She was the only one in the photograph looking at the camera. It was as if she could still see into my pain, my soul, my heart. Everyone seemed happy. The photo on Facebook flickered on my screen as I felt the day’s energy beginning to slip away. Coffee was not going to undercut the swirling black bastards at my feet, today.
There was the girl that brought the entire thing down. She’s not as young as she looks. She’s counting on those flared eyelashes and hippie dresses to enchant men to follow her, listen to her, love her. I didn’t love her. I never loved her. But her youth was like a flame I could not resist. She asked me to help her with a song.
I didn’t like her singing at all. That was going to be a problem. The question, “Why me?” bumped around in my head as I was watching her mouth move.
She was surrounded by other creative people. She was even attached to a local “star” for a while, who had helped her with some songs. I pulled up her Spotify channel again. “Nope,” I thought. “I’m no good for her songwriting if I can’t appreciate more than her summer dresses.”
But things didn’t work out that way at all. Things just got worse as she smiled at me.
“I’m free tomorrow afternoon if you want to get together,” I said.
Read more Short-Short Stories from John.