I Wish I Knew You Before
Author's Note: So this is something completely different than anything I've ever written before. The narration of the story is in 3rd person and surprisingly, nobody sparkles, flies, can cast magic or has a tail, fangs, red eyes, feathers or anything else that is extraordinary. Yet they're all people of our everyday life and they all have a little story to tell. I really hope you enjoy this little story I wrote about them and leave me some reviews. The song of which the lyrics inspired the story is called "Mr. Rock 'n' Roll" by Amy MacDonald.
Thanks a lot,
Nessie
So called Mr. Rock 'n' Roll
Is dancing on his own again
Talking on his phone again
To someone who tells him that his balance is low
He's got nowhere to go
He's on his own again
Rock Chick of the century
Is acting like she used to be
Dancing like there's no one there
Before she never seemed to care
Now she wouldn't dare
It's so rock and roll to be alone
And they'll meet one day
far away
And say, "I wish I was something more."
And they'll meet one day
far away
And say, "I wish I knew you, I wish I knew you before."
Mrs. Black and White
She's never seen a shade of gray
Always something on her mind
Every single day
But now she's lost her way
And where does she go from here?
Mr. Multicultural
Sees all that one could see
He's living proof of someone
Very different from me
But now he wants to be free
Free so he can see
And they'll meet one day
far away
And say, "I wish I was something more."
And they'll meet one day
far away
And say, "I wish I knew you, I wish I knew you before."
He says, "I wish I knew you, I wish I met you
When time was still on my side."
She'll say, "I wish I knew you, I wish I loved you
Before I was his bride."
And so they must depart
Too many more are broken hearts
But I've seen that all before
In TV, books and film and more
And there's a happy ending
Every single day
And they'll meet one day
far away
And say, "I wish I was something more."
And they'll meet one day
far away
And say, "I wish I knew you, I wish I knew you before."
The bar was empty; dawn was just breaking in the horizon. The bartender was cleaning the last of the glasses left before he shut the bar to get home. He should have sent everyone away two hours ago. The bar's door had the sign "Closed" on the outside already, but there were still the last of the customers lingering inside. He was counting on some brave tips; he needed them to pay off the loan for his motorcycle. If only his manager knew; he'd have him fired in a second.
Mr. Rock 'n' Roll was clumsily shifting his weight from one foot to another as he talked to his phone. After a few shots, he'd given up the thought of going back home. He came in hopes of gathering the courage to walk back into his house but instead, after a few shots, he just decided to spend the night anywhere but there; as far from his wife as possible.
His wife, Mrs. Rock 'n' Roll, was everything but Rock 'n' Roll. How they ended up married and with two children only God knew. She was the kind of woman who was looking for someone... anyone actually, so she would not spend the rest of her life alone. Mr. Rock 'n' Roll was looking for someone to get over his previous relationship - the only one that had really touched him deep down inside - so he found comfort in her embrace. One thing led to another, and it wasn't long before they walked down the aisle. But how could he be happy when he was trapped in a marriage like that? He regretted the day they were joined to each other for every single day of the rest of their lives. He cut his hair and shaved his beard for her. He worked for a real estate company, showing to future couples the homes where they shall find happiness, while his own happiness was left behind... Further and further behind... a distant memory no longer visible in the horizon.
He drowsily searched his pocket and fished out his cell-phone. It was Mrs. Rock 'n' Roll. Who else would it be at 4 A.M.? She was yelling and screaming and screeching and yelling some more. He could hear her frantic footsteps pacing up and down to the old apartment they owned - far from what he'd consider the house of his dreams. He could picture her clearly in his mind, wrapped in her pink robe, her hair filled with pins and rollers, her face covered with that green beauty night mask, the cucumber slices that were on her eyes while she was lying down now placed on the small dish on her end table; reminding him horribly a lot of his seventy-year-old aunt. Indeed, a scary sight to behold. It seemed all too funny to him right now.
"Sure, dear, sure, get back to bed," he said soothingly; he couldn't wait for the moment he'd hung up on her. Sad to think this way, isn't it? he pondered on this revelation as he let the phone touch the table, landing inches from his drink.
He lifted his head to the speakers scattered around the room; he liked that song. He clumsily swayed to the music, smiling sheepishly as if this was the best thing he had done in ages. He felt so happy he had closed his eyes in delight.
The bartender looked up at Mr. Rock 'n' Roll, chuckling to himself; how odd people can be? he thought, and looked back down, to the army of glasses that were waiting to be washed and put back in place. The more he got done tonight, the more he could sleep in the morning. His gaze lingered to the Rock Chick on the other side of the bar, in the middle of the dancing floor, before he resumed his work.
Rock Chick was dancing as well, shaking her head to the music, stammering as much of the song's lyrics she could remember. Her date stood her up; what worse could happen to her right now? Well, nothing. She didn't give a crap about what anyone else there would think. Not that there was big crowd to observe her. Her bright red hair stood out as the dim lighting fell on her. She stopped for a second, feeling dizzy after all this dancing. She played with her lip ring, observing Mr. Rock 'n' Roll on the other side by a table. He stumbled over a chair and caught himself before he could fall on the gray carpet headfirst embarrassing himself even more.
The guy's hot, thought Rock Chick and made her way to him, moving her body to the softer melody that was playing at the moment.
She gave Mr. Rock 'n' Roll a sexy smile, and they started dancing together. She couldn’t read his face... Was that just the typical I'm-drunk-and-happy kind of smile, or was he flirting with her? He looked around her age and looked like her type as well. Messy dark hair, a small silver ring on his right ear, ripped jeans and an old shirt with guitars on it.
The bartender smiled grimly as he observed the Rock Chick nearing Mr. Rock 'n' Roll. He was hitting on her earlier that night while he was making her drink, but she had flipped him off. She had been looking around anxiously, looking through the crowded bar all night long. He knew what that meant. He saw it happening almost every night. A girl, a guy, the guy stands up the girl, the girl ignores everyone and keeps holding on to the pitiful hope that her date will show up. Not even the bartender’s charming looks work when ladies are like that. And now she was talking to the other guy? Damn, he hadn't even gotten the chance to get her number.
Mrs. Black and White on the far stool by the bar was nervously hitting the counter as she swallowed down her drink and at the same time was reaching for the bottle of vodka next to her to pour some more. That's what she's been doing all night long. The bartender sighed and slid across the bar to get to her. She wasn't a regular customer, and she didn't look like she could handle all of what she had gulped down. Time to intervene.
"Keys," he commanded, and opened his palm in front of her. Her glassy, swollen eyes looked up at him as if he just spoke Greek to her. The hell with the idiots in here! The bartender thought tiredly and rubbed his eyes. "I can't let you drive tonight. You're drunk. Give me your keys, get a cab and come tomorrow to get them back. They'll be here." Like anyone would care to steal the keys of a half-a-century-old truck like yours. He had seen it when she walked in. Ancient thing. Hell, how could the old wreck still roll its wheels?! It caught most of the space in the pavement in front of the bar and almost closed the entrance. This woman wasn't from town. It was obvious from the way she had parked. The bartender rolled his eyes at the thought of what a danger this woman posed if she drove home tonight. Drunk and does not know parallel parking. Guaranteed car crash. I’m probably saving at least one life tonight.
She sloppily threw her hand in her bag, looking for the keys. She pulled out a huge key ring with more than twenty keys and recklessly threw it to him. "Get the one for the car. I want the rest back," she said in a shaky voice. She placed the bag on the bar and buried her face in her hands.
She had an awful day. First, her baby boy ended up in the hospital, and the doctors diagnosed him with that damn cancer... His treatment wasn't working. Then, her husband decided to release all his frustration and anger on her... She ached in parts she never knew she could. The drink was easing the pain somewhat, she felt all numb and fuzzy, but she was determined to go nowhere near him again. How would she do it though? She had to get her son. He was in the hospital and he needed his mother now more than ever. Their paths would cross ultimately. She sobbed even harder in frustration.
Her life had always been easy. Simple. She was a small town girl. She grew up, fell in love with the boy next door, and they got married. Things were either black or white. She got married. White. She got pregnant. White. She gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. White as well. Her mother died. Black. All of a sudden, her life started turning gray. She’d never seen gray before, and everything was turning a deeper and deeper, and ever darkening shade of gray. Her son was ill. His childish body couldn’t handle the cancer that was eating away at his tiny body, or the treatment that was not only killing the cancer, but his immune system as well. Her husband had started to hit her. She didn't know what she wanted from her life anymore.
She was a sensitive woman. She always looked for someone like that. She knew she wouldn't find it in her little town, so she decided to settle with second best. Or third best. Or... well... not even something close to best, and she was even losing this. Her misery had no limits.
"Can I have my bill?" Mr. Multicultural asked and leaned against the bar while Mrs. Black and White cried her eyes out next to him. The bartender was still struggling to find the car's key, and jingled the key ring angrily.
To hell with the damn keys! he thought in frustration. He highly doubted that either Mr. Multicultural or Mrs. Black and White would give him a good tip after all.
Mr. Multicultural was a thin man, somewhere in his forties, but he didn't really look like it. He had a baby face and a sweet appearance. Straight nose, beautiful blonde locks, piercing blue eyes. A never-aging teenager. He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose, stabilizing them once again. He had stayed up way longer than he had since he got out of college. He had a fat, overstuffed architecture book in one hand and a checked notepad filled with a sloppy, scratchy script of numbers and calculations for his boss. Yes, someone with interests as wide and deep as his, involved in everything from art and music to movies and books, ended up being a financial counselor, trying to cover up his boss's dirty business. He should be ashamed of himself. He always regretted taking the job in the first place, but when he got involved, he was just a kid fresh out of college with hopes and dreams as big as the universe. He didn't know. He looked for a job, and he got one. They paid well, and he was happy until he realized what this was about and then it was too late.
"Sure," the bartender said. With the jingling key ring in one hand, he walked over to the cash register to print out Mr. Multicultural's receipt.
"Are you alright?" Mr. Multicultural asked Mrs. Black and White. He couldn't stand seeing a beautiful woman like her crying. He searched his jacket's pocket for a tissue and decided to give her the whole package. Her delicate fingers reached out to take the tissues, and she brought one to her face, wiping her tears.
"No. My life's a mess. But it's okay, there's a bunch of people whose lives are filled with shit, so no big deal, right?"
She sounded drunk; Mr. Multicultural looked sideways at the almost empty vodka bottle next to where her elbow rested. He hoped the bottle was already half empty when she started drinking. His look softened, and he placed his architecture book next to Mrs. Black and White's bag, taking a seat on the stool next to her.
"It is a big deal. Would you like to talk about it?" He talked to her confidently, as if he'd known her for a while now. He didn't know if it was the sympathy he felt for her, or something more that made him behave like this.
She nodded, or so it seemed. She didn't talk. A few seconds passed, and the only sound that was heard was the song playing from the speakers. Without a word, she sucked in a deep breath and gingerly took off her coat, exposing her bare shoulder. Mr. Multicultural gasped as he saw the angry red-purple bruise on her. He wanted to look away, but at the same time, he couldn’t do anything but stare.
"How did it happen?" he asked. He wanted to reach out and touch her, hold her hand, stroke her hair, do anything that could make her feel better, but he knew better. She was a woman he had just met at a bar, and she was crying. He didn't want to send the wrong signals to her.
Rock Chick and Mr. Rock 'n' Roll, in the meantime, were smiling at each other; their looks saying more than their mouths could express with words. Mr. Rock 'n' Roll couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if he had met such a woman before Mrs. Not-So-Rock-'n'-Roll. He knew it wasn't right to think this way, but he couldn’t make himself feel embarrassed or ashamed after the life he had been forced to live after they said "I do".
Rock Chick was delighted that the night finally seemed to turn into something good. She was expecting a hundred percent crappy night after her date stood her up, but there she was, dancing with Mr. Rock 'n' Roll. It was the first time she didn't dance like she was alone. She was dancing because she was with someone who she wanted to see her dance. She smiled up at him warmly.
"What would cause a guy like you to be at a deserted bar like this at such a late hour?" she asked softly, the music covering her voice, but not before Mr. Rock 'n' Roll could hear her.
He decided not to mention his wife. She'd had occupied his mind long enough with her pointless, one after the other hysterical crises lately. It was time to let her go, so he remembered why he picked this place in the first place.
"I came to remember the good old times. This used to be my hangout a few years back. The music was always great."
Rock Chick decided she wasn't mistaken about him. He was her type. She lifted her gaze to his eyes and their eyes locked. The world around them was just a colorful blur.
What a nice way to feel, she thought.
"Here's your bill," the bartender said, and let the little white piece of paper on Mr. Multicultural's architecture book. He began looking for Mrs. Black and White's car key again.
"Thank you," he said, and without removing his look from the woman next to him he reached for the paper. He glanced at it only for a split second, to put it in his pocket and get money from his wallet to pay. He gave him way more than his brandy would cost and he knew it. He leaned away from Mrs. Black and White, and closer to the bartender as he whispered in his ear, "Keep the change for the lady's drink."
The bartender's face lit up. There was enough money for both their bills, and a generous tip. He wasn't sure if his customer had realized it, but he walked away happy.
In the meantime, Mrs. Black and White literally poured her heart out to Mr. Multicultural. She felt so comfortable with him, so much at peace. Her sobs were fading away, and she had stopped crying. She was looking at Mr. Multicultural's light eyes and felt like she could tell him anything that had ever troubled her and he would listen intently. With this and that, they realized how much they had in common. She loved arts and he had so much to tell her about it. He was sensitive, sweet and kind. A real gentleman. He was such a good listener as well. He listened to every single word she said, his expression so composed and soft at the same time... He was literally hanging on every word from her lips. Her husband was nothing like this. He was the kind of man who'd sit and watch baseball on the TV with his smelly feet on the table she had just cleaned, drinking beer and throwing the cans on the floor she had just vacuumed, eating popcorn without caring if half of it fell on the sofa or left stains on the pillows she had just washed and dried.
“I don’t even know where I’ll spend the night. I can’t go home,” she said, looking down at her hands ashamed. It was a pretty much pointless question to worry about. The night was almost over. It was already 5 A.M. She could take a nap in her truck, and head to the hospital to be at her son’s side shortly after that.
Mr. Multicultural caught himself wanting to tell her to come to his home. It was a small two room flat, but he could spend the night, or what was left of it, on the couch. She seemed to need a good sleep more than he did. Instead, he cleared his throat and looked at her shoulder, now covered with her coat again. He still couldn’t get the picture of her bruised pale skin out of his head though.
“Have you put ice on the bruises? They will start swelling.” He wasn’t good with medical stuff, but it was something to say. She shook her head slowly and watched as he motioned for the bartender to come back over. Once there, he asked him for some ice and a towel. The bartender came back with a metallic bucket filled with ice and a small, black towel. That would probably do. He leaned again away from Mrs. Black and White and asked the bartender “Is there any chance you could make her a coffee?”
The bartender thought about it a little. There was coffee in the back, he used to have keep it there for the busiest nights, when he had to stay on his feet until the end of his shift and had no help. He could make some and get paid for it. Plus that money would be all his since coffee’s not on the catalogue. “Bitter?” he asked, smirking.
“Sounds like a good idea,” he nodded. The barman walked away and they were alone again.
Mr. Multicultural reached for the ice and filled the towel with ice cubes, making it look like a small bundle. Mrs. Black and White shrugged away her coat, exposing the skin of her neck and shoulder. Her skin was like porcelain, that delicate, pale shade of pink, so beautiful and healthy looking. He already loathed the man who had dared to hurt her. How could someone like this sweet, sensitive woman end up with him? He was intending to hand the towel with the ice to her, but she didn’t seem to have realized it. He wondered if she’d consider it a violation of her private space if he was the one who pressed it against the bruise. He slowly gathered the courage to place the cold towel against her skin; she flinched away at first, but she relaxed slowly. She smiled at him and her gaze lowered, moving from his eyes to his lips. He had such full lips and he looked so much better than her husband. He was so sweet… What if he was the one she was with? If she had only dared to get out of her little town… If she dared to face the rest of the world… Her life would be much easier. Much, much easier.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly.
Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll tried to remember the new song’s title as it started playing. Rock Chick hadn’t stopped smiling at him since she came his way. He had to reach over to his phone and hang up on his wife as she was trying to call again. She was trying to reach him to keep on rambling and shrieking hysterically in his ear, and he had enough of that for one night, that was for sure. He always thought that his wife’s voice had harmed his ears way worse than the music he used to listen to ever did.
“Shall we dance?” he asked.
Rock Chick looked at him questioningly, and the ring on her eyebrow lifted slightly. “Aren’t we dancing already?”
He grinned widely and closed his eyes, focusing on the soft jazz melody that was playing. He opened his eyes again and stretched his hands out, placing one on the small of her back and one on her waist.
“The song demands a dance like this,” he said as they started moving in slow circles, shifting their weight from one foot to another. He wondered if that was called cheating on his wife. He hadn’t kissed the woman or anything. Did it count if he thought of kissing those soft, red lips? He was just having a good time and dancing. Right? He wasn’t sure of what he felt for her. He knew that she’d be a wonderful match for him, but he was married. He had made a dreadful choice, and he’d have to live with it for the rest of his life, if nothing more than for the sake of his children. He was a child of divorced parents; he knew how it was. He didn’t want what he went through for his children as well. No, the twins would grow up in a real family, even if that’d cost his own personal happiness. They were number one in his life until they were safely out of their dwelling he tried to call home, but it was not truly a home and never would be as long as they lived in it together, miserable and without true love.
Rock Chick kept wondering if the night would turn into something more. She was in his hands and they were dancing, but he hadn’t made a move suggesting he’d kiss her. Should she lean closer? She was a first-move kind of person, but she knew this was also the perfect recipe for disaster. More than half of the guys she’d been with were just freaked out by her making the first move. She decided to give it a little more time. She laughed as they spun around, joking and talking, while song after song played.
“Aaaah, the twins love that song,” he said. He felt like a bucket of cold water was thrown on his head all of a sudden. Why had he said that? Why bring it up? As he expected, Rock Chick stood there, frozen, expecting more explanations.
“The twins?” she repeated, demanding some enlightening on the subject.
“I… I…” He stammered and fell silent, feeling at a loss of words.
“Just let me guess. You’re married. You have kids. Your wife’s a hysterical psycho bitch.”
He didn’t reply. He wanted to drop his hands to his sides, to let go of her, but he was immobilized, frozen there, hearing the harsh reality in the way Rock Chick saw the situation he was in. And she was right; she was oh so right about everything.
She lifted her hands, her eyes crystal and cold, unreadable. What was she thinking? He didn’t have a clue. As he saw her hands rising, he only imagined she’d slap him. He didn’t try to push away. He deserved it, both this slap and one more from his wife. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. To his surprise, he felt two cold hands on each side of his cheeks. Soft lips were slowly brushing over his. She was kissing him. Eagerly, he responded to her touch.
A war was taking place inside him.
What was he doing? Was he out of his mind? What about his wife? That was what the little angel on his left shoulder was asking, trying to crush his tiny harp on Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll’s head.
Who gives a crap for that lunatic wife of his? They aren’t far from divorce anyway! It’s just a matter of time, time enough for the twins to grow up! objected the little devil on his other shoulder, leaning against his black and red trident, evil grin crossing his face as he tapped his tiny foot.
Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll’s eyes flung open and he stood motionless, until Rock Chick looked up at him. She had done it. She made the first move, and it freaked him out. She knew it. Damn.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I… I can’t.” He slowly moved away, and fell heavily on the chair behind him. He noticed the bartender across the room looking at them curiously. As their eyes met, the bartender looked down at his glasses he was meticulously drying, pretending to mind his own business.
Rock Chick sat on the table opposite him and looked at him, frowning. “Why?” she asked. She had to know if she had freaked him out. She could be nice and wait for him to kiss her.
He took a deep breath and started telling her the whole story. How he’d hate it if he broke up with his wife and his children ended up staying with their messed up mother while they felt he had abandoned them the same way he blamed his father.
She reached out and placed her palm on his. When she remembered she shouldn’t make any first moves before he did, it was too late to stop the movement, but to her astonishment, he hadn’t moved away, so her hand stayed put.
“Look… You see it all wrong. It’s not right for you to ruin your life for her. And you’re not abandoning your children. You can have them on weekends. Or she can have them on weekends. There are solutions. It’s not messed up to be divorced. It’s worse for the children to think they’re living in a stable and happy looking family, while inside their house is really hell on earth for the people they love the most. You can still be their daddy and never let them feel abandoned by just being there and being happy. Your happiness ensures their happiness.”
He gave her a shy smile and looked at their hands. Something had started changing inside him. She was changing him. He wanted to see what else she could do to him. She could help him make better decisions for the future. For the first time in a long time, he saw a future for himself.
“You… may be right,” he said eventually. Her round face looked beautiful in the soft blue lighting. He wanted so much to go back in time a little and repeat that kiss. But not yet, not before he announced to his wife they’re over. He was done with ruining his life and his children's lives for her. He was only human, and he was allowed to make mistakes and learn from them. He had the right to fix them. It was never too late. She was living proof of that. “I’ll tell her.” He looked at his watch. 6 A.M. He’d call work in a while to tell them he was taking a personal day off.
She looked out of the window; the sun was coming up, dawning on a new day in so many ways. “I think that this would be a good time to go get breakfast.” Her lip ring sparkled in the blue light.
“Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.” His lips curled into a hesitant but ever growing smile as he stood up. She was on his tracks as each paid their bills. Rock Chick wasn’t the kind of woman who’d let the guy pay for her drink, each would pay for their own. No complications, no expectations, no hidden agenda.
Mrs. Black and White sipped the last of her coffee until there was nothing left in the cup. She felt more awake and sober, although a strong headache was creeping up her temples. She wasn’t used to drinking. All she’d had before was two bottles of beer. It was a wonder how she’d kept all that alcohol along with her breakfast and lunch down by now.
Mr. Multicultural sneaked the bartender more money for the coffee and helped her up. She appeared even more beautiful now that her eyes weren’t as red and swollen from crying anymore. The bartender looked at them as they moved to the door.
“I’ll be back in a second,” Mr. Multicultural told her and ran back to the bar. “I can take the lady’s keys. I’ll drive her home,” he said and opened his palm waiting for the key. The bartender sighed but gave him the key; after all, that meant one less thing to worry about for him. How much better could this shift go?
He ran back to Mrs. Black and White and placing a hand on her back, he guided her out the door. The air felt good against her face as he walked her to her car. He wouldn’t let her drive tonight though. She didn’t refuse and sat in the passenger’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life.
“Take it easy on the brake. The old thing doesn’t run like it used to,” she warned with grim smile.
His house was nearby, so they didn’t have a long drive. It was a small but neat place. He placed her bag and his architecture book on the kitchen table and showed her where the bathroom and his bedroom were. She seemed tired; she needed to rest. She thanked him and disappeared in the bedroom, closing the door behind her. He plopped himself on the couch, feeling too hyper to sleep. He turned on the television, and after figuring out that there was nothing worth watching at six in the morning, he picked up a book from the coffee table.
The waitress just brought the order for Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll and Rock Chick; two steaming plates of bacon and eggs along with two big cups of coffee. The old cafe down the corner from the bar made them feel as if they had stepped into another decade. Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll felt like he had never done anything wrong in his life, like the mistakes of the past weren’t his. He was living just for the present, and this present, felt just wonderful.
“Do you think I’ll regret it?” he asked her.
She smiled at him, licking her lip ring. “You won’t regret anything that will make up what you know in your heart was a mistake.”
He smiled smugly back, excited at the prospect of the life this new day was offering to him.
Mr. Multicultural was sitting on a chair, tapping his foot nervously, waiting in the police station for Mrs. Black and White. She had decided to report her husband’s abusive behavior, and he drove her to the closest station. She seemed to need a friend. And who knew… In the future… Maybe… He could be something… more…
Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll unlocked his apartment’s front door, walking in quietly. His wife usually was still asleep at this hour, but not today. She was squeezed in the miserably small kitchen, frying eggs and warming milk for the children. Luckily, they were still asleep.
His wife turned to face him, the rollers still in her hair. She called him names in her usual, annoying, high pitched voice. He was happy it wouldn’t damage his ears from now on. She went on and on, and he let her do so for what seemed like eternity, but was only for the next ten minutes. “You…! You! I can’t believe you didn’t set your foot home last night! Shame on you! Who was the whore you spent the night with?!”
Calmly he said, “I didn’t cheat on you. I could have, but I did not.”
She laughed darkly and threw her kitchen glove on the floor, which made less noise than she hoped it would. “Of course you didn't! Everyone who just stays away from home all night long and keeps hanging up on his wife doesn’t cheat on her! How could I misunderstand you like this?!”
He opened his mouth to reply, to finally get out the last words he had to tell her, but without taking a breath, she went on. In perfect synchronization, they said, “I want a divorce.”
* * * * *
It had been two years from that night when they had met each other.
Mrs. Black and White was walking out of the hospital. She’d never imagined that day would finally come. She was resting her head on Mr. Multicultural’s shoulder. She was crying. But these were tears of joy. Her son was on Mr. Multicultural’s shoulders, singing loudly the song his mother’s friend had taught him, while he was in the hospital. He couldn’t know how important that day was yet, he was too young, but his mother did. His cancer was in recession. Who could believe it? Mrs. Black and White couldn’t. Her son hadn’t gotten out of the hospital for almost two years. She had almost lost hope, but finally he did. He was out. And he was healthy.
“Where do you wanna go?” his mother asked him.
“The playground! I wanna go to the playground!” he said and they all laughed.
It was Saturday and Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll prepared the twins to go to their mother. Weekends were hers. He made sandwiches and wrapped them in napkins, placing three in each of the twins’ bags. Three for his little boy and three for his little girl. They were both in the living room, watching Cartoon Network, barely awake and rubbing their eyes sleepily.
“Daddy, can’t we stay with you today?” his girl asked, coming in the kitchen and tugging at his shirt.
He stroked her hair and shook his head. “It’s time to go to mom,” he told her softly.
His boy came in, skipping, and caught his sister’s hand. “But we want to stay with you! We want to stay with you!” they kept saying over and over again, jumping on the kitchen floor, reminding him of the two little frogs from their favorite TV show.
This had been happening for the last few months. It made it even harder for him to be separated from them. They refused to go visit their mother anymore, even just for the weekend.
The doorbell ring saved him though. He put the backpacks down and opened the door. And there was Rock Chick, grinning from ear to ear, with a very good smelling box of donuts in hand.
“Good morning! I brought donuts for everyone!” she said.
“Yay!” the children cheered, and she opened the box for them to pick whichever they liked.
“I was just getting them ready to go to. Now, they won’t want to go anywhere.” He frowned and placed a quick kiss on her lips.
“Well, along with donuts I’m bringing some sweet news! No mom today. She has something else to do,” she announced, giving to his children her sweetest smile.
Mr. Rock ‘n’ Roll nudged her gently and whispered in her ear, “Don’t talk to them like it’s a good thing. They won’t want to see their mother at all if this keeps going on.”
“And? That's a bad thing because...?” she asked, lifting her eyebrow and smirking. The children were too oblivious to their conversation; they were dancing around and singing from happiness. She hugged them both and they giggled. “Sooo, we have the whole weekend to ourselves. What do you wanna do?”
And I've seen that all before
In TV, books and film and more
And there's a happy ending
Every single day…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Random Info: There goes the random info again! So, here I come, chickens!
One: I love Amy MacDonald and all her songs!
Two: I think this one is pretty funny. Seems that my brain works overtime during bus rides. I was going home, tired from school and after four nightmarish hours of Ancient Greek in a row, and was listening to "Mr. Rock 'n' Roll". Somehow each of the characters shaped inside my head and their stories came to me. I tried really hard not to start writing in a school notebook on my lap into the bus, in my typical chicken scratch that even I wouldn't be able to make sense of at all after five minutes.
Three: When I got back home, I didn't do ANY of my homework. Instead, I turned on my computer and wrote on a virtual "Post-it" (for the first time I didn't use Microsoft Word) all twelve pages of it on it.
Four: Luck was on my side as the deadline for the "Musical Cues" contest in Free Writers And Readers was the day before or the same day, and there was no way my wonderful beta, Wendy, would manage to edit it all in time. Because of that I never converted it to a Twilight fan fiction and decided to stick to the original names (Mr. Rock 'n' Roll, Rock Chick, Mr. Multicultural and Mrs. Black and White). I am really glad for this last one!
Five: Some of you might be interested in knowing which Twilight characters I would have used if I had indeed changed the names. I was sure that for Mr. Multicultural Carlisle would be the one and for Mrs. Black and White the perfect person would have been Esme. I never really settled on a specific pairing for Mr. Rock 'n' Roll and Rock Chick, but the most fitting pairing in my head seemed to be Jacob and Bella.
So that's all folks! Thanks for reading! If you have time, share your thoughts with me!
Hugs!
Nessie
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