Just Another Sad Song

Andrew didn’t have a whole lot going for him, truth be told. The most exciting thing he had to look forward to every day was… well, there wasn’t really anything. He was, for all intents and purposes, a bum. A bum with a job and an apartment, but a bum all the same.

This considered, he should have been chomping at the bit when he was invited to a concert. For free!

“C’mon, man, it’ll be fun!” his friend Phil pestered from the other side of the phone. “It’s too late to sell ‘em. If nobody uses ‘em, they’ll just go to waste. Plus this band is right up your alley.”

“And what’s ‘my alley?’” Andrew quizzed.

“I dunno man, like a Death Cab for Cutie tribute band? Look. If you don’t wanna come, I won’t make you. But when’s the last time you went out, dude?”

“It was, uh, last week at the…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Phil said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Andrew hung up the phone and dragged his hand down his face. It’s not like he had a busy afternoon- just the opposite. His calendar was gathering cobwebs. Maybe it would be good for him to have some actual human interaction. He’d kind of hit the brakes on that sort of thing. Hit the brakes a little too hard and sent himself careening into the opposite lane. Changed jobs, moved cities, everything and anything to get away from the web he’d woven himself into. Against his better judgement, he found himself wondering how she had made out in the end. He could hardly go a day without the thought. Even after years, she was still his addiction.

Phil greeted Andrew with his usual smile as he hopped into the beater sedan. “You made it!” he exclaimed.

“No place I’d rather be,” Andrew said through a forced smile.

“Whatever, man. You’ll thank me for it.”

Phil was a great talker. Andrew was not. This worked out to their advantage.

“…and then I was like, ‘BAM! That’s why utility elevators are a thing!’” Phil started laughing at his own story before Andrew could make any comment about it. “I crack myself up sometimes,” Phil said, wiping a fake tear. “Girls like humor more than looks, you know.”

Phil was just about the last person anybody should take love advice from. It wasn’t that he was a bad guy- he was a little too, good, actually, and Andrew thought his good nature was going to end up getting him killed someday. So far, it had only set him up for a string of disastrous dates. The last one ended with the fire alarm being pulled. Phil swore up and down that it wasn’t entirely his date’s fault, but Andrew had some reservations.

“What are you, a relationship counselor?” Andrew asked, cracking out a rare smile.

“Experience is wisdom and I have a lot of experience.”

Andrew chuckled. “Got that right.”

“Hey, I don’t see you putting yourself out there. You should follow my example. Hey- I dare you, get three numbers tonight and I’ll give ya twenty bucks.”

Andrew laughed again. “Don’t hold your breath.” What was he supposed to do? Walk up to some girl while the concert was going on, tap her shoulder, and give her a pen and paper? That was a disastrous plan if there ever was one.

The venue was pretty small, which was one thing that Andrew had going for him. Less noise, less people. Posters around the place advertised the main event of the evening: American Panic. It really did sound like a Death Cab cover band.

The two men made it right before the openers got onto stage. For what the crowd lacked in population, they made up for in volume. So much for less noise. The main singer crooned some indie lyrics over a guitar with the accompaniment of his bandmates. They all looked like regular Portlanders. Andrew checked his feet: yep, Doc Martens.

Phil seemed to be having fun. He was swaying to the music, smiling, and even singing along at parts. Who was Andrew to ruin that for him? He shoved down his annoyance with the world at large and tried, for his friend’s sake, to not be miserable. It took considerable effort, but it was doable. As soon as the main act was about to come on, Andrew was ready to fake it ‘til he made it.

The members of the new band strolled on and off stage, readying instruments and sound equipment. One guy did a quick drum solo and the bassist played the bassline of Come as You Are, to the crowd’s delight.

Before long, the MC was there to formally welcome American Panic to the stage. A few seconds later, any chance Andrew had at not suffering for the rest of the evening was snuffed out.

There she was, right in the middle of the stage, guitar strapped across her body and mic in her hand: Lisa, the love of his life.

Andrew’s breath caught. Seeing her was like seeing a ghost. None of his imaginings could come close to the vivaciousness that rolled off of her as she welcomed and thanked the crowd. Her hair was longer that it used to be and the tips were dyed red. He recognized a new tattoo on her forearm: a dove. How soon after it ended had she gotten it?

The band started playing and the crowd joined in the fun like Andrew’s entire world hadn’t just been upended. His one goal was to forget her no matter how hard it was, and now his only friend had dragged him to watch her sing for the next two hours.

Andrew recognized some of the songs. She’d played a few for him at his request, right before the end. He’d asked her then if any were about him and gotten a non-comital response. That’s when he knew the end was near.

Some of the lyrics had changed a bit, though, and her voice had somehow gotten even better. The sight of her up there was tantalizing- not in a perverted, lustful way. When she left, she took pieces of him with her; pieces that he wasn’t getting back. She was right up there, close enough to touch if he tried hard enough. But what good would that do? Would he suddenly be cured of her if he could do that?

Those thoughts battled in his head throughout the concert. The loudness of the crowd became background noise to his own internal arguments. As her eyes scanned the crowd, her swore that she could single him out. Was that just wishful thinking? Who was to say that she would even care if she recognized him?

Amazingly, the concert sped to the end. Lisa fiddled with her capo and strummed a few chords before starting what she had declared as the last song of the night.

It was a new one. The melody was mournful, but not entirely sad. It rang with a bitter acceptance and resignation. Lisa’s low voice was perfectly suited to the lyrics. As she hit the chorus, she shut her eyes. She looked like she was in pain as she sang:

If I could write a love song

You’d be the last to know

If I could write a love song

Then my guards are all gone

If I could write a love song

That’s cliché but true

If I could write a love song

It wouldn’t be for you

And then she opened her eyes and smiled like Andrew’s world hadn’t just ended for the second time that night. She was entirely oblivious to the stakes she’d driven through his heart as she took a bow with her bandmates and headed off-stage.

It took him a while to realize that Phil was talking to him. “Told ya they were good, huh?” he asked knowingly.

Andrew didn’t have the energy to joke back or even lie.

“Hey, what’s the matter? I know you didn’t really want to come but-“

“I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong,” Andrew insisted. What else was he supposed to say? That the lead singer was the one that got away? Yeah, right. He doubted Phil would believe him. Lisa was out of his league in every imaginable way. She had a whole Ramona Flowers thing going on, but it was super effortless. It wasn’t her scene or aesthetic; it was just her. And even if Phil believed him, there was no way he was getting into it here and now.

So neither protested as they made their way out of the venue. Andrew headed for the car, but Phil changed course halfway though.

“Car’s over here,” Andrew called.

“Yeah, I know, but you look like you need lunch. C’mon, I’m buying.” Phil hustled him into some kitschy burger place and spoke unceasingly through the line, ordering process, meal, and the walk back to the car. Andrew liked it that way; less time to be alone with his thoughts and it kept Phil distracted from realizing anything was off.

Dusk was in full bloom as they headed to the car for good this time, Phil still prattling on about some new Tinder match. He was so engrossed in the story, in fact, that he didn’t realize Andrew had stopped walking until there was fifteen meters between them.

“You coming, man?” Phil called.

“Yeah, just give me a second,” Andrew absently responded. He was either about to make the best or worst decision of his entire life.

There she stood, leaned against the wall, guitar case in tow. She was staring down at her phone, blue light on her face, but seemed to notice Andrew immediately.

She smiled sadly. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey,” came his stilted response. “You’re, uh, really good.” The words had no sooner left his mouth when he was cursing his lead tongue. Really good? That’s the best you can do?

“Thanks,” Lisa said, with a real smile this time. “Finally started a band. And what about you? How’ve you been?”

Miserable. I spend every day thinking what life would be like if I had you at my side. I hate my cold, empty bed and my quiet apartment. I hate the way you laughed at movies that weren’t even funny and always wore socks, no matter the weather. I hate that I have to pretend that I’m find.  I hate that you’re happy and that I’m not.

“I’m alright.”

The only sound for a while was nearby traffic and Lisa hitting the toe of her boots into the ground. The atmosphere was broken up by the chime of Lisa’s phone.

“Oh, my ride’s here,” she said looking down. She reoriented her guitar before looking up at Andrew again. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

With no other parting words, Lisa started towards the parking lot. Like sand through a glass, like water in his hands, she was leaving again.

“I think about you every day,” he blurted.

Lisa stopped. She did not turn around.

“I know it’s not healthy but I can’t stop. It’s like I’m mourning your death over and over again.” Shock at his own boldness soon gave way to frustration at Lisa’s silence and stillness. Here he was, bearing his soul, and she just stood there.

“I still have your brother’s phone number,” Andrew continued. “And all of those notes you wrote me.” At her stillness, Andrew took another step forward. “Doesn’t that bother you? Like we never-“

Lisa whirled around, anger rolling off of her instead of exuberance. “You think it doesn’t bother me? You think it wasn’t hard for me?”

In the waning light, Andrew swore he saw tears brimming in her dark eyes.

“I cried for weeks, Andrew. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. I thought the world was ending. But you know what? I moved on. I moved on like an adult and you- you-“ Lisa’s voice grew thick with tears and ire. “And you haven’t changed at all.”

With that, she continued past him without so much as a backward glance.

Turns out it had been the worst mistake of his life. Andrew lay in bed watching the lights of the city make shapes on his ceiling. It was like the first days after the breakup, all over again. How had she moved on? Wounds fresh, it felt like the feeble acceptance he’d garnered before was a point he’d never reach.

He tossed and turned for hours, replaying the highs and lows of their entire relationship. He’d really thought she was the one.

And now look at them. Were all love stories destined to end so horribly?

Andrew checked the time: 3:21 AM. He gave up trying to sleep and padded to the sink. At least he was drinking water and not booze. His grief could be a whole lot worse.

Andrew walked to the couch and sat, staring at nothing in particular. The whole world was bathed in blue in that hour that seemed to exist only in theory. In front of him sat his trusty coffee table and its accompanying note pad.

An idea crept into his mind. Andrew tried to shut the door on it; look how great his ideas had been so far. But this idea was wily and determined, slipping through the cracks that he couldn’t patch. Without much thought, he reached forward for a pen and paper.

Andrew had never written lyrics before. He couldn’t even play any instruments- he didn’t think that piano chords counted for much of anything. But just as there was a last time for everything, there was a first time for everything.

He could learn. Eventually.