Chapter Three

Long Stories

"So, are you going to say anything?" Sophia asked, looking at Collins who was staring off into space and hadn't moved since he sat down.

"What?... Oh, sorry. Just thinking," murmured Collins, shaking his head to bring himself back to earth.

"So about that long story you told me about."

"Oh, no. You don't get off that easy, see, I want to hear yours first."

"And I want to hear yours first so I'll make you a deal. You said that your story is a little over a year long, and mine isn't mush less than that. Now, in my opinion, any story that long should have chapters, so how about this? You tell me one chapter, I'll tell you one chapter and so on, and so on, and so on. Will that work for you?" Sophia inquired, tilting her head to the side a little.

Collins thought for a moment... a very long moment. "Yeah, that'll work... Do I really have to go first?"

"Yes, you do."

"Fine. It's Christmas eve I'm coming home to my rundown shit of an apartment after seven months of tutoring at MIT, now--"

"Wait, wait, wait, your chapter has to have a name," Sophia insisted.

"I can't give this chapter a name, too much happens. Just listen. Now, because there's no buzzer on our building I have to call up to my roommates from a pay phone and asked them to give me the keys. So I get them, I'm about to go inside when I get jumped by the bastards with bats who, after taking my bag and coat leave me bleeding in a ally," Collins paused the story. "Fun huh?"

"Gross."

"You could say that too. Okay, so I'm sitting in there for... I don't know, maybe a couple of hours, and in a good deal of pain, and starting to get bored when... when I hear the steady beat of a drum. I didn't think much of it, there are plenty of people who like to set up whatever instrument they play and try to earn a few extra dollars. But then I cough, and the drumming stops," and just like said drum, Collins' story telling stopped, paused in that certain way that conveyed so much emotion, just by staying silent.

"Would I be right if I guessed that that drummer was your type?" asked Sophia, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You know, when you first look at him you don't think he's anything but some poor kid. He'd been drumming on a bucket, and his clothes looked pretty worn out, an old pair of jeans and beat up shoes. But that wasn't really him, I wasn't exactly paying attention then, I know now that wasn't really him..." He trailed off again, not thinking about anything but his Angel... his Angel.

"What was his name?" Sophia's voice brought him out of his head and back to earth. It was such a simple question, such a simple question.

"Angel... He was my Angel," That one name, that one, small, five letter word set it off, tears welled and fell over, streaking his face. He didn't want to cry; he thought he'd had his fill for life. A week ago he was yelling at Roger and now he was telling his story to a stranger, and to top it all off, he was crying in front of her. Needless to say, this was not how he thought his day was going to go. Collins rested his head on the bar counter for a few seconds, then turned to Sophia, he couldn't tell her anything more just yet. "It's your turn now. What's your type?"

"Well..." She started, pausing for dramatic effect. "My type was named Geoffrey, he was tall, his hair was this really nice brown color, he had an angular face, and he loved to pick me up and spin me around..." She trailed of, getting a dreamy expression on her face and clearly getting lost in memories.

"Sophia, you still here?" Collins asked, waving his hand in front of her face.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I'm back. Oh, and if I start to explain things too much just let me know, I'm an artist and I tend to get lost in the unimportant background details of everything," Sophia warned.

"It's alright, I'm used to worse," Collins replied.

"Really? How much worse?"

"Well, I have a friend who shut himself off from the world for half a year, trying, and failing to write a song."

"That does sound annoying. Anyway we met about five years ago at some get together for young people with AIDS. He was the tall, stand-outy guy who had been to a ton of these things and I was the tiny, terrified girl who had never been to anything like this in my life. I was scared; I didn't want to talk to anyone, so you can imagine how happy I was to see him walking in my direction. That was sarcasm by the way in case you didn't catch on," Sophia said, staring him down with a playful smile on her face.

"I got it."

"Good. Okay, so I see him walking towards me, and I'm annoyed until he opens his mouth. Who made you come? That's all he said, he just asked the question and waited for me to answer, and he didn't look like he was joking, it was a genuine question. He could tell I didn't want to be there, and even though there was no one with me he knew that I wasn't there by choice... And that was just... really cool," she smiled, getting lost in the memory, forgetting that she was telling the story to anyone.

"What did you say?" Collins asked, tilting his head to the side.

It was Sophia's turn to shake her head and come back to earth. "I didn't answer immediately, I just stared at him for a while, but when I did answer I was just as casual, I told him it was my sister and that was that. It wasn't until the next time that we actually had a conversation. That's how it started, we would see each other at these gatherings and we would talk, never about anything in particular, but then, after the first few times the conversations turned flirty. Eventually we exchanged phone numbers and agreed to call one another, about a month after that, he asked me out. That is the end of chapter one, it's your turn," Sophia concluded.

"Actually, it's getting late. So if I happen to bump into you again tomorrow you can hear chapter two, but until then I think I'll keep you guessing. Sorry." Collins said, dropping a bill on the counter to pay for the drinks and walking out, glad that he had guessed right about Sophia having a good story to tell. Plus she seemed like a pure bread bohemian so he had a feeling that she would easily slip into the role of friend. If she hadn't already that is.