Journey

JOURNEY

"Sissy, just come visit. I don't know why you won't just tell that loser you're married to that your sister needs you and you need to spend the weekend with her." I huff out like a petulant child and swing my legs from the stool I'm sitting on.

"That loser I'm married to is incapable of being alone and would probably burn the house down if I wasn't there."

I let out a laugh. "Then let the motherfucker burn!" We giggle together before she breaks out into her own rendition of the famous song. "See? I miss this! We need each other. Faith, please, I'm begging you." I lower my voice. "I'm having a hard time." I admit the words quietly.

Her intuition is instant. "What happened? Tell me he didn't show up at the bar."

"No, no, nothing like that. I haven't seen him in almost two years and there's no way he'd ever find me here. He's moved on to bigger and better, younger, too, I'm sure. I'm not afraid of seeing him." I pause wondering how I explain this when I don't really know it myself. "Butch scheduled a band last weekend and he's taken a liking to the manager."

"Okayyy." she waits for more of an explanation.

"They're a Queen cover band and he's already scheduled them for another night."

"Besides the music, I don't get it."

"The manager is also the songwriter."

"Oooh. Now I get it."

My dream has always been to write original songs, and to help others do so, as well. It's why the story of Queen is so dear to me, and their music, the same. All those original songs with insane theatrical presence and range in sound amazes me. I'd love nothing more than to find the melody and sing the right tune with someone.

I thought I had found it.

Boy, was I wrong.

I was once promised a partnership like that so ferociously I believed every single word of it. Until I saw the lies with my own eyes. Butch has told me over and over there is real love out there. He says I shouldn't fight every smile or ‘hello' that's sent my way all because one man took advantage of that first ‘hello'. Butch said, ‘ One day, , someone's going to walk into this bar and I'm going to know they're the match for you. Not only in smarts and voice, but in heart. Don't fight it.'

"Our first meet-cute was just that." I can't help but still think about Freddie. I don't want to think about him, but he's taken up residence in my daily thoughts this past week.

I can almost hear my sister's eyes pop from the socket. "Meet-cute?" She squeals. "Who are you and where is my sister?"

"See? I told you I need you. I'm losing my mind. This isn't me. I'm sullen, reserved. I don't fawn over guys, especially rock stars, anymore. All those types of guys do is break hearts."

She's quiet for a moment. "But…"

"But … there was something sincere about him."

She makes a noise in the back of her throat that echoes through the phone. "Listen. I see this is an emergency. I'll tattoo 911 across my loser husband's forehead and be on the first plane to Boston tomorrow. Good?"

I smile and sag onto my kitchen counter. "Good."

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"I love you Faith, thank you."

"Love you, too. And listen, if this goes somewhere, you need to promise you'll sing at your own wedding."

I bark a laugh. "Now I'm a wedding singer?! What is my life coming to?"

She makes a kissing noise into the phone and the line goes dead.

Who am I to question a couple of run ins with this guy? Why am I getting excited over the fact we had two conversations, yet all of which were one sided as I didn't want to give him the time of day. I must be insane to even think about talking to a musician again. But that sound is in my blood, my heart. It's hard to turn it off even when I've been burned so badly.