Finally a Finchel I'm proud of! I like the beginning but the end seems shoddy. What do you all think?
The tinny ring resounds throughout the petite diner located on the side of an almost abandoned Ohio road. A man behind the counter—who had been previously scrubbing the dirt off it—looks up to see a man there who's barely into his twenties grasping a leather coat against his body, frigid from the weather outside. It's been raining for days; the crops worship the Lord for it but the inhabitants of the small town have grown sick, in more ways than one. An example is shown when the man ("boy" is the more appropriate term but his height could fool anybody) conceals a sneeze in his gloved hand. After wiping it on his chest with nonchalance, he walks over to the counter, his drenched boots soaking the floor. Diners glare at the loud sound but for the most part ignore their visitor, having better things to do than people-watch.
"Can I get a milkshake?" he asks with timidity to the employee (it could be due to the cold he may be catching or to the low self-esteem barrier. The worker could care less about his customers' problematic lives).
"I dunno, can you?" he says, and the man's eyes enlarge with fear and he stammers an apology inexplicably. The employee claps a burly hand upon his shoulder, biting back laughter. "Kid, it was a joke." He heaves a reassured sigh but the relief doesn't last too long before the worker turns away, grunting, "You need to not be such an oaf." The man tenses a bit, nervously twiddling his thumbs as they sit on his lap. The employee fixes a chocolate milkshake complete with whipped cream and a cherry atop and slides it across the counter, and the man sips quietly.
Lack of conversation provokes him to stimulate his other senses, like his sight as he looks around the place. Families who are passing through Ohio to bigger, better cities are trying to get their kiddos to eat the almost nonexistent amount of vegetables. Wider-hipped patrons are trying to beat each other out by devouring king-size cheeseburgers. Couples are sipping from the same straw, delivering lovey-dovey looks to their significant other. But most are alone, downing their drinks due to loneliness, such as him.
After the depressing scene of lonesome souls like himself grows too much, he sets his eyes on a mini chalkboard resting behind the counter. The message is smeared but eligible enough that he can read the name printed under the soup of the day. He chokes on the ice cream halfway on his tongue, alerting the employee so that he rushes over and begins patting his back as to prevent somebody dying on his shift.
"Y'all right, boy?" he says after the man ends the choking fit. He nods, coughing a tad but the worst is over.
"Y-Yeah," he says, aiming to be blasé about it, nevertheless failing, "W-Why's that name u-up there?" The worker looks to where he points, and grins at the word.
"Berry's our main source of entertainment at this joint." he explains, "She drags in a crowd as easily as Sinatra could. Sometimes we wonder why she works at this crummy hangout with pipes like that but, eh. Whatcha gonna do?" He gazes at the name scribbled on the board so speedily, picturing the face of a girl he once knew. Surely it was her, it had to be. Only a year ago had they and others parted ways for fantastic things but he'd heard from his friends that not all achieved the success they thirsted for. Worse their friendships and relationships had fallen apart with them moving to different cities. If he knew she'd left for only a few hundred miles (not even leaving state) he might not have missed out on some great things.
"Huh." he whispers, not to the employee; rather to himself. "Maybe I'll come watch."
This time the metallic clang of the bell above the door doesn't forewarn the customers of a new arrival. He slides in unnoticed and looks around to see what's changed over the course of three hours: all the previous patrons have left but a few new ones reside, eating their supper as they listen to and gaze at the woman at the corner of the diner. A band equipped with a guitarist, pianist, bassist, and drummer sit behind her, playing their instruments in time with her voice. An old Broadway favorite is being played and she does it justice with the powerful vocals she has. He finds himself grinning like an idiotic ten-year-old; it's her.
The music ends and claps around the restaurant echo, making this singer beam and curtsy like she's meeting Queen Elizabeth. Whistles are sounded from men's mouths, begging for more. He almost wants to tell them off for whistling at her but he knows it's not his place. He just keeps his stare upon her lovely face, willing her to turn to face him.
"Thank you, thank you all!" she says, delivering a wave much like Miss America's, "That was one of my personal favorite Broadway renditions and I'm delighted you liked it. Next I have another song from a very revered musical but, alas, it's a duet. Would any of you gentlemen like to come up and help me?" None do but they're keen to watch her show off her chops. Her brown, melting irises scan the room for some guy, without success. They miss him entirely, a depressing blow, but he doesn't let it stop him from staring and adoring her.
"Well…alright then." she says, confidence dwindled, "I'll just…make it a solo. Men," She signals the band to start playing. "'As Long As You're Mine' from Wicked, stat." They nod and begin the music, almost scared of her axing their hands off if they don't start immediately. She grins at their haste pace, sucks in a deep breath, faces the crowd, and starts.
"Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight," she sings. Her talent has never wavered since the first time he heard that voice croon high notes and Broadway show tunes. Everybody is lulled into a sense of peace and comfort as they take in the sound of her. It's stunning, almost magical how much affect she has on them. "I need help believing you're with me tonight. My wildest dreamings could not foresee lying beside you, with you wanting me." She continues, the harmony and emotion level in her eyes and voice that he can look away and see green-skinned Elphaba upon stage with her Fiyero. Up comes the male part and he senses the hope in her that some boy will step up and sing his heart out with her but he knows no one will. So it's up to him to make that hope a reality.
"Maybe I'm brainless," he belts, "Maybe I'm wise. But you've got me seeing through different eyes." Heads turn to see the brave soul who dares go up to her. Her face looks joyous and her heartbeat races (he feels it like his own) as she watches this stranger walk past the tables and diners to approach her. The fact is he isn't a stranger but she doesn't know that right now.
"Somehow I've fallen under your spell and somehow I'm feeling it's up that I fell." His feet make their way up the tiny stage, between the musicians, and next to her small figure. She grins at him and her Thank you is plastered across her tan face and Streisand-esque nose. He gives his crooked, gap-toothed smile back, the You're welcome replying to her grin. They clasp hands for emphasis and meet gazes with the people as they go in for the next verse.
"Every moment, as long as you're mine, I'll wake up my body and make up for lost time." they both sing and then his part comes up, but it passes by quickly before they again harmonize with the other. "And though I may know, I don't care. Just for this moment, as long as you're mine, come be how you want to and see how bright we shine! Borrow the moonlight until it is through and know I'll be here holding you…as long as you're mine." It takes a minute for the patrons to process it's over and once they do the applause is like none they've ever encountered and it feels so wondrous, so pure, so alive that when they step off stage it doesn't end, and when it does they still hear it—feel it—and it's so grand.
The band plays instrumentals for the next part because she wants to treat this man who so courageously came up to her. She asks him what he'd like and he shyly replies that a milkshake would taste good. She doesn't scoff or give him an odd look; instead she orders two milkshakes, and demands the man behind the counter not to skimp on the cream. Their shakes are delivered quite swiftly (it's evident those here at the diner both revere and fear Miss Berry and he can't blame them; he once did too in his awkward youth).
"What brings you to this substandard eatery?" she asks.
"Well, the rain was kinda annoying me as I drove so I pulled over." he explains, fiddling with the straw like a schoolboy. "I heard you, uh, were talented so I, um…I came back later." She beams at hearing people talk about her gift for music, and twists a strand of chocolate-colored hair as though this notion makes her bashful (Ha! Yeah right).
"Oh, well, I do hope I didn't disappoint you." she giggles, "I've been practicing ever since I was a child to achieve the skills I posses today. And your skills appear to be quite admirable too. What do you do as a living?" He doesn't work with his voice, that's the truth. He's just your average, everyday football coach but he knows telling her that may not allow him to talk long enough to her. The smartest thing to do would be to avoid the subject.
"Erm, what's your name?" he asks, though he knows. She seems befuddled by the sudden change in conversation but politely responds:
"My name is Rachel Barbara Berry, but I assumed you knew that from the chalkboard. Oh, well, then." She flashes him another toothy smile before taking a sip of her shake. "Yours?" His throat dries and he can feel himself perspiring. He wanted to evade this in case it aroused some sort of negative emotion inside her but this is a question that's hard to elude.
"Um, er…" he stammers, "I'm…Finn. Finn…Hu-Hudson." Her face—so full of glee and radiant charisma—falls. She looks over his face, his body, his voice again and finds it is him. The boy she had once fallen for but left for bigger lands. He can feel her confusion and sadness and other emotions—or maybe it's just his. He can't tell.
"Finn…?" she whispers, "Finn…the Finn from New Directions?" Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nods. She has to look away; all this is too much for her to comprehend and her headache isn't the brain freeze from the milkshake. She knows.
"I…I never thought I'd…see one of New Directions again." she says, "Especially not you." He's not sure if it's the look on her face or the recently sung melody still pounding in his head or the milkshake he just downed but the fact he doesn't know doesn't keep him from making her face him and kissing her like they never left, like they've never lost time.
When they finally pull apart she just…just stares. Stares into the depths of his brown puddles of eyes and he stares back into hers, clutching her to him, so frightened to let go. "I love you." he says. It's not a lie. He loved her since the first kiss and it only grew stronger after the last goodbye. Does she love him back is the question that haunts and hurts and terrifies him to no extent.
"It's been too long, Finn." she mumbles, her hand squeezing his arms as the sole tear slides down her cheek. "We've lost too much time. Picking up where we left off is impossible. This is my life now. And, I'm sorry, but my life doesn't have you." She lets go of him and walks away to her pedestal of song, already telling her band she's back and ready. He's frozen on his stool; after so long she's still gone.
He pounces from his seat and runs to her. He grabs her arm and swings her round, ignoring the stares from customers. He can feel the tears welling up but he can't let them fall (he is a man, after all). She lets a few tears cascade down but she's always been braver than him.
"I didn't say forget everything that's happened in between." he says, "I mean take that and just…start over." She shakes her head furiously, pushing his hands off.
"No, Finn," she says, "we can't 'just start over'. It doesn't work like that, as much as we want it to. My heart is in the music and…I'm not ready to do this. I can't do this." She cups her hand around his cheek and gives him a kiss. This one is filled with sadness and goodbyes, though. Not hope and love. She pulls off and away. "Maybe one day. Not today." She turns and steps onto the stage, and the band starts playing more music. He can't bear to hear that voice again, not now; he leaves the place, stepping out into the harsh cold.
The storm has passed but as far as he's concerned it's still raining.
You're gonna hate me: I was starting to write a happy ending when I decided a sad, angsty ending felt better. Go ahead and pelt me with tomatoes if you like. I'm just asking: is it good? Because the end feels bad.