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Word Prompt: Circumstance
Audio-Visual Challenge—Musical Mastery: "Falling Slowly" by Steve Kazee and Cristin Milioti from the Broadway musical Once.
Listen to the sample, then write whatever comes to you first.
/watch?v=KfeRdH4Q_sg
Add You-Tube-.-com prior to that link to access it.
Not beta'd.
I furtively study him for a couple of minutes. He's quiet, not upset or edgy like I expected he'd be. I feel foolish for yet again thinking I knew how he'd react. And maybe I'm kidding myself by assuming he doesn't want to talk to me—he won't even look at me—but given the circumstance, I'd rather follow his lead.
Five minutes into the drive, he plugs in his phone and turns on a playlist. The music confirms what he hasn't—he prefers not to talk at all. He hammers home his point by testing the limits of his sound system, the hard, somber beats pulsating through the speakers at a ridiculous volume, rendering the possibility of conversation hopeless.
Message received, Edward.
I take a book out of my bag and bury my nose in it. It's too loud to concentrate on the words, but I go through the motions to focus on something besides how I'm feeling.
He drums with the rhythm, his fingers tapping the steering wheel, his shoulders relaxed, and face passive.
I try to see his behaviour from a different perspective, not knowing what his day was like or what the music means to him. He's appears content, and I can endeavour to swallow down my irritation if this is what he needs.
I'm more than ready for the ride to be over with by the time he drops me off. I say goodbye and tell him to have a nice weekend, sliding out of the car without really looking at his face. It's juvenile, but I don't want to spend the next two days analyzing his expression or the tone of his voice.
He responds with a simple, "See ya," never bothering to turn the radio down.
Despite my best intentions, the better part of my weekend is spent obsessing over whether he might contact me. A text would have been great, and if he'd shown up at my door again, I would have been over the moon, but neither happens.
When he picks me up on Monday morning, the volume on the stereo is loud and remains that way, as though he wants to deter conversation. We smile at each other and exchange pleasantries. He asks if I got a lot of reading done on the weekend. I ask if he caught up on his sleep. Our conversation stalls there.
This time, I don't read but listen, searching the melody and lyrics for a message. Some songs are upbeat, others are downright depressing, but there is no common thread. I glean nothing but Edward's preference for music over me.
He's late picking me up that evening. I'm hungry and tired, lacking the patience to do anything but sulk. He's doing exactly what I asked of him—providing a seat that I pay to use—but it makes me miserable.
The week passes in exactly the same way—reserved greetings and trivial chit-chat that always feel somewhat counterfeit—but at least we've settled into a rhythm. On Wednesday, I start bringing my iPod and noise-cancelling earbuds to drown out the radio. It takes any remaining pressure to make conversation off both of us, and I'm able to get some work done during the ride. It's a lot like riding public transit, only with luxurious seats and climate control.
Neither one of us mentions a reassignment in the rideshare program again. I presume he's happy with our arrangement, since he hasn't said otherwise, and he probably assumes the same of me.
He no longer offers to come find me when his day finishes early. He sends a text with two words: "out front." He doesn't bring me a coffee, though he usually has one of his own. When I get into the car, he begins to drive without so much as a look in my direction. If he'd spared me a glance, he'd find me watching him, but I never catch him looking.
I try to adjust to being shut out by him, but my longing for his attention deepens with time. I miss his intensity and our old rapport.
I miss him.
By the end of the second week, I feel invisible. I'm sad before I see him, while I'm with him, after he leaves—and it's affecting everything. My concentration is shot. I'm not sleeping well and as a result, I'm short-tempered. I'm functioning but not living, holding my breath as I wait for something to change because I refuse to face what's staring me in the face: he doesn't want to be around me.
My iPod shuffles to Falling Slowly from the Broadway musical Once. The duet between Steve Kazee and Cristin Milioti is hauntingly beautiful. I sing along, feeling hopeless, knowing I have to let Edward go.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing.
The next chapter will be posted tomorrow evening. I'd love to hear what you think is going on.