Let Her Go

This is a modern day, busker AU heavily inspired by the movie "Once," and inspired by the song "Let Her Go," from Jackunzel week 2014. Enjoy!

The song that Rapunzel sings is "Leave," written by Glen Hansard for "Once." Check it out!

"Only know you've been high when you're feelin' low, only hate the road when you're missing home, only know you love her when you let her go… and you let her go…"

The Dublin busker was an artist. She closed her eyes as she sang, giving the impression of a soulful commitment to the lyrics. She swayed slightly forward and back as she played on her guitar, which combined with her pixie-like appearance made the viewer think she was very likely to be swept away by a tough wind.

All of which, of course, was BS. Anyone who had heard the songs that this busker composed knew that her own lyrics were a totally different style, straightforward poetry. And anyone who had had an argument with her knew that on some matters, she would never compromise, never back down, never change her mind. Forget the wind; the earth itself would have a hard time arguing with her.

The young man who watched the busker had had the pleasure and misfortune of being in both categories.

"And you only need the light when it's burning low, only miss the sun when it starts to snow—" she sang, entering her final iteration of the chorus. The young man braced himself, and stepped closer, into her line of sight. He rifled through his wallet quickly to find some spare coins, and swallowed hard. This would be okay. They would be okay.

He was lanky and tall, his hair concealed under a blue cap (in an effort to disguise the prematurely gray color), his hands thrust deep into his jean pockets. His wrists showed white against the dark fabric, but cold didn't bother him.

It would bother her, though, he thought. The weatherman predicted snow tonight, and here she was with her legs exposed except for some woolen tights, and an overcoat. It was very gamin-like. And it bugged him – she just had to play up the waifish look, didn't she?

"Only know you love her when you let her go—and you let her go—" she finished singing, drawing out the words with careful slowness. She kept her eyes closed, and Jack tossed his coins into the guitar case on the ground.

When the coins clinked, she opened her eyes. "Thank you!" she said at once, glancing into her guitar case. She looked up at him, and her smile died at once. She never had been good at hiding her feelings.

"Jack," she said.

"I'm surprised to hear you playing 'Passenger,'" he said by way of a salutation. "I thought you were against selling out."

"I like the song," she stood up straight, chin tossed back to look up at him. "And besides, it's good business to sing what people already like."

"I like your original stuff better."

She slung off her guitar, laid it to the side, and began to collect the coins from the case. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to know if it was really you. Took me a day to be sure. I didn't recognize you – " he shook his head. "I mean – your hair!"

She gave a shy but proud grin, her eyes still downcast. For most of her life her long blonde hair had been her defining feature. Jack had known her with hair falling to the back of her knees, unbraided. Now her hair was cut short, and dyed dark brown. She ruffled her hair with one hand. "It's a change. I needed a change. It's so much lighter, and cooler, and easier to take care of—" Then she looked up at him, and remembered herself. Again she picked up her guitar and stood up. She just looked at him. Cool and impenetrable.

"It looks good," he told her. (It did look good, but he missed the old length. So it goes.)

"What do you want, Jack?" When he couldn't reply, she tapped her foot. "I'm working."

"This is no way to pay for medical school."

"I'll have you know I've taken on three jobs," she snapped, "this is what I do for fun, for maybe a little extra change for gas money. Jack, what do you want?"

"I want to apologize," he burst out. "I'm sorry for the way that I treated you, Zel."

"Glad to hear it," she said.

"I've been thinking a lot about what I did, and I –"

"Jack. I'm not going to listen to you." There came the stubbornness. At least she was honest about her inability to possibly compromise for one second. "I'm singing now."

"We have to meet up," he said. "Coffee? Lunch? Please, let me explain myself."

She hesitated. In the past Rapunzel had always been the cook, but they needed neutral territory. "There is," she said, "a Cajun restaurant. It's called Tiana's Palace. It's on Crow Street—"

"I know where it is," he said. "I'll pay. Tomorrow night?"

She hoisted up her guitar like a shield. "You're awfully eager to make up all of a sudden."

Her tone was so light that it stung. He crossed his arms. "You're awfully unwilling to forgive all of a sudden."

"I forgave for eighteen straight years, and look at what it got me, Jack. No, not tomorrow night. I'm seeing a movie with Merida and the girls. Thursday night. Or is that not 'cool' enough for you?"

"Thursday will be great," he said. Then he nodded, to show that he was respecting her boundaries, turned on his heel, and walked away. There was a Starbucks a block away, and though he usually was happy to rail against American corporations sapping the life out of home grown Irish businesses, he ducked in there and bought an iced coffee, despite the coldness of the day. He liked cold. Cold was in his blood.

Rapunzel had worked that line into a song, a million years ago, six months ago, when they were in love.

"The cold is in your blood, and I'll never pin you down – a child of the wind, you spin around, around –" he recited, staring at her through the window. The lamps were coming alight, and her hair was topped with the radiance that he remembered.

"Jack Frost!" The very confused barista (who orders iced lattes in November in Dublin?) called his order, and Jack collected it.

He pushed his way out of the close, warm little shop, but when he emerged onto the square again she was gone.

When the lamps came on, that was her cue to sing one last song and leave. Lamps on, Rapunzel out. The fact that she left with precise timing to ensure that she did not meet Jack again had nothing to do with it.

She walked home, guitar on her back, under the golden light. She pumped her legs and saw her breath fog the air. God, it was cold.

Rapunzel stopped at a crosswalk, looked both ways, and walked on. At an unseen cue, she began to sing.

"'Can't wait forever,' is all that you said, before you stood up. Don't disappoint me, I can do that myself. But I'm glad that you've come."

She swallowed. "Now if you don't mind, leave – leave – please yourself at the same time, leave – leave – I don't understand, you've already gone –"

This wasn't her song; it was a favorite of hers by Glen Hansard. Her voice got louder as she sang, and she knew people must overhear her but she didn't care, she had to keep singing.

"And the truth has a habit— of falling out of your mouth— Well, now that it has, if you don't mind, leave —"

Jack had once told her, 'You shouldn't do shouting songs. You sound best when you're gentle.'

Gentleness could go leap off of the goddamn bridge and drown in the River Liffey. Rapunzel grew louder and louder.

"Leave – free yourself at the same time, leave – let go of my hand! You said what you had to now, leave! Leave—leaaave—yaa-daa, ye-da-da, whoa—"

Tears were running down her face as she walked. She choked on the song and stopped. She gathered herself at a corner, rubbing her eyes and berating herself for being so stupid. She could have been run over.

She resumed walking. The only sound was her footsteps on the cobblestones and the traffic. She remembered.

She had known Jack a long time – as an acquaintance, the wandering boy who she'd meet during the summers, who suggested exploring and climbing fences, a boy who craved adventures but had never told her his own last name. When they found each other on their university campus, it had felt like the stars aligning.

After a year of midnight coffee runs and evenings spent debating cartoon philosophy, Rapunzel started an adventure: she kissed Jack during a party, when they were both tipsy enough to write it off as a squib, an impulse, with no meaning.

But Jack had found meaning, it seemed. And so did Rapunzel. When they fell in love, it felt like the sun and moon aligning and illuminating the world.

But there's one thing about university – it changes people.

Rapunzel's mother was abusive. The daughter had eighteen years' worth of forgiveness that prevented her from seeing that fact, but two psychology courses, a patient professor, and long anxious evenings spent asking her friends if this was "normal" had altered her paradigm. And when her mother – her only parent – had been so transformed, Rapunzel began to question everything else about who she was, what she wanted to be.

She began to find answers to those questions – she began to move her life into the direction that she craved. She broke off her connection with her mother, moved in with her friend Merida, and began to seriously pursue nursing and holistic medicine.

And those changes were so necessary to her, they shaped her as she shaped herself – but Jack wouldn't be pinned down, even as she grew more and more grounded.

Jack drifted away.

She needed him, and he left, still too intent on chasing the wind and trespassing by night to focus on the future, or even the past, or any time other than the present. Once Rapunzel realized that he wasn't going to be there for her, she didn't stretch out the test. She had broken up with him simply and swiftly, in no uncertain terms. She couldn't make things that simple with her mother, but with him, she could – and did – walk away.

At least, she told herself that.

And now he wanted to get back into her life. Well. It had been six months – the worst hurt had faded – and she had agreed to give him another chance.

But what if he hadn't changed? What if he was the same free spirit, with cold in his blood and the wind in his ears?

She couldn't open herself up to him again. She couldn't let him have that hold on her again.

But, as she stepped up to her front door, she clutched her guitar strap tightly and thought, 'I want him there, though. I want him back in my life. But I can't have him break my heart again.'

'Rapunzel, relax,' she told herself. 'Tomorrow will be scary, but it'll just be a trial run. Just one chance. Just one cup of coffee.'