I think love is only true in fairy tales
And then, she appeared in his audience again.
Front row, off to the side. Close enough to make eye contact over the keyboard. He recognized her immediately, but as per policy, was careful not to offer any signal. The Beloved Mob picks up on the slightest whiff of favoritism from the stage. They also give off jealous energy when waiting in line, but at least there, they are organized about fondling him.
This time she was silent. Just watching him.
Afterwards, they talked. She seemed completely normal. Her eyes were hard. Boring, actually. Remembered the handicapped bathroom, but didn't seem eager to resume. He wondered if she'd come back. And asked her why she was here now. There had to be a reason.
"Because I was in love. And now I'm not. And I see you up onstage. And it's the purest sense of Love I can think of. I don't have a sense of it anymore in my life now. But you are the keeper of the flame,"
He was her white knight on a steed after all. A grown up version of it. This is what all the fairy tales were trying to tell you Love was about.
They smiled. She left him with a sense of longing. He wanted to live up to her ideals. And for a while, he did.
==
But, sadly, she kept coming. And the difference between one perfect night and getting to know someone reared its ugly head. She clapped, but harder and harder. Even in unexpected places. After a dozen performances, she began to see through him. His jokes were terrible, he knew it, the audience knew it. She laughed at the crickets. The space after he told the punchline where nobody laughed. Eventually, she was laughing at him.
She drank. Yelled things out in frustration. Nobody else heard it but him. Fine, she was gonna be One Of Those. A heckler. Someone so frustrated in their own lives that they pick on him. This was something he could fight against.
She waited her turn in line for an autograph. It was never easy to talk, but there was just enough space between them to look each other in the eye.
"Don't you ever shut up?"
"No, frankly, I don't. You are better than this,"
"I'm doing the best I can,"
"No, you are being careless. You think everyone's gonna love you, even if you don't try."
"They usually do,"
"But I'm talking about me. I'm out there. I'm watching."
That night, he couldn't sleep. She was right. He'd been slipping for a while now; and she knew enough to tell. He'd had plenty of the White Knight kind of love in his life. Smiles and sex were all too easy. This was a tougher, meaner, truer kind.
This left the happily ever afters in the dust.
*I'm a Believer by the Monkees
And then, she appeared in his audience again.
Front row, off to the side. Close enough to make eye contact over the keyboard. He recognized her immediately, but as per policy, was careful not to offer any signal. The Beloved Mob picks up on the slightest whiff of favoritism from the stage. They also give off jealous energy when waiting in line, but at least there, they are organized about fondling him.
This time she was silent. Just watching him.
Afterwards, they talked. She seemed completely normal. Her eyes were hard. Boring, actually. Remembered the handicapped bathroom, but didn't seem eager to resume. He wondered if she'd come back. And asked her why she was here now. There had to be a reason.
"Because I was in love. And now I'm not. And I see you up onstage. And it's the purest sense of Love I can think of. I don't have a sense of it anymore in my life now. But you are the keeper of the flame,"
He was her white knight on a steed after all. A grown up version of it. This is what all the fairy tales were trying to tell you Love was about.
They smiled. She left him with a sense of longing. He wanted to live up to her ideals. And for a while, he did.
==
But, sadly, she kept coming. And the difference between one perfect night and getting to know someone reared its ugly head. She clapped, but harder and harder. Even in unexpected places. After a dozen performances, she began to see through him. His jokes were terrible, he knew it, the audience knew it. She laughed at the crickets. The space after he told the punchline where nobody laughed. Eventually, she was laughing at him.
She drank. Yelled things out in frustration. Nobody else heard it but him. Fine, she was gonna be One Of Those. A heckler. Someone so frustrated in their own lives that they pick on him. This was something he could fight against.
She waited her turn in line for an autograph. It was never easy to talk, but there was just enough space between them to look each other in the eye.
"Don't you ever shut up?"
"No, frankly, I don't. You are better than this,"
"I'm doing the best I can,"
"No, you are being careless. You think everyone's gonna love you, even if you don't try."
"They usually do,"
"But I'm talking about me. I'm out there. I'm watching."
That night, he couldn't sleep. She was right. He'd been slipping for a while now; and she knew enough to tell. He'd had plenty of the White Knight kind of love in his life. Smiles and sex were all too easy. This was a tougher, meaner, truer kind.
This left the happily ever afters in the dust.
*I'm a Believer by the Monkees
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