They all tried to warn him, told him to watch out, told him be careful, Billy’s damaged. Well, unhinged had been the word Nancy used, but she always had been a little dramatic (always had a bigger vocabulary, too).
Thing is, everyone said that Billy would snap. So Steve shouldn’t have been surprised when he arrived at Billy’s house and everything was too quiet, too empty. Shouldn’t have been surprised when he followed the trail of broken plates and shattered glass into the backyard. Shouldn’t have been surprised to find Billy with a knife in his hands, a body in the shape of Neil Hargrove dead on the dirt at his feet.
And maybe, if he really let himself think about it, he wasn’t surprised. Not by the fact that Billy finally had snapped, and not by the fact that Steve liked it.
She was a sea, deep in a way I could never grasp slipping through my hands constantly over and over and over. Desperate to love her in anyway I could I swam in her warmth every chance she’d allow, but I always left never able to stay in her magnitude and forced to retreat to what I thought was the only safe ground for me. Her tides always rose back for me, reached out for me, but even her vastness couldn’t stand me after a time it seems.
I reached out last time and her tide rolled back, rolled back, rolled back and I sit here somehow still waiting for the return of a sea Taylor made for me. Low tide can’t last forever can it?
I venture closer, I walk the ground that used to belong to her with a sureness that only came with age, but her waters are long gone. But the sea controls something deep in me and unsatisfied I tread further and further, looking for even a drop of her to satisfy this need.
Time rolls and passion transforms and what was once a desire to be all consumed, flooded full and deep has transformed into a consistent hum of desperation for just a drink.
I’d happily sail aboard a friendly ship, if I could only climb out of this deep kel and find the sea.
There once was a girl who was hated and loved, mostly by herself but also by others. And truthfully neither were her fault, but isn’t that how it always goes? The things we laude and the things we shame in others rarely have anything to do with their conscious choices at all. And the things we twist in shame over for ourselves so often fall out of our control. The things we love? Those are almost always accidents of birth, fates, blessings, or pure dumb luck as you’d call it.
That’s how it was for her. She was lucky in both hate and love— if you can call it luck when even the worst part about you was so unlikely to happen. Really, what were the odds she’d be so unfailingly magnetic, pulling you in making you want to know her.. be her? She’s girl-next-door-pretty, where even on her worst day she looks better than you. Except you almost convince yourself she doesn’t know she’s pretty, because the callous formed from a life of getting your way didn’t exist for her like the other pretty girls. She is exceedingly, unfailingly kind. What are the odds someone who hit the jackpot of personalities and looks would also be the subject of despise due to no fault of her own? It would be easy to assume she’s hated because she’s lovable, and maybe seeing someone so lucky does make you want to roll your eyes. However, mere jealousy doesn’t compare to the way people hate her. This kind of hate seethes. It causes whispers across town. It oozes out of people if you stand too close, souring your mood and your opinion of her right along with them.
But you know I guess it makes sense really, all magnets have two poles. North. South. Good. Bad. Loved. Hated. The source of loving her is easy to understand if you’ve known her for more than five minutes. The hate? Now that’s gonna take a whole book to explain.
I made my way to the counter, the same girl behind it, same name tag (labeled: Jenny), and same toothy grin shining. She recognizes me; my tinted grey suit, brief case in hand and black messy hair flowing over my eyes. She greets me with a soft ‘Good afternoon, Phil’ and I nod in response and order my usual. She promises me it’ll be ready in a few and I leave to sit at my usual place; diagonal from where you’re sitting, far from the window but close to the entrance.
It’s been like this for 2 weeks. I arrive here for my break, you’re already sat in your normal spot when I enter. We sit diagonal from each other, myself throwing occasional glances in your direction and you not noticing my presence.
-
November 1st. The day our routine changed. You didn’t arrive before me. I entered the shop, like usual, and did my normal routine. You were running late, I suppose. You walked into the entrance with rosy cheeks and hair all over the place. You glanced in my direction, catching my gaze and your cheeks turning a darker shade of red. You turn to sit in your spot but someone already took the empty booth. I watch as you run your hand through your brown, curly hair and you glance at me again. You strolled to the vacant chair across from me. I look down at my half-cold coffee while you clear your throat and say,
“Um, is anyone sitting here?”
I shake my head and you settle in the not-so-comfortable-like-your-usual-spot chair. We sat in awkward silence until my break was over and I coughed out an ‘I need to go, see ya!’ and rushed out. I had noticed you didn’t once write in the journal, like you usually do. And I couldn’t help but notice the flicker of disappointed written on your face when I left.
-
I don’t go to coffee shop for a week. My boss flooded me with paperwork and I couldn’t really say no. The next time I make a stop for coffee, you’re there, in the seat across from mine. You’re drinking coffee with shaky hands and you’re constantly looking around, almost like you’re looking for someone, or waiting. I enter, hearing the familiar ding above me, and you turn your head in my direction. You smile and I settle in my usual seat, now across from you. We don’t really say anything, you glance over my features while I place my case on the floor. You’re the first to break the silence.
“Haven’t seen you in a few days.”
I stared at you, have you been coming here every day, waiting for me? I run my hand through my hair, attempting to fix it, but mostly to cover the pink shade rising on my cheeks. I decide to not answer your statement, there’s no way you’ve been waiting for me, for Phil, the nerdy kid who works in a quiet corner at his job and actually likes doing paperwork. Or Phil, who, up until 11th grade, thought making out was where you just touch tongues, not mouths and tongues.
You awkwardly cleared your throat and gulped your coffee down so fast, it probably burned your tongue but you didn’t show any emotion.
“Do you talk?”
You sighed, placing your empty coffee cup on the table and rummaging through your bag for something. I was nervous, should I talk? Was I being a jerk for not responding? You took out the journal I would normally see you writing in. You wrote a few digits down, tearing it out and handing it to me.
“Here’s my number. I like you.”
You smiled, which caused your dimples to appear. I’ve never seen your dimples before, well I’ve never seen you smile properly. I slowly took the sheet and folded it, tucking it into my pant pocket. I’m not going to lie, you was gorgeous and you had liked me. You checked your phone and your grin disappeared. I watched you stand, grabbing your bag and turning towards me,
“Call me, okay?”
You smile slightly and exit the shop. I watched as you strolled down the pavement, a small grin on your face.
-
I did call you but I got nervous so I hung up before it got to the second ring. I mentally kicked myself, a cute boy wants to get to know me and I’m being so stupid. Call him. Call him. Call him, Phil.
I called again and after three rings, you answered. “Hello?” My throat closed up and it felt like someone was choking me. I couldn’t breathe.
“Hello?” You repeated.
I brought my hand up to my ear and tugged, a habit I’ve always had since I was a child. My mum told me I always tugged on my ear when I was nervous or scared. “...Hi.” I could basically hear the smile in your voice when you said, “You’re the cute boy from the coffee shop, right?”
I nodded but remembered we’re on the phone, “…Yes?” It sounded more like a question, there were cuter boys there, and you could’ve given your number to any of them as well.
“Well, what’s your name, cutie? I’m Dan. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner, I was a bit nervous.”
Dan. I like it, it suits you. I like Dan. “My name’s Phil.”
“Well, Phil, you’re really cute and I’ve been watching you for the past few weeks and I hope that doesn’t sound creepy- oh god, it sounded creepy, I wasn’t watching you in that way- you just caught my eye and I wanted to meet so I waited but you didn’t come so I was disappointed but I do want to continue seeing you- I don’t even know what I’m saying. You’re really fucking gorgeous, okay?”
I giggled silently and the pink shade appeared on my cheeks again. “Oh, um, I have to go but we’re going to meet at the usual place, right?” I grinned and basically screamed ‘yes’ and we said our goodbyes.
-
I entered the familiar coffee shop but this time you were waiting for me with a wide grin on your face, two coffees already on the table, and a little sticky-note on your cup, and it wrote: ‘You and Phil make a cute couple’. Yeah, I think so to.
