Page 22 of No More Love Songs

“Fine.” I sigh in dramatic surrender. “Hit me with your questions.”

He taps his finger to his, like he’s really putting thought into this. “Alright. First one.” He glances sideways. “Ready?”

“No. But I’m all for getting discomfort done and over with, so don’t let that stop you.”

He chuckles. “It’s an easy one, promise.” He holds up his pointer finger as if he’s counting down. “Number one. What did you want to be when you grew up? Like, first childhood fantasy you can remember.”

“A singer.” That really was an easy one.

“For real?”

I shrug. “Yeah. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. Even before I could form thoughts around it, I was singing and performing for people. According to my mom, I sang more than I spoke.”

“You’ve never wanted to be anything else?”

“Is that question number two?”

“It’s an extension of the first, but you’re right. It’s not officially part of the lineup so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

I think about it for a moment before I answer. “A history teacher.”

He actually does a doubletake on that one. “A history teacher. Will you elaborate even if I don’t use another question on the topic?”

I squint as if that will somehow help me see his true intentions. It doesn’t. “Do you really want to know?”

He nods. “I do.”

“Why? Are you writing a secret biography about me or something? Is that the real reason you agreed to let me stay here? To exploit a side of me the world has never known?” I’m joking. Sort of.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he rolls his bottom lip over his teeth for a moment or two, biting the edge of his lip before he releases it again to speak. “I wanted to be taxi driver.”

“I’m sorry, what now?” Didn’t see that coming.

“I used to watch reruns of that show, Taxi, when I’d go visit my aunt for the summer. It just looked fun. Plus, I liked cars and going on road trips and, in my mind, driving a cab meant I got to go a lot of different places, meet tons of people, hear all their stories. I thought it’d be cool. Like a non-stop sitcom playing out in my backseat and I would get paid to watch.”

“That does make the gig sound kind of fun.” I notice I’m smiling again. Maybe I haven’t stopped. My cheeks are certainly feeling like I haven’t.

“Make you see me differently now?”

I turn to look at him. My first instinct is to say, ‘of course, not’ but then I allow my eyes to rest on his a moment longer. “Yeah.” My voice is softer than before. “You’re clearer now.”

“Still think I need an ulterior motive to be interested in who you were before you became the you you are now?”

No. But I don’t say so. Instead, I tell him the thing he really wants to know. “I just had this idea of myself teaching high school history. I’m pretty sure I was barely in high school myself when I had this grand vision for myself, but maybe I had one too many teachers who just stood up there talking into the void because I saw myself totally changing things up. I was going to make a whole production out of everything. Props. Live action. I don’t know, I guess history just lent itself well to the concept. Plus, history is filled with, well, stories. And I kinda like those. It’s what draws me to song writing too. They’re all just mini stories. And then I perform them. Which I guess, I can see now is sort of exactly how I saw the teaching gig play out as well. Me, performing stories in front of a live audience, every day.” I shake my head at myself. “Wow. I had no idea I was such an egomaniac.”

“You think wanting an audience makes you an egomaniac?” He seems surprised.

“You don’t? I mean, sure, I love when they get something out of being there, but ultimately, aren’t I doing it to feed my own ego?”

“I don’t know.” He grins. “Are you?”

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out this time. Then the answer hits me and it’s not at all what I thought it was. “No. I do it because I love the way the light spreads from person to person when they’re having fun. So, I get up on stage and show them the best damn time I possibly can.”

He winks at me. “We’ll count that as question number two.”

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KIT

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