Last Minute
Another excruciatingly long day of discussing iambic pentameter, of discussing what is meant by this word as opposed to that, of trying to incite some sort of passion for literature that James knew his students (the majority) wouldn't have. As he entered his apartment, he collapsed down onto his living room couch, letting his bag fall haphazardly to the floor. His face buried deep in a pillow, he blindly reached for the remote on the coffee table a foot to the side of him, and pressed a button. A few moments later, melodies and harmonies were filling his apartment and soothing his buzzing mind. It was only after he let the song go for a minute or two that he realized what song it was, and though his finger twitched to press the next button, it stayed put.
"I'll buy a magazine searching for your face
From coast to coast, or where ever I find my place.
I'll track you on the radio,
and I'll sign your list in a different name.
But as close as I get to you,
It's not the same."
James' finger kept twitching, kept reaching for the button only to retreat in sadistic fear. No, let himself be tortured. Let himself wallow in things that were lost.
"So, I will head out alone, hope for the best.
We can pat ourselves on the back as say that we tried,
And if one of us makes it big,
We can spill our regrets,
And talk about how the love never dies.
But you and I know the reason why
I'm gone, you're still there,
I'm gone, you're still there,
I'm gone, and you're still there."
He flipped himself over on the couch, the heat from his own breath too much for him. Staring up at the blank, white ceiling that seemed to remind him of a clean slate, a brand new beginning, he could feel a lump slowly starting to grow in the middle of his throat and in the pit of his stomach. The white ceiling promised new change, promised a chance to start over, but the small bits of dirt that speckled the otherwise pristine view reminded him that no matter how much of a restart he actually got, there would always be something left behind. He wouldn't ever be rid of what he wanted to run away from, no matter how hard he tried.
"So, steal the show,
And do your best to cover the tracks that I have left.
I wish you well,
And hope you find whatever you're looking for.
The way I might've changed my mind,
But you only showed me the door."
Closing his eyes, Farah's face flashed in his mind as he let himself get lost in the lyrics and the sad, morose melody. Clenching his jaw as he always did when he was refusing to let himself feel what he wanted to feel, his heart rattled against its ivory cage, wanting desperately to be set free. It couldn't bear the constriction that its ropes were inflicting upon it; how was it supposed to fly when it was so heavy?
"So, I will head out alone, hope for the best.
We can pat ourselves on the back and say that we tried.
And if one of us makes it big,
We can spill our regrets,
And talk about how the love never dies.
But you and I,
You and I,
You and I know the reason why."
Sitting up from what once felt like a coffin, he grabbed the portable phone that was resting comfortably and unused next to the remote, dialed a number he'd committed to memory, and pressed it against his ear. His skin hot to the touch and his eyes stinging with salty water, he waited for the ringing to stop.
"Hi, thank you for calling Frenchway Travel. We specialize in last-minute travel arrangements with no stress to you. This is Amanda speaking, how can I help you today?"
James hesitated before finally speaking, almost as if it was a waterfall of words and he was incapable of stopping it.
"I need a one-way flight to California, as soon as possible."
"I'll buy a magazine searching for your face
From coast to coast, or where ever I find my place.
I'll track you on the radio,
and I'll sign your list in a different name.
But as close as I get to you,
It's not the same."
James' finger kept twitching, kept reaching for the button only to retreat in sadistic fear. No, let himself be tortured. Let himself wallow in things that were lost.
"So, I will head out alone, hope for the best.
We can pat ourselves on the back as say that we tried,
And if one of us makes it big,
We can spill our regrets,
And talk about how the love never dies.
But you and I know the reason why
I'm gone, you're still there,
I'm gone, you're still there,
I'm gone, and you're still there."
He flipped himself over on the couch, the heat from his own breath too much for him. Staring up at the blank, white ceiling that seemed to remind him of a clean slate, a brand new beginning, he could feel a lump slowly starting to grow in the middle of his throat and in the pit of his stomach. The white ceiling promised new change, promised a chance to start over, but the small bits of dirt that speckled the otherwise pristine view reminded him that no matter how much of a restart he actually got, there would always be something left behind. He wouldn't ever be rid of what he wanted to run away from, no matter how hard he tried.
"So, steal the show,
And do your best to cover the tracks that I have left.
I wish you well,
And hope you find whatever you're looking for.
The way I might've changed my mind,
But you only showed me the door."
Closing his eyes, Farah's face flashed in his mind as he let himself get lost in the lyrics and the sad, morose melody. Clenching his jaw as he always did when he was refusing to let himself feel what he wanted to feel, his heart rattled against its ivory cage, wanting desperately to be set free. It couldn't bear the constriction that its ropes were inflicting upon it; how was it supposed to fly when it was so heavy?
"So, I will head out alone, hope for the best.
We can pat ourselves on the back and say that we tried.
And if one of us makes it big,
We can spill our regrets,
And talk about how the love never dies.
But you and I,
You and I,
You and I know the reason why."
Sitting up from what once felt like a coffin, he grabbed the portable phone that was resting comfortably and unused next to the remote, dialed a number he'd committed to memory, and pressed it against his ear. His skin hot to the touch and his eyes stinging with salty water, he waited for the ringing to stop.
"Hi, thank you for calling Frenchway Travel. We specialize in last-minute travel arrangements with no stress to you. This is Amanda speaking, how can I help you today?"
James hesitated before finally speaking, almost as if it was a waterfall of words and he was incapable of stopping it.
"I need a one-way flight to California, as soon as possible."