☼☼☼
And she only reveals what she wants you to see
She hides like a child but she's always a woman to me
She can lead you to love, she can take you or leave you
She can ask for the truth but she'll never believe you
☼☼☼
Harry's P.O.V.
Fire. That is all I saw. My clean white sheets were being encompassed by the brightest, white hot, orange flames. The smell, however, was pleasant. It didn't smell like typical burning or like burnt flesh. I didn't feel the pull in my throat that comes from throwing plastic in a fire. It smelled like marshmallows, sugar crystallizing in front of me. My breathing became heavier, but not because it was restricted from smoke. Thick smoke and the smell of a burning bed should cause a panic, but I found myself comforted by it. As I laid there, surrounded by the cool flames, I took in a deep breath in order to get the burnt sugar smell embedded in my nostrils. I wanted the syrup to coat the insides of my lungs. My body was completely relaxed. There is a bonfire in the middle of my bedroom, and I feel at peace. I didn't have to turn my head to see the source of the fire. I knew it was her.
I turned my head so I could memorize the vision laying next to me. There she was, at the center of it all, glowing. The flames were being emitted by her, but at the same time they seemed to not touch her, as if the flames were respecting their queen. I was mesmerized by the way her hair fanned out on the pillow, another mini fire coming from her mind.
I had to touch her.
I couldn't feel the flames around me. The flames that surrounded my side of the bed were just a projection. I was surrounded by a reflection of her fire. A reflection of her.
It wasn't until I reached out to touch her that the flames bit back at me. My hand instantly burned. I could feel the layers of my skin char and crack. My hand went from ice cold to blazing hot and glowing orange. I smacked it on my sheets, attempting to put out the flames and get some relief, but all I did was cause the fire to spread. The pain was immeasurable. The air shifted and the fire went from comforting to petrifying and all consuming. The sweet smell of sugar was gone, and I was being burned alive from the inside out. I tried to scream but nothing came out. My mouth was open, and I could feel my chest straining trying to get any noise out. Something wasn't right. I had to wake her up.
"Sunshine!" I screamed as hard as I could with the little energy I possessed. The result came out only just above a whisper. In that moment I knew that I would never be able to wake her. It was getting harder to breathe and I needed to act quickly.
"Sunshine! Please! Help!" I was giving it everything I got, gasping in between every word, only to end up inhaling more smoke. Anxiety started building in my chest. If the flames burned me trying to get to her, what could they be doing to her? Fire wouldn't hurt its own kind, would it? I've always viewed her as one with the flame.
"J."
No response. I take a deep breath and try to brace myself to stick my hands through the fire. I can't let her burn out like this. This isn't how she crumbles. She was glowing. Her limbs mimicked the logs we spent so long staring at. Her veins glowed orange, similar to the way you can see light move through a dry piece of wood in a fire. This isn't how she cracks.
"Jaime, baby. I need you to wake up. Baby please, wake up."
As my plea left my mouth, I watched as the flames engulfed her. Her limp body fell through the mattress, and through the floor; her body flaking like pieces of ash caught in the wind. The flames followed her down like spirits flying through the air. I leaned over to look down the mattress to find a black hole. I throw the covers off my body ready to dive in after her. I had to follow her. The second my body falls through the darkness, I wake up with a jolt.
August 28th 1997
My breathing is so rapid it is debilitating. Any attempt to regulate my breathing is a failure. I am trying my best to get oxygen in my lungs without coughing. I feel like my lungs are filled with black smoke. My body is so drenched in sweat that I felt like I just got out of the pool. I was made of wax, melting from the fire in my dream. The smell of campfire and sea air infiltrated my nose, lingering in my memory. I squeeze my eyes shut so hard it's painful and I can feel my veins on my head popping out. I can't tell if I am trying to wake myself up or will my body to go back to sleep. Either way, I don't want to open my eyes.
I dare to open my eyes, but only once I have my breathing under control. I look to my right to see the sight I knew would be waiting for me. Knowing what it was didn't make it hurt any less. The sheets next to me are still tucked in. The pillows had no indication that a person had ever laid their head down there. I took one last deep breath, trying to come to terms with reality.
She wasn't there. She never was.
My collarbones actually ached because I was so used to waking up to her nails carving my skin. The digital clock read 1:32 am. I wouldn't be able to sleep without getting a paintbrush in my hand and at least attempting to capture my dream. It has been this way ever since I was a little kid. I have always had intense dreams, good and bad, that would wake me out of my slumber. When I was younger, I would grab paper and my crayons and sit at my desk drawing until morning. Or until I felt it was complete. As I got older and started to develop a love for painting, I played around with switching mediums, hoping something good would come from my dreams.
They were never this frequent, but since I left Spoon Lake a few days ago, they haven't seemed to stop. There was one constant. She was always in them, and I had no idea what that meant.
Jaime and I had a great summer together, but it was never meant to be anything more than that. We went our separate ways, and it wasn't a big deal. Which is what I keep reminding myself. She's back to her regular life, and I'm back to mine. But when my family packed up the cars, and we got on the Parkway, something didn't sit right with me. I knew this girl had affected me, way more than either of us had intended.
I threw my sweatpants back on and grabbed a random shirt from my closet. My body felt like it was a thousand degrees, but I didn't want to have to worry about scrubbing paint off my body later.
I stopped by my little kitchen to grab a water bottle, downing it all in one go. My throat felt so dry and I didn't know if it was because I was screaming in my sleep or if my brain was still convinced that it was infiltrated by smoke. It all felt too real. I have had bad dreams all my life, but they have never taken such a physical toll on me.
At least since I was living alone, I didn't have to worry about waking anyone up with my night terrors. I slipped through the studio as quietly as I could, not wanting to cause too much noise. It's not like anyone was here but I've always had this weird connection to art, especially what I create. To me, to disturb the studio would be to disturb the art.
It was quiet. I needed that quiet. I needed a moment to take in this place that was mine and only mine.
I had been going to the same art studio since middle school. I took art lessons there after school, and eventually started booking time to paint there in my free time. Augustine, the older woman who ran the studio, informed me about the apartment above the studio that she was trying to rent out. As soon as I was going to college, I knew I wouldn't be living in the dorms, but right here.
Classes started next week, and I was finishing out my last year. Not that I had a lot of freedom to begin with, but I knew once college ended I would be selling my soul for good. Would I even have summers off? Am I ever going to see Jaime again?
I couldn't think like that. Just because the summer meant nothing to her, doesn't mean it meant nothing to me. I would prove her wrong. I had to. I just wasn't ready.
Since Augustine let me rent out upstairs, I don't have to pay for studio time. She says it's "included in the rent," but I think she just likes having me around. Plus I overpay her for this place. I usually pay a little extra on the rent and she pretends to not see it. But considering the money is coming from my parents, I can afford to chip in on the overhead costs. And I can come and go as I please as long as I don't get in anyone's way. Luckily, most of the time I spend painting, most people are asleep.
I looked out the big window, looking up at the moon. It's funny how the moonlight can remind me so much of my sunshine. I worry about her at night. Is she sleeping? Did she have a nightmare tonight? Is there someone there to hold her? I shouldn't worry. It's not my place, but it's been a week and I can't help but think that my 'place' is next to her with her arms around me. If only she thought the same.
I had three separate easels, all with different works started on them. The floor was littered with old dried up paint brushes and random globs of paint from previous nights just like this one. I tripped over a tube of paint trying to get to the easel closest to the windows.
I used to paint during the day because I prefer daylight over artificial light. Art should be seen in natural lighting, changing with the day. I know some artists crave darkness with a single light source on their work, but not me. My colors always come out dull in comparison.
I haven't had time to paint during the day, always busy with work for my mom or preparing classes. Night was the only time I got a break, but painting wasn't feeling like the release it used to. Painting used to be my escape, and now it almost feels like a punishment.
It was the only time I got to see her. Be with her.
I was a puppet, with the strings inserted deep into my shoulder blades, attached with knives. There was a shadow behind me, puppeteering me, forcing the brush against the canvas. With the tiniest move of his wrist, my right arm was up, painting like a mad man. Brush stroke after brush stroke, he pulled my strings taught, directing every movement. The shadow rotated his wrist. I mixed paint colors and kept mixing until he thought I had the perfect color. I wasn't allowed to stop until he let me.
I started with the easiest part, painting the bed and white sheets. I didn't want to paint the flames. Even though it was just a painting I didn't want her to be hurt. She had enough fire in her. I didn't want to immortalize her burning, she did that on her own.
As the pillow came to be on the canvas my chest tightened. I was instantly brought back to those late nights and early mornings tangled between her sheets. I could smell the sea salt and lavender scent that lingered whenever she got up.
I painted her silhouette. Twelve weeks was all it took to memorize every inch of her body. Well, it really only took a few days. Every curve, freckle, stretch mark, I had committed to memory. I didn't need her in front of me to paint her in pose. I painted her in the same position she slept in every night, leaning on her right side with her right arm near her face. At least, that's how she started out the night, always so exhausted. Eventually she would curl behind me, never realizing how much she loved to be the big spoon.
Her left hand wrapped across her body. While I painted it I could feel my arm in hers. I always adapted to her. Pulling her as close as I could to me with my right arm around her, underneath the arm that was across her body.
I started to paint her face. Even when she slept she held tension in her forehead. Unconscious, and her brain was still taunting her, making her work overtime. I moved on to her soft lips, my heart aching at the memory of the way they felt against mine. Before I knew it I had painted the rest of her features, and it was like I was looking through a portal right at her.
"Hey, sunshine."
By the time the sun started to rise, I was starting on her hair. I saved it for last for this reason. I wanted to make sure it was as bright as possible, my brush strokes imitating the rays of sun coming through the windows. She doesn't deserve to be painted in the darkness. My brush caressed the canvas the same way my fingers would play with her hair. The pressure on my chest reminded me of what it felt like to have her fall asleep on me.
"How long have you been up?" A sharp feminine voice pulled me out of my concentration. My eyes looked out the window and adjusted to the light. It was way later than I thought it was.
"Since before two. What time is it?" I stretched and yawned.
"Almost 9." She grabbed the kimono like robe around her shoulders and pulled it tighter. She tipped her head toward the easel. "Do I even need to come back there to see what's on the canvas?"
I rolled my eyes. "No."
"When are you going to see her again?" She asked, her tone packed full of no-bullshit. She reminded me of a colder Monica. My heart ached at the thought of Monica, and the knowledge that she's keeping up our promise.
"Not for a while. I just left, I can't turn right around. I don't think I'm ready for that."
She scoffs, and laughs in a way that sounds mocking, but if you know Aggie like I do, it was loving.
"Ready for that? You spent the summer attached to the girl's hip, and now you're not ready to visit for a weekend?" She flicked her wrist like it was the most incredulous thing she had ever heard.
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back on the table. "It's just not realistic Aggie. It all boils down to the fact that I got attached and she didn't. She told me not to get attached and I did it anyway. It's fine though."
One eyebrow raises as she crosses her arms. "It's fine? That's what you're going with?"
I washed all my brushes and put away all my supplies to distract myself. How was I supposed to say that I can't go back because I didn't know what I was more scared of, looking at her and seeing nothing in her eyes, or her looking in mine, and seeing everything she wouldn't let me say.
I left the canvas on the easel, but flipped it out so she could face the window for the day.
My back was so sore from standing and stretching to paint for hours without taking a break. It was the same feeling every time. Once the puppet master picked up my strings, my mind went blank until he released me, coming back down to Earth, tired, sore, alone.
"You can't avoid her forever," Augustine hums, her thin red painted lips pursing.
"I'm not avoiding anything! She's not here to avoid!" I sing as I climb the stairs.
"Tell that to the canvas!," her voice bounces off the walls.
I ran up to the apartment to get the paint off me. I thought I'd be able to have at least a cup of coffee before the devil came knocking, but then my phone rang.
"Good morning mother," I say as I press the phone to my ear. Exhausted as I was, I knew there was no chance for me to go back to sleep. Caffeine would be my saving grace for now. Every conversation with her is a losing battle, but I haven't given up on the war yet.
"Morning," she says and I can tell she's talking while also reading the paper. She had to be nose deep in the business section, her own personal gossip column, trying to see which of her "friends" were doing well, and which were doing badly. It's all a game to her. But, the one thing you should know about my mother, she never plays a game she can lose.
I pour the coffee into my mug and spoon a bunch of sugar into it. I lean against the counter, praying that the caffeine will hit me soon enough. The sugar burns against my tongue and I groan, craving my girl.
"Harry." I can hear the deep scowl on her face. I know exactly where this is going. I avoided it as long as I could.
I take my time, gulping down a large sip of the hot beverage. "Yes, mother?"
"What day is it today?" Her voice is like needles in my ears.
"You tell me you're holding the pape-" I can barely get my sarcastic comment out before she cuts me off.
"What. Day. Is it?" I hear her fold the paper and place it on the counter in front of her.
"Thursday. August 28th," I reply, not really in the mood for another fight.
"And what is in six days?"
"September 3rd?" my voice covered in sarcasm. She was getting more mad by the second. I ran my fingers through my hair, knowing that is actually where this conversation is heading.
Her jaw was clenched so tight I thought the plastic surgery in her face was going to explode. "And September 3rd is?"
I release a big sigh, reciting the exact phrase she has been drilling into my head for the past three weeks. "September 3rd is the annual investment dinner. The event will be packed with potential new clients. Please look presentable Harry, you represent me, the company, and this family."
"Correct. So would you like to explain why your hair is still currently longer than mine?"
I hadn't seen her in days, but she knew I still hadn't gone to cut it off. My hair drove her absolutely crazy. I fought with her on it for years and we finally came to an agreement where I could grow it out during the summer, as long as it was cut off by the first meeting in fall. Twenty-one years old and I was fighting with my mother over my hair. Well, it was more like I was fighting with my boss. I knew I was going to have to cut it off eventually, but I was hoping it wouldn't be this soon.
"I'll go to Vinny's today and get it taken care of," I say, hoping she'll just drop it at that.
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. I knew she wouldn't be happy with where I got it cut, but I knew she was fine as long as it got cut. "Thank you. This dinner is a big deal. You're becoming an important member of the company. You're going to start getting your own accounts and clients. I need you to look presentable, you represent me, and my company."
"I understand."
I hopped in the shower to scrub the paint that inevitably made its way all over my face and wrists. I found my mind wandering to Spoon Lake, wishing I could have stayed just a little bit longer.
☾☾☾
Walking into the tiny barber shop I was hit with the smell of shampoo and after shave. The bright fluorescent lights bounced off the mirrors that lined both walls. In front of the mirrors were rows of old red leather chairs. The black and white checkered floor made it look like it could be any random barber shop. And that's exactly what it was. Vincenzo's had been here since the 50s, and I stumbled into it one day just walking through town. My family hated that I went here to get my hair cut. They would prefer if I traveled to some high end place in the city, or had our personal barber come to the house. I was forced to be snobby about most things, this was one of my few places of normalcy.
I strolled into Vincenzo's one day, attracted by the decor and music blasting from the inside. I sat down and got to talking to the man himself. He had a big personality that pulled information out of me that I hadn't told anyone. He was like an old family friend who I could tell anything to. It's like a therapy session with a haircut thrown in.
"Sorry ma'am the hair salon is the next street ov-HARRY!!!" I laughed along with him. Four years now I've been growing my hair out and he did this bit with me every time. "I'm sorry sonny, I thought yous was a woman with all that hair." His thick Italian American accent never failed to put a smile on my face.
I strolled through the door and took a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting area. "Vinny! Been alright?"
He pointed at me with the scissors that he was using to cut the hair off the older gentleman that was in his chair "You know it! Is it that time of year again? Samson losin' his strength?"
I let out a dramatic sigh and put my hand over my heart. "Yeah, it's time again. Gotta put on the white collars and impress clients for the boss."
"You know I don't like that woman." He goes back to cutting the man in the chair's hair.
I shake my head at him. "You have never met my mother." Most people haven't, but her reputation precedes her.
"And what does that tell ya eh? I got a third eye pal. I knows when people are good. Why do you think I willingly cut your mop every year eh?"
"I mean, you're a barber...and I pay you?" I grin at him. We both know I only said it to piss him off. I really loved coming here.
"OHH, Watch it with that mouth. I know how much your hair means to you, and I hold it in my hands. Be a shame if suddenly you had a strip of hair missin' down the middle." He points his scissors back at me, with his eyebrows raised so high they are going into his hairline.
I lift my hands up in surrender. "Alright alright. I'll be quiet."
He dismisses me with his hands. "Nah, you know we's don't do quiet here. So tell me, how was your summer? Another three months of you being your parents bitch?"
"No. Well, yes. But it was much more tolerable this time around." I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to force my smile away as a presentation of the summer's moments flicker through my mind.
"Mhm. Tolerable? What made it so tolerable? Or, judging by that look in your eye, and the smile on ya lip, should I ask, who made it more tolerable?"
I push my lips together, trying not to let everything just slip out. I couldn't tell if talking about Jaime was helping me move on, or keeping me attached.
"Spit it out, Styles."
"It was a girl. Just a fun summer fling. We went our separate ways, no hard feelings. She's living her life down there, and I am back to mine up here." As the words left my mouth my tongue felt like it was made of knives. Everything I said was true. It was just a fun summer thing.
"Bullshit," he murmured just loud enough for me to hear it.
"I'm sorry Vincenzo? What did you say?"
"That's fuckin' bullshit and you know it kid. No hard feelings? You found some beautiful girl, spent the summer fooling around with her and you just left? Disappeared out of thin air. And she was okay with that?"
Jaime truly didn't care. Our goodbye was totally casual as if I was going to see her the next day even though we both knew I wasn't. There wasn't a tear shed, no awkwardness, no pleading. Just her dad's ring burning an imprint on my finger.
We knew what we were getting into from the start. Jaime didn't bat an eye. I'm a little messed up over it. I spent almost every day with the most gorgeous, funny, quick witted person I have met, and I had to leave.
I didn't fit in her world, and she didn't fit in mine. As much as it stung thinking of her now, I knew the feeling would fade. I looked up at the clock and saw that it was 11am. She was probably opening Lon's right now, joking with Jess or Monica. My fist tightened thinking about James, but then I remembered if it hadn't happened by now, it probably wouldn't. She was satisfied with her life, and I was happy for her.
I look back up at Vinny, twisting the red stoned ring around my finger. "She was more than okay. Telling you Vin, it was just a summer fling. It's fall now. Everything ends eventually."
"Yeah sure, that starry look in your eyes when you just thought of her says otherwise. Come on, get in the chair." I plop into the chair, my heart in my stomach. I really didn't want to cut off my hair. I feel like a different person with short hair. I was cold, and harsh. I was my mother. I looked into the mirror and all I saw was a doll. Made of plastic, being dressed in different outfits so different people could play with me depending on the situation. The only way to deal with it was to be numb, or at least pretend to be.
Vincenzo draped the cool plastic cape around my neck and secured the buttons with a snap. I came to the shop with my hair washed, wet, and tied up. I loved Vincenzo, but I hated getting my hair washed at the barber. I know most people love it but for me I felt trapped. The pressure of water pulled on my neck, and I didn't like anything that made me feel like I couldn't control my own physical body.
As Vinny pulled my hair down from the elastic it was tied in, a song came on the radio that I hadn't heard in a bit. My mind was instantly taken back to one specific night, and even though I knew I was torturing myself, I had to let the memory play through.
July 1997
I sat at the bar waiting for her to finish closing for the night. It was just her and I. Monica had gone home early, trusting Jaime to close by herself. "'If you want something done right, do it yourself,' that's what my mom used to say."
The first time she told me that anecdote, I couldn't help but smile at how much it fit her. She's been so independent from such a young age. I envy her strength. After last night I couldn't help but cling to her like a shadow. She didn't need me following her around like a sad puppy, but I couldn't help it. I tried to get her to take the day off, but it was a lost cause. She would never leave Monica like that. She works so hard, and she's so tired all the time. Even in her dreams she is forced to be strong, fighting against supernatural forces. She never gets any rest.
She was off all day. She was making drinks slower, and she wasn't even trying to fake it to customers for tips. She just focused on whatever task was in front of her, and got it done. She was still the best employee here and could run circles around the other employees blindfolded, but she was having a hard time.
The night dragged on, and I couldn't wait until I got her alone again. When the last customer finally stumbles out around 2am, I see her breathe a sigh of relief. A little tension in her shoulders released when she realized everyone had left. We didn't talk. Her brain was already on overdrive making sure she remembers everything on her mental checklist. On a normal night, she could close this place without a second thought. Tonight she was struggling, and she doesn't need me adding on to that.
While she was wiping up tables with her back turned to me I walked over to look at the jukebox. My eyes scanned over all the songs, and one in particular jumped out at me that reminded me of a particular ray of sunshine in the corner. I fished my hands in my pockets and found a quarter, slid it into the machine and selected the song.
The song that was currently playing still had a bit to go, so I took my time, walking up behind her. When she sensed my presence her hand wiping the table completely stopped, and when my chest hit her back I heard her breathing hitch in her throat. My hands hit flat on the table, caging her body in so she couldn't go anywhere. I stood there for a few seconds, enjoying the pressure of her body against mine, hearing her take deep breaths to calm herself. The silence between us only added to the tension.
I placed my fingertips on her shoulder, and slowly feathered them down her arm. By the time my fingers got to her elbow I saw goosebumps up and down her whole arm. I wrapped my hand gently around her elbow, squeezed it lightly, and started to rub my thumb back and forth against her soft skin, leaning down just a little to place a gentle kiss on her shoulder. Her breathing shallows as she drops the spray bottle that was in her left hand, clearly not expecting me to do that. I smile against her skin. My fingers continue to trail down her arm, and when they finally reach her hand on the table, I take the cloth out of her hand, and throw it into the booth we were standing at. I place my hand back on top of hers, slotting my fingers between hers and putting my head back on her shoulder, with my mouth close to ear, as if I was about to whisper something.
I step back a few inches and use the grip on her hand to turn her to me. Her face had softened from earlier, putting up a hard front as a way to deflect from the world. Having her face this close to me knocked the wind right out of me. I was so lost looking at her, I forgot why I walked over here in the first place. There is a reason they tell you not to look directly at the sun.
The jukebox started playing the song I put on. I laced my fingers with hers and gently pulled her to the center of the floor. She told me once that there were usually tables and chairs here, and Monica cleared them out to allow more room for standing patrons. She's always behind that bar working. I guess if she really wanted to be a tourist, she should look at her place of work like one too.
We stood on the floor, close enough to the jukebox so she could hear the song loud and clear in this tiny restaurant. I placed my left hand on the small of her back, and raised our hands that were intertwined, as Billy Joel's "She's Always A Woman To Me" played in the background.
I start swaying us back and forth when she looks directly at me. I always found her height so intimidating. I usually liked girls who were shorter than me, not for any particular reason, but I knew they liked it when I towered over them. Not Jaime though. Everything with Jaime was all about an even playing field. Even though I was still a few inches taller than her, she carried herself in a way that made her seem 8ft tall. I don't even know if she knew the extent that she intimidated me.
"Harry?" I smiled at her. Her hand that I wasn't holding was flat on my chest, as if she was trying to create some psychical distance. I loved when she said my name. It was so quiet, like she was worried if she said my name too loud I would disappear from her grasp.
"Jaime?" I couldn't help but beam at her. I still couldn't believe I was holding her, dancing with her. She'd never know what this meant to me.
"What are you doing?" She spoke so softly, as if someone were going to hear us and be disrupted. But there was no one there. It was just me and the sun.
"Dancing with a pretty girl," I said, pushing her lower back slightly so she would arch her back into me. Her head tilted up just a little and our chins were practically touching.
She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes. And she can ruin your faith with her casual lies and she only reveals what she wants you to see. She hides like a child but she's always a woman to me.
"Why?" I will never understand this girl. I know I didn't know much about her, only what she would let me. I know I was just a fleeting summer romance to her, leaving in just a few weeks, but I couldn't help but try to enjoy every second I got with her.
Why what sunshine? Why were we dancing? I never really planned on this, I just wanted you to feel safe, even if it was for the duration of one song.
"Well it's my turn to make you do a tourist thing. Right now, instead of working, you're dancing, in a random bar, with a handsome stranger." I winked at her when I referred to myself. I was completely talking out my ass, praying that she would just go along with it. I know I was greedy, but if you had the sun in your grasp, wouldn't you hold on for as long as possible? I never knew I had a fear of the cold until I met Jaime Jackson.
I could see that she was still hesitant, probably still overthinking about the night before. "Harry, I don't think --"
"Shhh. Just dance with me sunshine."
She can lead you to love, she can take you or leave you. She can ask for the truth but she'll never believe you. And she'll take what you give her as long as it's free.
I leaned my head on hers, smiling into her hair. Every line of this song reminded me of her.
Yeah she steals like a thief but she's always a woman to me. Oh, she takes care of herself, she can wait if she wants. She's ahead of her time.
As the song continued to play, she started to relax. Her hand that was on my chest let go, and moved to hold my shoulder. She took a deep breath as she leaned down a little so she could nuzzle her head into my neck. I pulled her to me as close as I could, hoping she would lean on me, in more ways than one. She was so close I was sure she could hear my heart beat.
Oh, and she never gives out and she never gives in. She just changes her mind. And she'll promise you more than the garden of Eden. Then she'll carelessly cut you and laugh while you're bleeding. But she brings out the best and the worst you can be. Blame it all on yourself 'cause she's always a woman to me
I continued to sway us back and forth, humming the words to the song. I could feel her smile against my skin. I push her away slightly, twirling her around my hand and bringing her right back to me, this time with her back against, like how we were at the table earlier. My arm wrapped around her protectively, still swaying, letting her fall back into me.
Oh, she takes care of herself, she can wait if she wants. She's ahead of her time. Oh, and she never gives out and she never gives in. She just changes her mind.
I turned her again to put us back in our original stance. When she turned, a loud laugh escaped her. There was my sunshine. I knew she wasn't laughing at me. It wasn't malicious. She just couldn't believe we were doing this. It was so cheesy, pulled straight out of one of the romantic comedies we watched together and slapped it right here in the middle of Lon's.
Believe me sunshine, I couldn't believe it either.
I sang the last few lines to her, knowing that I meant every word. If I could go back in time, and write this song for her, I wouldn't change a single word. I knew the second I put the coin in the jukebox this song would forever belong to her. I would never be able to listen to Billy Joel without thinking of her.
She is frequently kind and she's suddenly cruel. But she can do as she pleases, she's nobody's fool. And she can't be convicted, she's earned her degree. And the most she will do is throw shadows at you. But she's always a woman to me
August 28th 1997
The song faded out in the barber shop. I had zoned out. I looked in the mirror and realized Vin had already made a lot of progress on my hair.
"Everything alright sonny?"
I wanted to shake out the memories and rub my hands on my face but I didn't want Vinny to mess up on my hair. "Yeah I'm alright. Got lost in my head for a bit."
"Ah. That girl got you so good." I look at him through the mirror and give him a look that asks, 'is it that obvious?' "Don't give me that look. It's the magic of Billy J. You can't help but fall in love to that song."
My heart clenched at his phrasing and I felt my eyes pop out. "No one said anything about love. Jesus Vinny, calm down. You can't fall in love with someone in a summer."
"You keep telling yourself that," he says, going back to cutting my hair.
When he finished up, I looked in the mirror and felt my stomach drop to my toes. Vincenzo gave me an amazing haircut, I just hated the man staring back at me. I gave Vincenzo a big hug and paid him double whatever the haircut cost as a way of showing my appreciation for the way he puts up with me. I headed home, my shoulders a little straighter, my body more tired, and my heart hurting, knowing summer was truly over.
Meet you at the precipice
Oli x