Page 12 of Poetry By Dead Men
Of all the songs he could have chosen to perform tonight, why did it have to bethisone?
He continues to sing, but I no longer hear the words. No longer feel my limbs. This is his biggest song. The one that won him both songandalbum of the year when he was just twenty-three years old. And it was written about me.
"I was listening to his most recent album earlier. He has a song called Dreamers and Poets," Harrison shouts in my ear, and my heart leaps into my throat. I force a smile. There's no way he's figured it out. It's not possible."You speak the same language as this guy. I got the feeling he was going to walk away from our deal when we were talking with my dad. But I think I can save it. I thinkyoucan save it," he says, kissing me on the cheek before walking away to resume his mingling.
Normally, I'd be frustrated with him using our party to focus on networking. But tonight, I'm grateful. Because if he's focusing on clients, he won't notice I'm gone.
I take one last look at Robert, the ache in my chest growing so uncomfortable, I rub my sternum to ease it. Each word he sings is another stab in my heart. Another wound opening, threatening to bleed me dry. But Bobby’s the only one who can see it.
His jaw clenches, and I shake my head, pressing my lips together and wrapping my arms around myself as if it will help hold me together. His eyes are pained as he takes in my expression, and he takes a step forward as if he wants to leap off the stage and make it better. But he can't. It’s as impossible as me forgetting my favorite poem.
Or the lyrics ofthissong.
I turn on my heel and walk to the balcony, closing the door to muffle the solemn sound of guitar and loaded words. The pain of his melodic lies.
The air is crisp, and it shocks me back into reality.This is the man who destroyed me. And now, he's a stranger. Nothing good can come of me watching him perform, of allowing those memories space to sharpen. So instead, I wrap myself in armor, just like I’ve done every day for the past six years.
THEN
September 2016
What I’ve been searching for
Without even starting to look
A melody swimming straight into my blood
And the poems in an old dusty book
—An excerpt from "Almost There," written and performed by Robert Beckett
I’m not one to say meeting a boy is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but at a minimum, getting a latte after my SATs on Saturday feels like it was fate. I’m practically skipping as I rush to Joe's Place a few days later, somehow certain he’ll be there.
With fake confidence, I walk straight to Molly behind the counter, not allowing my head to turn toward my usual spotorthe chair next to it. But the way my skin buzzes tells me I was right. I canfeelhim.
“You’re late.” Molly plops a cup of coffee on the counter, full to the brim with foam. Today, she’s attempted to draw a snowflake.
I think.
"I've been late before," I say, picking up the large, warm mug.
"Mhmm." Her eyes drift to my eyelashes and mouth. “Not wearing makeup, you haven't."
"It's just lip gloss." Blood rushes to my cheeks. "My lips were dry."
"Whatever you say, Beth," she sing-songs, turning away to clean the milk steamer. "Oh." Molly looks over her shoulder. “He's here, in case you were wondering."
"I wasn't—" I stop as her eyes flick back to my darkened eyelashes. "I hate you," I mumble, shoving a dollar into the tip jar.
Molly's laughter follows me as I turn andcarefullycarry my coffee toward my regular seat.
"Beth."His voice sets my skin on fire.
I finally allow my eyes to drift to where Bobby’s sitting. He’s slumped back in my chair with his ankle crossed over his knee as if he’s settled in for the long haul. Maybe, as if he were waiting for me.A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I can't help the blush that warms my cheeks again.
"You're here," I say, pointing out the obvious as I sit down and pull out my poetry book, opening it to one I’ve been working on since last night. Bobby's eyes drift across the page, but I don’t pull it out of view.
"Fourth day in a row," he answers with a shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck as if suddenly nervous. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again or not.”
