Just a oneshot I wrote a few days ago because I was listening to this song. I don't think many of you know it, unless you're from Sweden. It's called 'Rain', by Ola Svensson. So no, I don't own the lyrics used in this story. In my story however, someone else is writing the song.
Rain
Greg took a deep breath, making sure for the third time if none was around. The evidence room was deserted and he had pulled down the blinds so none of his co-workers would be able to peek in and see what he was doing. Carefully he placed down the blank paper on the table in front of him. He shoved back his chair a few inches, so he could set his small brown guitar onto his knee. Absent-mindedly he plucked a few strings, and the sudden sound echooing throughout the empty room startled him. He sighed, shaking his head. This was going to be harder than he had expected. But he needed to do this; it would help him chase away the thoughts and self-pity that had been haunting him for the past few days. Since the moment his eyes had confirmed the one thing he had dreaded for nearly six years.
But where to begin? How exactly do you start writing a three minutes lasting song about the past six years? He had no idea. The most logical start would be the very beginning: the day they had met. I remember when I met you, he wrote down, but crossed it out almost immediately. This song wasn't supposed to be entirely about him. She had met him too. Not just the other way around, even though her appearance had apparently affected his life more than his appearance hers.
I remember when we met.
He certainly did remember when they met. The memory was printed in his mind brightly as ever. He had been standing in a room not far from this one, in his blue lab coat. Catherine had entered the room, eager to know the outcome of the evidence he had just run. A very usual thing, that happened about ten times a day. But the fact that a person followed her into the room was highly unusual. He had pretended not to notice her at all. Perhaps if someone had been looking at the whole scene they had thought Greg didn't care about her. Or at least that he didn't realise that she was there too. But he had. Oh God, he had. Sitting there in the chair with his guitar in his lap, he could see the image of the first time he saw her perfectly. The pink top, with the green sweater over it. The beige trousers. The curls in a wide circle around her face. But most of all the smile; she had the most amazing smile he had ever seen. It had knocked him right out.
Greg once again shook his head firmly, trying to get those depressing thoughts off of his mind. He hadn't come here to have a sentimental trip down memory lane, even though he knew it would end up like that after all. He picked up the pen again, and wrote down the next lines.
Before I was invisible
I thought I played hard to get
pretend I'm unapproachable
While he softly played the first part of the song, figuring out the melody, he remembered what had followed the moment they had met first. She had not been unkind to him; not in the least. But on the other hand, she hadn't exactly been eager to get to know him either. He was just another lab rat; someone to process evidence for you and further not to meddle with at all.
Sometimes he'd joke around and she'd smile at him (causing his knees to weaken), but then she'd leave as if nothing had happened. It had confused him so much. They had these little moments, where he was certain she had noticed him too, but the next moment it was like he wasn't there. At first he had hoped this was a little game she liked to play; teasing him, until he'd make a move. But later he found out that wasn't the case. Thinking of that, the next lines simply rolled out of his guitar.
But somebody else came along
and took all the chances that I missedHe had taken notice of the tension between her and her boss, but he had somehow closed his eyes on it. He hadn't want to see it. Of course he knew that closing his eyes on something didn't make something disappear or stop from happening, but he hadn't want to believe that his chances were gone.
Stupid as he was, he had asked her out. Remembering the way he had muttered if they maybe could take their breaks at the same time made his stomach still turn in shame. She had answered 'sure'. That was an answer that could be explained in two ways; either she was very enthusiastic about it, 'yeah sure, I'd love to!', or she hadn't really cared and said 'sure' just so she wouldn't sound rude. In this case, judging by the tone she answered him, it was the last one. But naïve little him had been totally blind towards that. He had been so excited about the fact they were going out, that the blow of her cancelling on him had hit him even harder.
Here he was going again. He was drifting miles away in his thoughts, forgetting all about the song he was writing. He cleared his throat, played the first chord and sang the part of the song he had so far. He ended in;
Stuck on the sidelines
I keep thinking there she goes
It was time for a chorus. He quit his singing and played on on his guitar. The chorus had to summarise everything that had happened. The whole point of the song.
The whole story flashed through his head like a movie and the lines jumped to mind one by one, forming the chorus.
Falling like rain
no, I don't get to hold her tonight
Falling like rain
I was pushed to the back of the line
'Cause even though I need her love
crave her touch
I guess I wasn't fast enough
Falling like rain
Just not for me, not for me, no no
If it weren't about such a depressive subject it would've been a good song, Greg thought. He wasn't completely dissatisfied with it. Although it wasn't entirely true. Sure he needed her love; it was the one thing he had been craving for six years. But more important was that he wanted Sara to be happy. Happy in love. Not with some jerk that would break her heart, like that Hank. She didn't deserve to be hurt once again. She deserved a guy that loved her just as much as she loved him. And secretly Greg had hoped he got to be that guy.
He took the pen, about to write this down. That he wanted her to be happy with whoever she thought would make her happy. And that it didn't matter he was not that person. But the moment he the pen touched the paper, he dropped it again. He couldn't do it. He couldn't manage to get those words down. That was simply because it wasn't true. What the hell, he didn't care he wasn't that person? Of course he cared. More than he could ever express in words.
What do you do, what do you say
when the best thing has passed you by
Where do you go, how do you know
if she'll come back another time
Sighing, he leant back in his chair. What was supposed to be a song helping him get over her, ended up as a complaint song. A pathetic, whining poem about how much he needed her. Yet he didn't scratch it, although he wanted to. Instead he cleared his throat, shoved the paper right in front of him and hit the first chords, playing the entire song.
I remember when we met
before I was invisible
I thought I played hard to get
pretend I'm unapproachable
The pink top. The green sweater. The dancing curls.
The smile.
But somebody else came along
and took all the chances that I missed
Stuck on the sidelines I keep thinking
there she goes
The smiling. The letdowns. The cancelled date.
The other guy.
Falling like rain
no, I don't get to hold her tonight
Falling like rain
I was pushed to the back of the line
'Cause even though I need her love
crave her touch
I guess I wasn't fast enough
Falling like rain just not for me, not for me, no no Why I took the longest road
I'll have to plead insanity
It's like my pride put on a show
and didn't sell a single seat
While I was talking in riddles
somebody else made perfect sense
Stuck on the outside I keep thinking
there she goes
The shame. The muttering.
Falling like rain
no, I don't get to hold her tonight
Falling like rain
I was pushed to the back of the line
'Cause even though I need her love
crave her touch
I guess I wasn't fast enough
Falling like rain just not for me, not for me, no no What do you do, what do you say
when the best thing has passed you by
Where do you go, how do you know
if she'll come back another time
The kissing the other guy. The shock. The disappointment. The sadness.
The heartbreak.
She's falling like rain
He hit the snares for the last time, allowing the sound to slowly fade out. That was the part he loved most of music; the way the last chord faded away into the distance ending in a total silence. But the silence was broken all of a sudden, by a shuffling sound. Greg spun around in one move. The door, that had been closed all the time, was now halfly open. He thought he could see the tips of brown hair waving in the air, before footsteps hurried off, the door falling shut again.
He sighed, crumbled up the paper and threw it into the thrash can. With his guitar in his hand, he opened the door and stepped out of the evidence room. He didn't even care about being seen with a guitar anymore. He walked along the corridor and entered the locker room. Sinking down to the bench, his eyes caught sight of a stickup note stuck on his locker. Curiously, he inched closer, reading the short note.
There's sunshine after the rain, Greggo.
Let's hope there's sunshine after the rain for Sandle. I do believe in it. :)