When I was sad after our dog died, or because a friend moved away, he gave me the same quick pep talk. He always helped me put things in perspective and realize I wouldn’t be sad forever. That these were just small blips on my radar. Soon I’d have another dog I’d grow to love, or another friend to hang out with. There would always be more good days than bad.
Dillon starts galloping around the kitchen, breaking me from my thoughts. “Lookin’ for a soul to steal!” he half-sings, half-shouts.
I look over to my parents, who are now sipping from their matching coffee mugs and having a silent conversation with their eyes.
Yeah, we’re that family. The one that loves hard as hell and is probably about to get a noise complaint from the neighbor for the third time this week.
I sit cross-legged on my bed and look around my room. These walls have changed so many times over the years. From lime green, to hot pink, and even black. Now, they’re white—fresh and clean—and home to old-school rock posters and shadow boxes with ticket stubs.
My bedroom is a sanctuary. It’s where I go to recharge. My books, the plants on my dresser, even the fresh lilac candle that’s burning. It all adds to my comfort and gives me a peace I can only find in here. My mom says I should practice yoga whenever I feel stressed, but I feel like that’s some woo-woo hippie shit I don’t need. Junior year has been stressful, though. The ACT is coming up, but I have zero motivation to study. I know exactly what I want to do when I grow up, although I already feel like an adult.
I want to be a writer. I want to make people feel something. To take them out of their world and into a different one. Right now, my writing consists of poetry and short stories, but one day, I’ll be a real writer. I’ll write real novels, and my words will be out in the world for everyone to read.
I pick up the note River left for me at the record shop, running my fingertips over the words he wrote two days ago. I’m nervous to call him. At this point, he probably thinks I’m not going to, but I’m just trying to muster up the courage to actually do it. I’ve never had a guy do something like this for me. Sure, I’ve dated, but his note was swoon worthy. Mysterious.
My dad swings open my bedroom door and I smile at him. If my brother or mom were to come in without knocking, I’d be fuming. But my dad, he gets free rein. It’s an unspoken rule between us.
He has a soda in his hand as he smiles back, extending the blue can toward me. I take it, gratefully.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, old man?” I ask, popping the top on the can before taking a quick swig.
“Ah, just needed to escape the chaos for a bit. I’m feeling a bit off today, kid. Figured you’d be listening to some good jams. What do you have there?” he asks, nodding to the paper in my hands.
I immediately fold it and tuck it underneath the pillow resting behind my back. “Oh, nothing, Dad. Just…” All words leave my brain. “Nothing.” My voice shakes when I say it, and he gives me a suspicious stare.
He walks over to my bookshelf, quickly turning around and swiping the note from its safe spot. Or, what I thought was a safe spot.
“Hey!” I shout, annoyed, but somehow still laughing because that’s what he does to me.
“Ooh la la,” he says, in a high-pitched voice that makes me want to die inside. “Who is this River dude? He likes my buddy Jim, I see.” My dad recognizes the Jim Morrison quote and his eyes grow wide, a goofy smile spreading across his face while he waits for my answer.
Weighing the pros and cons of telling him, I decide it’s better to just spill it than continue to deal with his badgering. “He’s just a random guy I met at The Vinyl Kitty.”
“A random guy? Random guys don’t typically write you love notes, kid.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Dad, a love note—really?”
“I’ll be right back, Aves,” he says, turning on his heels and hurrying out of my room. I ponder for a minute while I wait.
What’s he doing? Is he going to get Mom so they can both try to get it out of me?
I decide to go after him, walking down the long hallway to where I hear him rummaging through what sounds like papers.
“Dad, what on earth?” I round the corner to my parents’ room and see him digging through a clear plastic bin.
“Ah-ha!” he declares, clenching a paper in his fist and holding it above his head like he’s just won an award. “I knew I’d find it.” He flashes another one of his silly smiles.
“You’ve officially lost me.”
“Let me recite this beaut’,” he says.
My God. The Jim Morrison thing really has him going.
He clears his throat. “Sweetheart, just a quick note to tell you I love you. And remember, like Jim says, ‘It’s like gambling somehow. You go out for a night of drinking and you don’t know where you’re going to end up the next day. It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It’s like the throw of the dice.’ Last night was great. Winking face—”
“Dad, what the hell! Too far! I don’t care how your night went. Gross.” I feel the contents of my stomach threaten to come back up.
“Oh, kid, it’s just sex. Relax. Your mother and I made you and your brother. You know that, right?” He laughs. “My point is, this River kid is a guy after my own heart. This is a note I wrote to your mother after we…you know…for the first time. A Jim Morrison quote, Aves! I feel like this might be meant to be. Who is River, and have you utilized that phone number he left you?”
He seems excited—too excited. He’s normally over-the-top critical if I even have remote interest in a guy.
“So,” I start, “let me get this straight.” I look my father dead in his aqua blues. “You’re telling me, to call a random guy I met in a record shop. You are condoning this. You do realize he could be a psychopath, right?”
“Kid, anyone who writes Jim Morrison quotes on notebook paper and goes to The Vinyl Kitty is our type of guy. I’ll get you some pepper spray, just in case. But call the dude. This is going to be good.”
Track Three: This is the One
by The Stone Roses
RIVER
“Hi, is this River?”
The gentle voice flows through my cell speaker, and I instantly know it’s her. I don’t randomly give my number to every good-looking girl I see. Plus, I’d know her voice anywhere. Soft and smoky.
“Hi…Ava?” I ask.
“How’d you know?” she teases, and I swear I hear a small giggle. It’s the cutest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Well, I only gave my number out to a handful of women in record shops last week. So I figured I had pretty good odds in my guess.” I laugh, but she doesn’t return my humor. “Kidding, Ava. I’m kidding.” It’s hard to get a feel for someone’s reaction over the phone. I listen as she breathes out a long breath.
“Okay.” There’s an uncertainty in her tone, like she’s nervous. “Hi, River.”
“Hi, Ava,” I say for the second time in thirty seconds. “Did you like the note?”