That summer, Lisa spent a lot of time speaking Italian and being mistaken for Bob's daughter in public. And while she promised dinner at the Simpsons "wouldn't be that bad," the night began with a vulnerable Aunt Selma hooking up with an inexplicably present Krusty the Clown... and went downhill from there.
"I'm glad you're so blasé about seeing my daughter, Bob. But how would you like it if some older lady came after your son?" Marge asked, shaking her half glass of wine at Gino.
Lisa gave Bob a long massage as an apology. It took her forever to work out the kinks in his neck from the massage Homer had given him (by force).
Since one summer together was all they were allowed, Bob made an extra effort to be exciting and romantic. But the reality was that he had a son to support, and his time and finances were limited. Lisa, too, needed to visit all the people and places she would soon be separated from. She even went on a few adventures with her real father, Homer Simpson.
"Lisa, you and I haven't always been close," he told her as they sat and watched the evidence crackle and burn in the old family fireplace, "But I love you so much, I'd do anything for you. So if you need something, even if it's money–"
"I don't need anything, Dad. I love you, too." Lisa told him. She heard his huge sigh of relief through their hug. Part of her knew she should appreciate these last few moments at home, but another, restless part was dying to leave.
The night before she left for New York, Lisa showed up at Bob's door. Gino was staying the night with a friend. Lisa had barely crossed the threshold before she found herself wrapped in Bob's arms.
He held her for a long time. When he began to hear snuffling, he stroked her head.
"I'm going to miss you," she sniffed.
"You have given me so much," Bob told her, gravely wiping a thumb along her wet lashes. "Oh, but don't be afraid I'll expect too much more. One can't expect a traveling salesman to stay put–"
Lisa burst into laughter. "Are you blowing me off with some sugary stage dialogue?"
"I'm trying to explain how I feel about you," Bob insisted, completely serious. He closed his eyes and inhaled.
"There were bells on the hill, but I never heard them ringing. No, I never heard them at all, till there was you," he sang. Lisa rested her head on his chest to listen, and Bob swayed her gently. "There were birds in the sky, but I never saw them winging. No, I never saw them at all, till there was you."
Bob lead her into a spin, and her heart swelled until she sang. "And there was music! And there were, uh..."
That had been the only part of the song Lisa knew.
"–wooooooonderful roses," Bob provided, drawing her close. She smiled. "they tell me, in sweet, fragrant meadows of dawn and dew."
He looked honestly into Lisa's eyes.
"There was love all around, but I never heard it singing...!"
His high note rang out.
"You brought me back to life," Bob told her, taking her hands in his. Lisa could barely find the words.
"My first love."
Bob bowed his head to rest against hers. Lisa was beginning to feel blubbery again when he pulled back. "Enough waterworks, let's have some fireworks."
She laughed in delight as he picked her up and kissed her.
New York in the autumn was more beautiful than Lisa ever could have imagined. She was heartbroken over Bob and falling in love with the city, and it felt terrible and wonderful at the same time. She made new friends. She went to political protests. She surrounded herself with music and art in every form she could find.
Lisa was putting together her saxophone one cold day in Washington Square Park when she noticed that one of the reeds in her pack was inscribed with faint gold lettering.
Odd to inscribe a single reed, which has a lifespan of about two weeks, Lisa puzzled as she dug it out. It read:
Powerful
Fleeting
Lisa knew it was from Bob, and drew a fingertip over the words as emotion surged through her. Her feelings, like this fragile piece of cane–like all things–were impermanent. She might struggle to recall exactly how he smoothed the spikes of hair against her neck, or the playful way he pronounced 'mellifluously', but she would never feel for him as she did now. But for now, she was grateful for her love, and that he loved her, too–however briefly. Lisa screwed the reed in place and began to play, her heart not shrinking but expanding as it mourned and celebrated its extraordinary contents.
The End.
Thank you so much for reading, and a special thanks to those who wrote reviews. If you enjoyed the story, consider letting me know! With much love, till next time,
- rent-a-bird
