another life

song to short story, ep. 6: "Mia & Sebastian's Theme" by Justin Hurwitz

You said something. I didn’t fully perceive it, but my brain just about registered something vaguely entertaining. Trying to respond appropriately, I smiled. It was a friendly, casual smile, that made its way as close as it could to my eyes, but fizzled out right before reaching them. I felt weak, like I was failing at my job of pretending everything was fine. Regardless, you didn’t seem to notice, thankfully.

The dialogue continued, flowing from topic to topic with bizarre normality, considering the weight of what lay between us. It was a miracle we were even this friendly at all - all too often I’d lost people forever after letting that cursed confession slip off my tongue. But you’d taken it incredibly well, and so, friends we remained. And yet, as we talked, and our eyes met occasionally, I couldn’t help but sink a little in the dark chocolate-colored depths. Conversation floated in and out of my consciousness in waves as if I was listening through a sea shell, while I lost myself in thoughts about a time and a place where everything was different. A reality where things aligned the way they couldn’t in the one we were living in.

I looked into your eyes and saw them differently now; I pictured that spark in them, the one you got when you looked at something or someone you loved; the one I’d dreamed of for so long, only to find out it was out of my reach. But in my mind, in that moment, there it was - dancing sanguinely in the corners of your beautiful eyes, a gentle, affectionate gold light transmitting a care unlike anything else.

We were back in that October day again, standing on opposite ends of a dark dancefloor, surrounded by people enjoying the loud music cluttering up the space, with its overwhelming, pulsing bass. I still wasn’t sure how I’d got there - I wasn’t really usually much of a “night out” person. And yet, as soon as I saw you walk in from across the room, I knew that there was a good reason for me to be on that floor. Today was the day, I knew it.

I approached you carefully through the crowd; just as I reached you, as if on cue, the music switched to a softer song, something that felt like the perfect background for what I was about to do.

“Hey” - I said softly, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. You turned to face me, and a warm smile crossed your beautiful face.

“Hi” - you replied.

“Do you want to dance?”

You smiled again and nodded, taking my hand. We moved together as the music played, and I thought to myself: you’re a little too close to me for this to not mean anything, right? I didn’t want to do anything, not yet. But the way you were looking at me, the way that spark danced along with us, I knew I couldn’t stay quiet forever. It felt like this would finally be it.

As the song wound down, a nervousness started to creep up into my chest, like steam rising off a boiling pot. I knew this was the moment. I cleared my throat, hoping I didn’t sound too awkward, and said softly:

“I…wanted to tell you something. I have for a while now, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. I’m still not sure, really, I-I guess it’s better if I just say it. I like you. More than as just a friend. I thought I felt like there was…something here, but if you don’t feel the same way, that’s totally okay.”

Your smile widened, and, without saying anything, you just pulled me into a tight hug, a gesture filled with affection bursting out from below the surface.

When you pulled away, you leaned in closer and whispered:

“I do. I feel the same. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to finally make a move.”

A breath that I hadn’t even realized I had been holding escaped my lungs. I grinned back at you, and it felt like the spark in your eyes had bridged the gap to the one in mine, and the warm electricity was crackling between us, inviting us to keep going.

“Can I kiss you?” — I heard myself say, almost as if from a distance. You just nodded, so I leaned in, closing what remained of the gap. As my lips tenderly pressed against yours, I felt as though a massive weight collapsed from my chest, shattering into tiny particles and scattering into the air, as my hand slipped into your hair softly. The moment was every bit as magical as I had hoped it would be, and then some; I could almost tangibly sense my soul winding together with yours, and it was a feeling unlike anything I’d ever experienced. The music had gone back to something loud, fast and obnoxious now, with the significantly inebriated crowd around us pushing and pulling against each other clumsily, lights flashing wildly once more; but, as far as we were concerned, we may as well have been the only ones in a totally dark, silent room.

In a flash of light, it was February. Valentine’s Day came (and was beginning to go by now) with a typical winter chill to it, but that didn’t matter to us. We were on the rooftop of your apartment building, watching the sun make its way slowly towards where it would inevitably soon vanish beyond the horizon. We were both bundled up in thick winter coats and a warm blanket; but the thing keeping me warmest was still your head on my shoulder. As the sky began to bleed into the beautiful kaleidoscope of colors immediately preceding nightfall, I shifted slightly, so I could catch a glimpse of your face in my peripheral vision, peacefully laying there, bathed in shimmering, colorful light; you must’ve felt me looking, because you turned to look at me, the eye contact making me notice that spark that I loved shining stronger than ever. I could scarcely believe my luck.

Now it was spring; we sat on a park bench somewhere, each holding a cup of coffee, your legs slung casually over one of mine. We were laughing - about something you’d just said, and also about nothing at all at the same time - just expressing the pure, tender joy of sharing each other’s company. The crisp park air made its way through your hair, ruffling it ever so slightly. I straightened it with a soft touch, and used the movement as an excuse to pull you into a quick little kiss. You melted into it, and we just stayed in the moment for a while, coffee slowly going cool in our free hands. I always loved moments like this with you - letting everything fade away around us, blissfully losing awareness of the world as we got ever closer.

Summer came around next; we were at the beach, playing in the uncharacteristically warm water of the ocean. You splashed me with water and let out a playful, giddy little giggle, which promptly turned into a cute little shriek as I returned the splash. I waded over to you and pulled you into the water with me, and we rolled over together a few times before resurfacing breathlessly. The hot sun generously shared its golden light with us, stroking our wet hair kindly as we frolicked in the water, carefree and happy and as in love as ever.

“Shall we get out of here and get some ice cream?” — I asked.

“Oh, you always know just what to say, don’t you?” — you replied, laughing, — “Ice cream sounds perfect, love. Let’s dry off and head to that place we passed on the way. It looked amazing.”

“Sounds like a plan to me” — I said, nodding and smiling as I brushed a dripping strand of dark velvet out of your face. I loved doing things like that - they were so small and simple, but they felt intimate and gentle in a way indescribable with any words. Beyond the big, obvious romantic moments, more than anything in our relationship I lived for the little things, the minor instances that reminded me just how much I loved you — because the fact they were shared with you made each and every one feel important.

But of course, none of it was real. Reality burst through the cracks in my visions of this other world, where I was happy, and you were mine, like a deluge of ice-cold water, making my entire body feel numb all of a sudden. I was still sitting there next to you, talking to you about a topic that had slipped so far away from me that I had no hope of identifying it anymore. I was your friend, and you were just the latest tear to join the plethora forever adorning the tattered edges of my worn, stitched up soul. You were another story of hypotheticals, another tapestry of “what ifs” and “what could’ve beens”. And I was left to flail helplessly in the realization of just how hopeless and idiotic my optimism had been when it came to you.

I vaguely overheard you saying “It’s pretty late, I should probably get home; I’ve got some errands that I still need to run before the stores all close”, and then myself replying something to the effect of “Okay, sure. Well, it was great seeing you, like always”. The exchange finally pulled me fully out of the ever-deepening void of my thoughts and back into the moment, where we paid for our drinks and exchanged our goodbyes; I made sure to catch one last glimpse of your eyes before you turned and left the coffee shop, smiling at me politely as you turned to look at me one more time through the glass door, then disappeared from sight.

I sat there, coat in hand, watching the spot where you’d just been. God, why did it always have to be this way with me? I must’ve been frozen for a while, because I suddenly felt a light tap on my shoulder, and turned to see a waitress, looking slightly concerned as she surveyed me quickly.

“Is everything okay, sir?” — she asked.

I shook my head, not having the energy or the heart to lie.

“No,” — I replied simply, — “no, it really isn’t. But I don’t think there’s anything anyone can really do about it.”

Her face became more compassionate.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” — she said, before retaining a deal of professionalism and asking: “Would you like to order anything else?”

I shook my head.

“No, thanks, I really should be going,” — I replied, standing up and putting my coat on, — “The coffee was great, by the way. I’ll be sure to come back here.”

“Thank you,” — she said, as I started to head out, — “Have a great rest of your day, sir. I hope whatever you’re dealing with gets better soon.”

“Thank you. I hope so too” — I replied, nodding as I stepped out into the cold, wrapping the coat tighter around myself. Hope. What a strange thing. In such a short span of time, back then, I went from having all of it to none of it; and, even now, it still hadn’t really recovered. Maybe some day it would. For now though, as I trudged down the street, sad and alone, and rain began to pour down on me — of course this had to be the day I wore a coat with no hood, and forgot my umbrella at home — I still felt pretty far away from recovering it.

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Author’s note: Tried something a little different with this series this time; obviously, as this is an instrumental, there aren’t any lyrics to base things off of. I considered basing this story off the movie that Mia & Sebastian’s Theme is from, but eventually just settled on trying to replicate the kind of vibe that this piece makes me feel in a fictional situation, and combining it a little with my present real-life feelings. Hope everyone’s having a bearable Valentine’s Day. Love you all.

[Cover art by Jasper Francis Cropsey]