This is a dedicatory fic to the Angsty Artists, who recently reached 100 threads of CrAsh appreciation. Though our couple hasn't interacted since GDTR, somehow we keep the faith and find the good in one of Degrassi's most complicated, rewarding, developed couples. Not for once do I think our efforts or faith have been wasted, and it's certainly brought us closer together. So this is for you, guys. Keep the CrAsh pride alive.
Okay, for anyone out of the loop who happens to be reading, the AA s planned a wedding for CrAsh (you can check it out on FanForum), which included a honeymoon with Craig and Ashley on a European tour. I suggested the idea, but everyone else thought about some great places where they can go. The one place we agreed where they shouldn't go is London, because of their associations with that place. (If you would like to see CrAsh in London, however, you can check out Somewhere to Watch Over Me, where they're getting ready to head across the pond to the place of double decker buses. :) ) Anyway, the places covered in this fic are: Madrid, Athens, Paris, Venice, Rome, and Naples. Each chapter is dedicated to the place they're in, with flashbacks to how they got where they are, including, of course, the wedding. We agreed they would marry young, so they're twenty-five, well out of school. There are mentions of other ships, but nothing that will detract from CrAsh, since this is their story.
For a different format, I'm going to start the chapters by describing a postcard or picture related to the destination, and then it'll blend into Craig or Ashley's thoughts as CrAsh honeymoons with flashbacks popping in as they tour. Hopefully, that made sense. LOL.
Thanks for reading!
I Hear A Symphony
Whenever you're near
I hear a symphony
A tender melody
Pulling me closer
Closer to your arms
Then suddenly, i hear a symphony
Ooh, your lips are touching mine
A feeling so divine
'till i leave the past behind
I'm lost in a world
Made for you and me
Whenever you're nearI hear a symphony
Play sweet and tenderly
Every time your lips meet mine now baby
Baby, baby
You bring much joy within
Don't let this feeling end
Let it go on and on and on
Now baby, baby
Those tears that seem my eyes
I cry not for myself
But for those who never felt the joy we felt
Whenever you're near
I hear a symphony
Each time you speak to me
I hear a tender rap so dy of love now
Baby, baby
As you stand holding me
Whispering how much you care
A thousand violins fill the air
I Hear A Symphony is the property of the Supremes.
You and Me is the property of Lifehouse.
Sea-blue boats cross the shimmering pond, stopped by statuesque, stone steps. Canoe paddles dip into the water, reflecting whoever holds them. A soldier bearing a sword sits atop a bronze horse; it's Alfonso come to defend sunbathers and puppeteers alike, so they can entertain the children of tourists. The white colonnade circles the protected, columns glowing white in the lazy afternoon sun. Those with smiling faces don't seem to appreciate it, more apt to discuss the wandering peacocks they've seen on the lawn, the lion statues that glimmer green in the heat. Have they seen the Palacio de Cristal yet, looking beautifully vulnerable and translucent, an inspired copy of London's? Or the Roseleda, a garden with brilliant roses, where yellow and black turtles are known to roam? There is really so much to see.
I.
They've seen it. A Spanish-English dictionary in hand, euros in their pockets, and Craig clutching two souvenir bags, they finally rest on the edge of a fountain, birds chirping in the distance. Craig's legs can hardly carry him anymore, unless he refuels. Luckily, Ashley being Ashley, she did the practical thing as always, smuggled some fresh sandwiches under his nose.
"Madrid," gushes Ashley. "The perfect place to start."
"My feet feel like I just ran with the bulls," groans Craig, accepting a ham and mustard sandwich from Ashley.
"Your T-shirt is red," notes Ashley, opening up a ziplock bag.
"Can't believe we found a Clash T-shirt in the middle of that huge market," says Craig. "Then again, we are experienced vintage buyers."
Craig leans in for a kiss, finds Ashley's lips.
The day is hot, not too much, but both of them are certainly not used to the climate. Thankfully, the park offers some shade in secluded spaces. Craig had some trouble saying the name. Parque del Buen Retiro. With a title like that, he thought it'd be a retirement home when Ashley showed it to him in the guidebook. But no, most people are around their age, early or mid-twenties, anxious for peace from Madrid's busy city life.
Peace...paz...that's what they were looking for, for more than weary traveler reasons. It makes sense after their relationship, a rollercoaster of emotions. Craig himself had a lot going on before they met, when they dated, after they broke up. You get Craig, complete with years of baggage, he joked, before Ashley told him to stop. It wasn't the type of baggage you could pack, and they'd packed a lot for their ten-day tour of Europe, in suitcases likely to spill over once they returned to Toronto. No, while this baggage unfurled as well when opened, he couldn't sort it out by himself. Joey was there to help, going to the graveyard where Craig's mother lay, confronting him about the bruises Albert left. The tears Craig cried on that day stung, burning frustration making his eyes water. Admitting that his father hit him, leaving his father to live alone, felt like some betrayal, but he knows now that it was a betrayal that needed to happen. He's never gone to Albert's grave, even when Ashley offered to go with him that first summer following his death. Maybe someday he will, leave some flowers.
He has to confess that when he saw Ashley's parents, and Chris, watching them come together as husband and wife, he would've liked Julia and Albert to be there, despite the dark moments, the disappointments. Still, the pews weren't empty to showcase their lack of presence. They were filled, and Joey danced with Ashley more gallantly, clasped his son more proudly than he thinks Albert could've.
Finishing their sandwiches, they glance upward, see an angel in agony, stone wings arched in desperation. Ashley stares at it thoughtfully.
"I...I think this is the fallen Angel," she remarks, standing.
Craig reluctantly rises too, feet still aching, puts an arm around Ashley.
"Leave it to us to find the most dramatic piece of art in the park," teases Craig, pulling her closer.
"Based off Paradise Lost," informs Ashley, taking out a small piece of paper. "You know, when Lucifer's kicked out of heaven. I researched it in the brochure the guy with the parka handed us. The book was written all the way back..."
"Ash," interjects Craig. "I love hearing your tidbits, but you can stand in front of something and appreciate it once in awhile."
Ashley looks around sheepishly, smiles at strangers who are talking happily, with no brochures in sight. She nods, folding the brochure carefully, returning it to her purse.
The angel's curly locks are all over the place, appearing disheveled, his body contorted in pain. Craig is no artist, not like Jimmy anyways, but he can sympathize with the fountain's statue, a little too well. He's shared similar pain, similar longing to find some semblance of his old self.
He could see the streamers from outside, a car honking in back of him. They looked a bit gaudy, pink. No, he shouldn't think things like that. They were both his friends, despite being out of contact for months. But, come on, pink streamers? It got worse when he opened the door to the Dot, heavy thumping music, music you could hear on any mainstream countdown. Prom-ish music. They must've gone to the prom together, and he wouldn't be shocked if they got king and queen, Degrassi's golden couple.
"Craig!" greeted an excited voice to his left.
Spinner wiped his hands on his serving apron, extended one out to Craig. Craig shook it, felt some grease.
"Grill's still open," said Spinner. "Came here right after training. Going to graduate the academy soon, man. Guess they're not the only ones who're on to bigger and better things, eh?"
Spinner pounded Craig on the back, disappeared behind the Dot's counter. Bigger and better things. The words echoed in his mind, as he quietly made his way to the group huddled in the center of the restaurant. Everyone came. Dylan dyed his hair brunette, rested a hand on Marco's chair. They were going strong, but to general surprise, they weren't the first ones to get engaged in the lot. Dylan's hockey schedule probably had something to do with it, as he was usually away while Marco toiled away at his studies. Toby, one of the new freshmen at the University of Toronto, chatted with his dad and Kate, obviously feeling like an outsider among the others. If only Toby could feel half I what I felt, thought Craig.
Craig straightened his leather jacket, placed his hands on the back of Ellie's chair, pulled at her red-haired ponytail.
"Hey!" he said, loudly.
Ellie squealed in fear, jumped up. As Ellie threw a napkin at Craig, warm laughter filled his ears.
"Craig, you didn't tell us you where getting in!" scolded Marco, rising and hugging his much taller friend.
"Thought I'd surprise them," defended Craig. "Yeah, leaving the center in a couple days..."
An awkward silence covered the room, no one sure what to say next. Hmmm, he thought they'd be used to talking about the treatment facility by now. He was. Actually, he grew to like it, after he left the first year, had a relapse, then went back. Perhaps they were worried about another relapse.
Dating Ellie the first year ended up prolonging his recovery. It definitely wasn't her fault. Craig just kept pressing and pressing for her relationship, so eager to see where it could go, continually so unsure if it would ruin their friendship. When he went into the facility, he thought of his past, who he hurt the most, and Ellie immediately came to mind. Sure, he knew how fragile she was after the Taking Back Sunday incident, but so was he, he told his conscience. He honestly believed they needed each other. Ellie disagreed, said he needed time to himself so they broke up. It sounded like she was ditching him at the time, and finding the coke was easy. As he got high, he got further and further away from himself, from Ellie. The euphoria was good...at first. Then, he fell apart, with no one to lean on, and realized Ellie was right. He needed to be himself again. Who would drive him back to the center, though? He couldn't face Joey, or even Marco, Jimmy, and Spin, who'd been so proud of him for sticking with the program the first time around. Someone who didn't know his whole sordid history would be ideal.
When Ashley picked up the phone, she answered with a customary hello. The hello wasn't cold or warm, simply polite. Then, her words started to soften, listening to his plea to talk with someone, and she showed. She arrived at midnight in some street they didn't know existed, Craig stumbling out of a grocery unkempt, unable to look her in the eye. That had been the usual, since his first gig in Toronto, when she sat in the front row. He didn't mention how proud he was to play in front of her, or happy that she came, given how they ended things when she went to London. Jimmy acted as some intermediary, and they engaged in a conversation that lasted two minutes at the most. Craig rubbed his nose throughout it, Ashley looking down. He wondered if she knew he was high.
The night on the street, however, made it pretty clear that he'd been using. His eyes were blotchy, bags underneath, and his skin appeared sunken, after having lost a significant amount of weight. Ashley, on the other hand, was clean and crisp, wearing a long dark denim skirt and a lacy, white blouse. Craig focused on her earrings, so shiny, small, ones he'd never seen before.
"Craig, are you alright?" asked Ashley, tentatively coming forward.
"I...I just wanted a sandwich," said Craig, then coughing loudly.
Ashley's blue gaze pierced him with pity. Craig shoved his hands in his pockets, shook his head.
"Go away," snapped Craig, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"You called me," said Ashley. "What's going on?"
"No!" exclaimed Craig. "I shouldn't...shouldn't have called you."
She reached to embrace him gently, but he pulled back, hugging himself.
"Talk to me," begged Ashley, tears surrounding her eyes.
Craig went over to a phone booth, absentmindedly leaned against the side. Red light from a traffic stop overhead illuminates where they stand. He took it as some weird sign of him being stuck, stuck between using and not wanting to use. After all, he'd been here not too long ago. Dialing Ashley's number, he recalls that she once did something reckless with drugs, needed time to find herself. Then, she found him too. How appropriate that she's the first person he called.
"I...I messed up bad," stammered Craig. "Just...my manager came into my dressing room, saw me doing lines, ordered me to go back to rehab three weeks ago. Been living in one of my friends' apartments, trying to work up the nerve."
He can see the worry on Ashley's face in the red light. Her mouth creased at the sides; they always did that when she was worried, especially when it came to him.
"Let's get in the car, Craig," whispered Ashley.
"I don't know...," started Craig.
"I am not going to stand here and watch you fall apart," said Ashley, sternly. "You're my friend."
The last word was spoken so quickly it startled both of them. Friend. He isn't sure what to make of that, but his brain began to gain a little clarity, his heart slowing in speed. Honestly, they hadn't acted like friends for over three years, more acquaintances than anything. Still, that sharp word, delivered so delicately, forced him to grin.
"Yeah?" asked Craig.
"Yeah," said Ashley, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.
She wrapped one arm around his waist, and they walked to her car. On the way, Ashley filled him in, regarding her life. She was preparing applications for school, to pursue a pre-law degree, her folks were fine, and Jimmy popped the question that summer. Seeing the ring didn't make the concept register any better. He glanced at it the entire drive to the center, then wouldn't look her in the face when she left.
The day of the party, the ring would be all the brighter, being flashed everywhere. He couldn't escape it. Spinner placed a tray of onion rings in front of Craig, sat in between Ellie and Marco.
"Should we forgive the happy couple for being late to their own engagement party?" posed Ellie, playfully tapping her chin in thought.
"I think it depends on how happy they look coming in," spoke up Kate.
"Let's hope for the best," said Toby.
He was met by laughter, then silence, as Ashley opened the door, let Jimmy wheel into the entrance.
"Surprise!" yelled Marco, Ellie, Spinner, Ashley's parents, and Toby as soon as they spotted them.
Ashley covered her mouth in shock, hugged Jimmy from behind. Craig lowered his head, tried to make his mouth smile. It did, and he stood reluctantly.
"You guys!" cried Ashley, going over to hug Ellie.
"Paige sends her apologies," informed Spinner. "She's coming after her business class meeting."
"Since she's holding down Squatch Wear, got no complaints," replied Jimmy. "Craig...man, hey!"
Craig raised his eyebrows at Jimmy. "Ashley decided to make an honest man out of you?"
Ashley, hair straight and luminous, dressed in a lavender camisole top and tight jeans, waved to Craig shyly, her eyes then immediately drifting to the soda dispenser. Craig might have imagined it, but her face was turning as pink as the streamers.
"Eh, don't know about that part," laughed Jimmy, hugging Craig.
Craig stared at Ashley as he embraced his friend, Ashley playing with the pocket of her pants.
"You're quiet, Ash," observed Jimmy, letting Craig go.
"Oh...yeah, hi Craig," said Ashley, walking over to Craig.
She awkwardly hugged him, her chest softly heaving against his. Craig closed his eyes to enjoy the moment, but only for a second, releasing her.
"Jimmy, come here real quick," said Marco, gesturing to a smaller table. "We can discuss final honeymoon plans."
"All for that," said Jimmy, taking Ashley's hand, kissing it.
The rest of the group went back to discussing various things, including how Ashley would make a beautiful, blushing bride. Blush as much as she is now, he thought, watching Ashley rock back and forth on her feet. He didn't think so.
"You...you look better," complimented Ashley.
"I'm trying," said Craig. "Clean...for nine months. Swear."
Ashley's blue eyes lit up. "That's so...so great, Craig. Knew you could do it."
"And law?" prompted Craig. "How goes the life of the future prosecutor?"
"Um...," said Ashley, wrinkling her nose.
"Bet it's tough," comforted Craig. "After the first year..."
"The first year...so boring though," admitted Ashley. "Depositions, regulations...when you're knee-deep in it, you can't get out. It's about as stifling as this wedding's going to be. July and all."
July? That soon? It was already April. Craig shrugged, trying to maintain an air of indifference. But the fact that she called it "this wedding" made him hopeful for some reason. "This" made him think of temporary, easily thrown away. She could've said "our wedding" or "my wedding", taking some ownership of the event. No, no, that's ridiculous.
"Jimmy chose the date?" asked Craig.
"I did," corrected Ashley.
Craig frowned. "Oh."
"Penciled it in," continued Ashley. "Mmm...haven't stared at the calendar since."
"Jitters," offered Craig.
"I've been having jitters ever since I wrote it," said Ashley, biting her lip. "Nineteen's really young...there's so much I want to do and...say."
"Say?"
"I...um, I also put down the day you went to the center, marking off days when you were in, circling when you'd be out. I know...know it's been nine months, Craig. And...I hoped you'd be here..."
Ashley shook her head as if scolding herself regarding the words flowing out of her mouth. Craig swallowed a lump in his throat, moved some of the hair that had fallen out of her face. She kept track of him too? He remembered waiting for her that summer before what would've been their last year of high school, counting the days, kicking the drumkit in frustration after hearing from Ellie that Ashley would be staying. She waited for him?
"Ask for a little more time," whispered Craig, spying Jimmy receiving a pat on the shoulder from Jeff.
"Time for what?" breathed Ashley. "We discussed this plan years ago, all the way back in high school. Mrs. Brooks is already looking at apartments in New York..."
"Plans fall through," said Craig, smiling faintly. "I mean, look at us."
He blinked at Ashley, and he could see on her face what he'd been alluding to, the apartment in Vancouver that was never rented, the ring she might've worn, the trip to England they never took. Ashley rubbed her eyes furiously, an effort to stop the tears.
"If friends feel this way, they aren't friends," whispered Craig, bringing his face closer to hers. "We've never been...only friends."
Ashley held her hand to her chest, squeezed her ring.
"Well, we have to be now," whispered Ashley, giving Craig a short nod.
He watched Ashley find Jimmy amidst the crowd, his gaze burning a hole in her back. She felt it too, glancing guiltily at Craig as she led Jimmy to the dance floor. Their friends cheered, Ashley's tall form hitting a hanging streamer. She batted it away, sat on his lap to dance with her fiancee cheek to cheek. Too bad they're not heart to heart.
Craig stood firm as the music blared, stared at her until she returned the stare.
A half-smile appeared on his mouth, Craig searching Ashley's expression.She sighed softly against the side of Jimmy's head, peering at her ring. Counted the days, huh? Right then, he could tell she was counting the seconds. Ashley raises her head, smiles sadly at Craig.
And it's you and me and all other people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you
Craig releases a deep breath, hurries to the exit, exchanging awkward good-byes with a few people. He leaves, viewing Jimmy and Ashley through the front window, streamers obscuring their countenances, silently mouthing whatever happiness was supposed to be there.
"Where are you?" asks Ashley, pinching Craig's nose for a second.
"Lost in thoughts of you," replies Craig.
"You're getting lyric-y," says Ashley, poking him in the stomach.
"Like I'd write something that cheesy," says Craig, grinning. "And if I did, I'd die before admitting to it."
The crowd in the park is thinning, a couple stragglers trying to feel the spritz coming from the churning fountains as a way to cool themselves off. Craig glances at the angel, a final time, takes Ashley's hands.
Sometimes things were meant to fall, whether angels or people. He knows that if he hadn't fallen, he wouldn't have gone in for the second time, with the more intensive sessions, under closer supervision. Getting clean came with a price, many nights of uncomfortable withdrawal pains, loneliness, disappointments from people who thought he'd get it together the first time. But it also brought a gift, Ashley. She became a part of his life again, for better or worse, in sickness and health. He never felt more happy, and healthy.
"This feels like the perfect way to start," says Craig, kissing her cheek. "You were right."
II.
Her hips curve, stretch, body elongating to the low, vibrating sounds of the guitar. Black heels clack against the pavement, a red flowy skirt twirling as Marisol claps her hands. That's her name on the poster board hanging outside the restaurant, and she does flamenco in front, staring at the sky momentarily as if she was getting directions from above. Good work if you can get it, thinks Ashley. Truly, if she could live the rest of her life doing something as creative as Marisol, she'd love it.
"Don't you wish you could dance like that?" questions Ashley, looping her arms with Craig's as they walk past the restaurant.
"I wish I could dance...period," says Craig, chuckling.
"No, you can't say that," protests Ashley. "We've danced a few times, and you're good. You lead well and everything."
"We can dance and I'll lead you to bed tonight," whispers Craig in her ear.
Ashley buries her face in his shoulder, turning red.
When Marisol turns in rapid, sharp movements, the folds of her skirt go in and out, as if a red rose is blossoming from her waist. Ashley yearned to blossom for years, first at Degrassi, but especially whenever she received her readings for her law and criminal justice classes. The words in the depositions were harsh and cold, not like poetry, which she found charming and accessible. Everytime she watched the court cases screened in her classes, she'd envision a pen taking the place of a gavel, the witness stand morphing into a Korg Triton keyboard, ready for her to play. Some fantastical daydreams, to be sure. They weren't practical, and she tried her best to make them go away. Creative writing-craving, moody musician Ashley was supposed to go away, and she'd be a woman, a new married woman.
"Baila! Baila!" shouts Marisol, stopping Craig and Ashley in their tracks.
"No...no...," begins Craig, looking at Ashley for help.
Ashley shrugs apologetically, starts digging in her bag for her digital camera. Marisol beams at Craig, starts dancing around him, stomping to the beat. Late night diners encourage him, shouting "Vamos, vamos! Baila!"
"Move, Manning!" shouts Ashley. "Pretend you're Enrique Iglesias or someone. He was born in Madrid!"
"Let me guess...your guidebook," says Craig, raising his eyebrows.
"Enrique!" cries an old man happily, snapping his fingers to the staccato rhythm.
"Enrique?" exclaims Craig, grimacing.
"Not into the Spanish music scene either!" confesses Ashley. "Jut out your hips, move, thrust...eh, wing it!"
Craig begins to clap, putting his hands behind his back, imitating a dance somewhere between the Funky Chicken and the salsa. Ashley giggles, snapping a quick photo. Marisol draws in Ashley, Ashley barely getting the camera strap around her hair.
"Oh, no, really," protests Ashley.
Marisol wasn't taking no for an answer, nudging Ashley to the center.
"Ha!" says Craig, smirking at Ashley.
The guitar strums faster, Ashley twirling, despite a lack of skirt. Craig, clueless, claps along with Marisol as Ashley spins around and around. The gesture causes her to grow dizzy, tiny gold and white lights streetlights in the corner of her eyes, the glow of the green lighted-awnings of the Palace Mayor, the blue umbrellas shading coffee drinkers in the porticoes, a flash of vibrant color. Gone was the dull white of her law examinations, the monotonous questions she would've taken for the LSATs, the unnerving ache she felt when turning in the declaration of her major to her academic advisor.
Even filling in the form bored her. She got more joy writing her name with her work. That made sense. She used to take pride in writing her name under the title of her songs and poems. So long ago, she reminded herself. And they weren't shown to the same boy either.
Ashley quenched these meandering thoughts, rubbed her pen against her temple. The day after the engagement party, she felt this renewed interest in preparing herself for law school. Because that's where I'm going, she thought. That's what she and Jimmy decided. Never mind that Squatch Wear was located in Toronto. Actually, Squatch Wear did enough damage. Mr. Brooks pushed for Jimmy to give the store up, said he should go on to law school and get a fancy figure job. Be practical like Ashley, he said. You don't see her playing around on her little keyboard anymore. "Little keyboard", his exact terms for the instrument collecting dust in her closet. Jimmy agreed to an extent, deciding to use Paige as a cover, though he was still technically co-owner of the store. Mr. Brooks found out near Christmas, refused to endorse the idea, kept skipping out on family events due to his anger, including the engagement party. Jimmy pretended he didn't care, though Ashley noticed he came in later the past two months, working hard to make sure the store was in good hands before they left for the city.
Ashley heard the familiar click of the front door, heard Jimmy's chair go over the linoleum floor as he set down his sketchbook.
"Hey," greeted Ashley, turning the page of her textbook.
"Hey," said Jimmy, in a distracted fashion.
Ashley looked up, saw Jimmy clinching his hands nervously.
"Stressed?" asked Ashley. "Me too. I have an exam on some aspect of jurisprudence due next week. I got marked down for the wrong citations. University's brutal."
"All about the details," waved off Jimmy.
Some sympathetic response, moaned Ashley inwardly. Well, sometimes he'd shut off after a hectic work day. Mr. Brooks was a little like that too, truly business-minded.
"I've got news, Ash," spoke up Jimmy suddenly.
Ashley highlighted two terms, grabbed a pencil. "Listening."
"Paige scored a deal with a chain...like a real clothing chain!" exclaimed Jimmy, wheeling to her side.
"Wow...wow!" shouted Ashley, throwing her arms around Jimmy.
"Spin and I totally weren't expecting her to pull it off," continued Jimmy, eyes shining. "Man...and they want to set it up next year."
"Next year?" breathed Ashley, pulling away. "But...we were transferring to New York...is Spinner handling stuff?"
"Spin can't handle all this by himself," answered Jimmy.
"Paige is...," started Ashley.
"Paige isn't the owner," interjected Jimmy. "They need me here. Plus I want to try out some of my new designs."
Ashley shut her textbook lightly, rolled her eyes. His designs, hours sketching, his freedom.
"Your creativity gets to push back our plans?" snapped Ashley, standing.
"Excuse me?" said Jimmy.
"My music...can't remember the last time I played," said Ashley. "I don't get why you get to be creative and I..."
Ashley started to arrange her papers into a folder, feeling Jimmy try to grab her waist. She kept him at bay, folding her arms.
"You gave it up," said Jimmy, nodding at her textbook. "This is...this is my dream, and law school can...can wait."
"That's the thing, Jimmy...it can't," said Ashley, throwing up her hands. "It...it can't. You said we'd go to law school, open a practice together. We were all set."
"What does it matter if I'm taking care of you?" questioned Jimmy, shrugging. "Go to law school here. We'll get married, and I can pay for all your classes with the money, buy you a house."
"I don't want a house!" yelled Ashley. "I want to play, like you want to sketch."
"My art brings in money, though," said Jimmy.
"And that makes all the difference," said Ashley, sarcastically.
"You quit," reminded Jimmy.
"I stopped," corrected Ashley, narrowing her eyes at him. "And that makes all the difference."
Jimmy clasped his hands over his shaved head, attempts to settle Ashley into his lap, but she won't budge. She won't make any more concessions for him, any more sacrifices for a failed dream. Tears welling up inside, she knocks the textbook off her desk, Jimmy staring at her, amazed.
"Consider my law school career over," said Ashley. "First decision I've made in awhile, not counting the design of our wedding invitations."
"Next, you'll be ditching the wedding planning," smirked Jimmy. "You're always bailing on something and blaming me, ever since we were...twelve? Old patterns never seem to die, huh?"
She couldn't believe he went all the way back to their high school memories, dipping in the well to show how they failed to work things out. Their identities had shifted so much, with Jimmy having these great artistic realizations, while she waited in the wings placidly. It was like they were in an hourglass, tipped, sand coming down, suffocating all her air, her air to breathe at the bottom. Meanwhile, Jimmy was planted above, no sand under him, breathing in freedom, awakening.
"Agreed," said Ashley, grabbing her purse. "Which is why we should end this."
Her feet took her outside, her hands slammed the door. Acting on automatic, she rushed to her car, began to cry. Her vision was blurry by the time she got to a place where her lungs would gain access to the sweetest air possible, her head could fall into the softest of shoulders.
"We're...we're done," breathed Ashley when he opened the door.
Craig ushered her inside his apartment, boxes still packed up since he'd just moved in, relocating from the center. They sat on a small futon, so small they had to stretch their legs.
"What happened?" asked Craig.
"Pressure," whispered Ashley. "And papers...and lies to myself...and a mistake."
Ashley laid her head into his chest, Craig stroking the top of her soft hair.
"The yes was way too hard to say," said Ashley, sniffling.
"You do have a pattern of taking awhile to say yes," teased Craig. "How upset is..."
"As much as I am if I don't play anymore," said Ashley, confidently.
"This ear isn't only good for discussions," offered Craig. "Would love to hear your first steps back into the music world."
Craig ran a hand through her hair, smiling. His smile sent electricity into her, as if she's shocked by a paramedic, encouraging her to breathe, to make her heart beat. Ashley spread her fingers against his chest.
"How happy are you being here?" wondered Craig aloud.
"As much as I want to be," answered Ashley.
Lifting her chin, he lets his mouth press against hers, Ashley running her hands down his back, feeling Craig completely, sorrowfully. She was sorrowful because he ignited happiness in her too fast. Ashley stops kissing him, Craig kissing her cheek, her neck, the skin exposed under her V-neck shirt. Finally surrendering, she let him hold her until dawn broke, her heart pulsating, making low music. She knew it would be the first of the music she'd soon listen to and create.
Marisol releases Ashley and Craig, indicating they can join the observers on the sidelines. The stars stay stationary in a brilliant shade of blue, guitar melodies gliding across the streets, the calles that haven't lost their luster. Once in a while, she wonders how Jimmy would paint this or that, a sad habit that she's never lost. Moreso, however, she thinks about how she'd set these various scenes to music, and she's glad for that. Her music eventually had to win to make her happy. Finally, her freedom is her own, and she'd found a partner that knew how much it meant to her, appreciated all the undertones.
"How about some flamenco on your demo?" suggests Craig.
"Staccato might sound killer with a synth," agrees Ashley.
She'd been prepping a demo since graduating college, with Craig's encouragement. So far, it was a mix of rock ballads and earthy, mild pop, but she keeps changing her mind, loving a host of different ideas. This was her project, her baby, so she wanted to make sure it was perfect.
"The bongoes we heard in the park...also an option," says Ashley.
"So is...uh, erasing that picture of me having a spastic seizure?" says Craig, smiling hopefully.
"Shoot. I was planning on plastering them to your record company's walls," groans Ashley, then laughing.
"Don't you dare," warns Craig, mischievously.
"On second thought," says Ashley. "I'll keep it close."
"Why?"
"When else can I say you danced for me?"
Craig twirls her around, and she feel as beautiful, as graceful as Marisol.
"Danced with you," corrects Craig, holding her tight.