”
“Rhode Island?” She nodded. “Yeah, a couple of times. For weddings, too.”
She faintly smiled. She was also staring at the sea, probably thinking a myriad of things, all of which I wanted to hear about.
“I thought I wouldn’t have to teach you how to flirt,” I said through a mocking smile in hopes of sparking a deep conversation. “Crying is not a part of it.”
She picked a handful of sand and squished it as if it were a stress ball. Looking at me under her lashes, she said, “And I thought I would have more than thirty minutes to myself with someone other than you.”
I didn’t respond. I hoped the silence would nudge her into opening up, lashing out the thoughts she held behind her fugitive eyes.
The wedding was on Sunday, two days from now. Whenever I had down time in the hotel room, I attempted to write something that wasn’t about her or inspired by her. I always came up short. Thus far, all I managed was to scribble a song of seven lines. Could that even classify as a song? Probably not. Was this how it felt to be almost 10 years into the songwriting biz? You got dry when you hit the decade mark?
I’ve never seen myself as a great songwriter. I’ve always seen myself as an average one at that. There was nothing special, but people seemed to like it. They seemed to relate to it. And for the first time, I wanted to relate to my songs in a deeper level—one beyond loneliness and drunken thoughts and one-night stands and many other morbid things.
“Growing up, I was always on the road with my parents.” Her voice took me away from my thoughts. “With my dad being a wildlife photographer, my mom was in love enough to follow him around. I took after him, you know, got into photography and all. I wasn’t as good with wildlife, so I ventured off to other areas,” she paused. “But as of lately, I haven’t picked up any cameras.”
This time, I didn’t observe her through the corner of my eye. I actually looked at her, not much concerned about what she’d think of it or if she’d notice.
The moonlight made her skin appear paler than usual and her hair as dark as the sea. Freckles that would go amiss in the daylight could now be noticed while they slept on the bridge of her nose. She had a pretty face, very much the girl-next-door look—the girl-next-door whom you lived next to for years and never realised how pretty she was until the whole neighbourhood had fallen in love with her.
But her eyes didn’t look pretty right now. They looked pained, heavy as if she hadn’t slept for awhile, searching for answers in the ocean. She didn’t need to say why she hadn’t picked up any cameras for me to understand the reason.
I didn’t know what to say. I never knew what to say. Not to her or anyone else. That’s why I always resorted to the truth because that was second nature to me.
My hand longed to reach out to her and offer a pat on the back or some sort of gesture that would be kind and gentle, much like her. But I remained still while the wind blew my hair towards random directions. “It's tough to be anything these days,” I whispered as consolation.
“Is it tough being a musician?”
I ran a hand through my hair instinctively. “It is at times, but it’s way more rewarding. So it balances out in the end.”
“Is it tough being lonely?”
I immediately turned my head to face her, not being able to hide my expression of surprise at her words. I stared at her faint emerald eyes, as she looked at me, and found comprehension staring back. “It is at times,” I repeated with a smile that turned out to be a slight twitch of the lips.
She was more observant than I had coined her to be, and I didn’t know whether that was good or bad. I leaned more towards the latter.
“Life tends to be shitty just before we move forward.” Georgia rested her back on the ground and her hand on her stomach, closing her eyes. “You’ll move forward eventually.”
She had just lost her father and she was the one offering me encouraging words. Guilt sunk to the pit of my stomach.
I pushed it aside and looked away towards the distant campfires, not able to face her quite yet, afraid she’d be observant enough to read the guilt written all over my face. “Why do you like him?”
She was hesitant in answering. The sound of the ebb and flow of the waves filled the silence. “He’s always been there. For the big moments, and the small ones too. I know you might think of it as silly, but at the end of the day, all we need is someone who shows up as if they had never left for work and instead had stayed with you on bed all day. At least that’s what I think,” she shrugged, “I might be wrong.”
I smiled to myself, “That’s not silly at all.” I wanted that too.
Thanks to my history with women, I knew better than to have high expectations at the end of the day. I knew they’d be back by nighttime, but I didn’t know whether they’d be back with the same feelings they left with.
Most of them wouldn’t. Most of them would’ve had the day to overthink my words and their decisions and once they arrived home, they’d go on to tell me how sex wasn’t enough; how they needed more substance. It was ridiculous to think that I’ve said more goodbyes than hellos in my life.
My eyes felt like lead and my mouth was parched. I checked my watch when it struck 02:26. “Shit!” I picked myself up in a heartbeat and desperately reached for our shoes and Georgia’s hand to help her up. “We gotta go.”
She matched my pace as we walked back towards the deserted streets. “Where?” her brows were knitted in confusion.
“Uhm, I—“ I paused and came to a halt, pretending to search for my phone to buy myself some time to think of a lie that would be believable. “I’ve got band practice early up!”
This wasn’t the right time to tell Georgia that I had an interview with a renowned music magazine six hours from now. It wasn’t the right time to let her know that I wasn’t a starving musician. I needed to get through the weekend without her ever observing her way through and out of oblivion.