"As I'm finding the words, you're getting away…"
-- "I'm Ready" by Jack's Mannequin
"Well…I guess this it. Goodbye."
I watched her turn her back on me and walk out the door, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. Why is she leaving? I know the answer – because I can't commit. I really like her, and she really likes me too, I think. We have fun together. I don't want her to go, but I don't know if I'm ready to be in real relationship, either. I've never really been in one, to be honest. I wish there was a way to show her that I wanted her here without tying myself to her. If only these things were that simple.
What am I afraid of, anyways? That she'll think I actually care about her? I do. I care about her a lot. So what if she knows? Would that really kill me? To admit to someone that I actually have feelings? I don't know. My friends all have girlfriends, and none of them are about to jump of a bridge or anything.
But what would I say? I screwed up, I get that. She said that if I couldn't be more serious about us, she was going to go. I said fine, go. I know it hurt her. She tried to hide it, but I knew. And I knew it was mean, and I didn't really mean it. I felt a little bad, but I didn't show it. So how, after being such a jerk, do I tell her that I didn't mean it? "Just kidding" doesn't really seem good enough.
I pulled the curtains back a little and looked out at the driveway. She was putting her bag in her car. She was almost gone. She was getting away. What the hell am I doing?
I'm not good with words. Lyrics, that's different. With lyrics, you can jot down an idea, and then forget about it for awhile. You can come back, throw together some lines that sound nice next to each other. Make a few changes, show it to your friends. Polish it up. And then, when it's finally perfect, you say it aloud on the radio. I'm good at that. Hell, I'm great at that. But words, they aren't among my talents. I don't know what words to say to make this better.
But I'm sure as hell not going to find them sitting here, watching her out the window.
So I ran. I ran out to the driveway and called to her.
"Mitchie!"
She rolled down the window and looked at me impatiently. "What, Shane?"
I only have one chance at this. I can't save it for later, I can't make changes, I can't ask my friends what they think, and I can't polish it up before I say it. But maybe words are different then lyrics. Maybe they don't have to be perfect. They just have to be meaningful.
"Stay."