Song of the day: Fingers Crossed, COIN

Dear Georgia,

Am I hopeless romantic at heart? Yes. Am I going to write letters to you whenever I feel necessary to tell you something I couldn’t quite tell you at the moment? Yes. Am I going to give you these one day? Probably not. Things don’t work out in my favor most of the time, but it’s super thrilling and exciting to dream, you know? After you hung up on me, inspiration took over. Something as simple as this gets my writing brain worked up like it’s ready to run the Boston Marathon. Anyway, I wrote the song, phone call, in about two hours, I video called Sam to play it for her. She spruced up a few of the lyrics and created a build for the bridge that only Sam could cook up.

“This is about her isn’t it?” Sam asked me as we typed on the same document together over video call. She is in her room at her and Victor’s place. For now, they share a studio apartment in Lansing. Meanwhile I am in Grand Rapids, and in reality, I could drive to see them more frequently. Yet I’ll always feel as though I’m invading their space. We all grew up in Midland, Michigan, and dreamed of leaving to find something bigger and better. As a band, we strive to give a grunge sound without copying other influential bands from the iconic grunge era of the 90’s.

The conversation went a little like this when we discussed the song:

“That obvious?” she asks me bluntly over the phone. I notice her cursor pause on the shared document.

“You followed her around like a little lost puppy when we were at her place. Acting cool is not your strong suit, my guy.” Sam laughs as she takes a sip from her beloved emotional support water bottle as she calls it. You will find that thing at every goddamn show we are at, always within arm’s reach of her. Although I make fun of her for it, she is always hydrated and never hungover.

I bury my head in my hand. “Was it that obvious Sam? Give it to me straight.”

Sam doesn’t sugarcoat things, I love that about her.

“Only to the untrained eye. You’re a hopeless romantic, we get it. But also, you can’t just go falling in love with her and Yoko Ono-ing our band.” Her face was intense, so intense that it scared me.

“I would never! You know I tend to romanticize anything I can, for however long I can.”

“I hope, this time, it’s just that.”

We talk about the chorus, the note changes and where she can come in with backing vocals and hang up the video call. I schedule a time for all three of us to get into the makeshift studio I had at my place and record the song.

Later that day, I went to the store and bought this leather bound notebook and began writing letters to you, Georgia. Letters that would never see the light of day, rather see a bonfire in a few years when you find someone perfect for you, and I find someone suitable enough for me as well.

Sincerely,

Felix

Work has been tying up a lot of loose ends and trying to not let anyone know I’m planning to leave rather soon. I started packing up my summer clothing for the move as well as the minimal holiday decorations I had.

Two weeks come and go. Felix and I don’t correspond in any fashion. I’m unable to bring myself to text him, unwilling to bridge the gap I created.

I even go as far as checking his social media accounts, nothing new posted since then, which is atypical for him. For a minute, I indulge myself, letting myself imagine that, maybe, he’s just a tiny bit hung up on me. And wouldn’t that just be something.

But without communication I have nothing to stand on, no solid ground. Not even a text. But it’s fine. I am totally—fine.

The weather is spectacular—for Michigan today. So my car windows are open, windows down, as I drive home.

“What a crazy day! Inner Vice dropped a new song out of nowhere, after they just dropped an album, but wow, this song was a sweet little surprise for the alternative radio stations like ours! Please enjoy their new single, phone call.”

“And then, it’s like a hung up phone call, unanswered questions. I’m tearing myself away, but wishing you could stay, wishing you could hear me now. Listening to me sing to you, far and near, and right next to you.”

I blink approximately twenty times, trying to blink away the tears and the realization that this fucking song is about me.

“A phone call, a concert, a kiss, a miss, a missed chance, a missed case to make to you that I want to be here for all of it. The sideways glances. I took the jump, you took the bait. I made the call, but did I make my case?”

All right, well, this is how my life ends. The song is interrupted by a call from Brooke, I answer. Outside of who was there that night, only Brooke knows...but I may have left out some very pertinent details.

“Are you kidding me, Georgia? What are you not telling me? You liar! You are such a liar.”

Before she even told me why she was calling, I knew why. Since day one, Brooke and I have had this strange sixth sense with each other. Sometimes I would text her on a weekend asking how she’s doing and she would tell me she was about to call me to see if she could come over, just interesting coincidences connecting us even further. Tightening our bond, like an invisible string.

“The song could be about anyone. Why would you think it’s about me?” I can almost hear her sneering grin. I add a gruff cough to convey that I am not in the least phased by this.

“Come on, Georgia! You cannot tell me that song is not about you and him.”