.:Lets you and me run away from this town:.
I was 17, you were 19
It had almost been a year since you left. I had turned my life around, trying to live it out the best that I could, remodeled the apartment, did good in school, got a good job at a cute little flower shop that pays surprisingly well, and even had a girlfriend for awhile, until about ten minutes ago.
But then my world seemed to cave in on me again, when I turned on my T.V.
You where being interviewed on some music station, with 3 guys I had never seen, and a girl with her fingers intertwined with yours.
She was gorgeous, with a pinup model look, long black curly hair, and bright red lipstick. She was wearing a tight black vintage looking dress, black lace tights, and a pair of black pumps.
She had her head on your shoulder and was rubbing circles on your knuckles, but that's when I saw your face.
You looked almost like a ghost.
Just like the first night we made love.
Translucent skin, dark circles that your dark makeup didn't help cover up, your shoulders were slumped, and tear trails seemed to stain your cheeks.
The voice of the woman doing the interview broke me out of my trance as she started to talk, a compassionate look on her face.
What's going on Sandra? What happened to you?
"I'm here with the four remaining members, of the big up and coming band When We Where Young, along with part time pin up model, and girlfriend of Sandra, Ashley-"
Girlfriend!?!?!? When the hell did that happen!!!!
"They have all agreed to meet here today, to talk about the tragic loss, of their lead guitarist, Troy Armstrong. Troy was shot and killed, during a live show that took place in L.A., during a beautiful guitar solo, how are you all dealing with the loss?"
One of the biggest guys that was sitting by you, spoke up first thoughtfully rubbing his left arm in a trance like state.
"We've all kinda dealt with it the same
for a couple weeks we all stayed together in the living room, going over old footage from other live concerts and mourning for Troy
crying when we needed to and using each other for support
The guy looked really big, and kinda intimidating, I was surprised when he let a single tear calmly fall down his face, as the guy next to him put a hand on his shoulder.
All of you, except for Ashley were wearing black skinny jeans, and black long sleeve shirts. Is this your way of mourning for him?
The interviewer went on to ask a lot of questions about Troy, and what your band was going to do for his funeral.
There you where, being interviewed on T.V. about your band that's obviously made it big in such a short time, talking about a member that was murdered, later I would learn why, but at that moment my eyes where glued to the T.V.
You had let your hair grow out, this time I was just over your chest, your beautiful lips where still so full, and perfect.
There you where. Living your dream, and here I was trying so hard not to dwell on the past, yet such a simple thing as seeing you, not even in person, brought everything back down. I could feel tears wheeling up in my eyes, but I wasn't going to cry, I didn't have a right to cry.
I should be happy for you, overjoyed that your dreams came true, but im jealous.
Im jealous of Ashley.
Im jealous of your band.
Im jealous of the interviewer.
Im jealous of the camera crew filming you.
Because they all get to see you in person. They all have a chance to touch you, to hear your voice, to look your straight in the eyes, to have a conversation with you.
All these things I cant.
So I thought.
Until you started talking about Troy's funeral.
It was going to be held less than 2 hours from here, in about a week.
This was my chance.
I could see you again!
I spent the next week working as hard as possible at the flower shop, dropping by goodwill a couple times to get some bright cloths since this was suppose to be a happy funeral.
For someone who brought so much light into the world.
I had looked Troy up a couple times, on the school computers, and realized that you two where really close, in almost all the pictures of him, you or another member of your band was there with him, there where only 2 or 3 pictures of him just by himself. Then I decided to look you up.
You looked happy.
A smile plastered on your face, your blue eyes shining as bright as ever, when you where on stage it looked almost like you where floating on are, so gracefully running around, the biggest smile I had ever seen splattered across your face.
It was beautiful.
I felt selfish for wanting to see you again, when it was obvious that you where so happy, but then I remembered that you had left for a completely selfish reason, and someone important to you had just passed, so I was going to be there, and I was going to see you again.
When the time came for the funeral, I got on the bus, and was shocked to see that three quarters of the bus was full of sullen looking people, all dressed in brightly colored cloth, with bright makeup, wigs and face paint, some had even written Troy all over their bodies. But when we got the location of the funeral, everyone seemed to brighten up, and put on giant smiles for their fallen hero, so I decided to do the same.
When we all walked through the gates, everyone was handed ripped up neon shirts, that said In loving memory of the best guitarist in the world, Troy Armstrong.
A loud siren sounded and everyone started to migrate towards the stage that was set up in the graveyard. People started to cheer, clap, and chant, then you came out.
A bright dreaded wig sat atop your head, your blue eyes outlined with simple black eye liner, a black tank top, sat on top of a bright pink fishnet shirt, revealing a tattoo that was spread across your torso, just below your naval, something that I hadn't noticed before. An electrifying yellow pleated skirt sat on your hips, with all sorts of chains dangling around, bright green fishnet tights, covered your pale legs, and a bright pair of neon blue platform boots with all sorts of buckles, covered your calves.
You looked so different
yet still so beautiful.
You, and the rest of the band stayed at the back of the stage, while some other people came foreword. They all told stories about Troy, how amazing he was, how he was always able to keep a smile on everyone's face, and his own. How his guitar solos could bring tears to the eyes, of anyone who dared to listen, how he had made something so amazing, out of something so little.
Not a single bad thing was said about him.
Then the members of your band came out one by one, each telling the story of how they met Troy, and how he changed their lives, until it got to you.
You walked to the front of the stage, and took the microphone in your hands, removing it from the stand, putting it up to your bright orange lips, and speaking in a raspy broken voice.
"I met Troy one sunny L.A. day, while I was performing downtown, trying to earn some money. When I was done and started packing up he came up to me
He told me that he wanted to meet up for coffee sometime, without giving a reason, why but I agreed. When we met up, he told me about his dreams
a dream that we both shared. He told me that had a lot of talent, and even for a street performer I could express emotions through my voice very well
then he told me about his band.
How they did have a singer, a name, or a recording label, so he asked me to join.
I couldn't say yes fast enough.
Its kinda hard to think, that someone who was so like me, lived less than two hours away from where I grew up, yet we never crossed paths, until about a year ago
I left my hometown and someone that I loved with my whole existence, to pursue a dream that to so many sounded like a waist of time. All I had was the cloths in my car, the money in my pocket, my beat up acoustic guitar, and a broken heart, but then I met Troy and he changed that
Because of him, I was blessed with a family, with 4 brothers, whom I owe everything two, and my beautiful girlfriend, who has mended my shattered heart.
Even though Troy is not standing with us right now physically, even though he was pronounced dead by a coroner, Troy Armstrong will continue to live on in all of us
This song we wrote is for you Troy!"
I stared at the stage in a trance.
You say that I meant your whole existence yet you left me.
You got a new love.
So why say that.
I was snapped out of my trance when you started to sing.
So many emotions washed over the crowd, bringing tears to some peoples eyes, who remembered what the funeral was about, so they smiled even through the tears.
Your voice sounded as if it could give out any moment, yet it still carried a beautiful melody. The look on your face said that you where in pain, but you didn't seem to let the pain get to you, you where gong to sing this song even if your voice broke, which it did several times, but no one seemed to mind.
That night, after the funeral was over I laid in bed, my mind racing with thoughts of you. Your face popping up out of no where, your voice carrying through my ears singing those sweet songs you used to softly sing to me almost every night before we went to bed, the smile that was plastered on your face, when you preformed, and the sparkle that gleamed in your eyes.
You had done it.
You made your dreams come true.
I should be happy.
But my heart still felt like lead.
You had promised that when you where able to support me, you would come back for me.
But you found someone else.
Someone who you seem to love but
you don't look at her like you look at me.
You don't have that look in your eyes when you're with her, like you did with me.
Your smile doesn't seem as bright when you're with her.
Why is that Sandra
The next morning I woke up, ate breakfast, drove down to the little flower shop I worked at and talked to my boss, a sweet little old lady, that had started the shop all by her self over 50 years ago.
I told her about Sandra.
About what she did, and about her new girlfriend.
The thought to make sure she wasn't homophobic never crossed my mind, and as it turned out.
She didn't care.
When I finished telling my story, she went into the back, and came back handing me a white envelope with a couple names and phone number on the front, and cash inside.
"The top Libby will get you a cheap flight to L.A., The next Spencer, will be able to pick you up from the airport and drive you to the hotel where, Emily my daughter works, she'll be able to get you a good room at a very cheap affordable price, and you'll be able to call Spencer if you need to be driven anywhere, my number as you know is at the bottom. Please keep in touch darling
I know that even after what she's done you still love Sandra very much
and im positive she loves you to
so go out there and steal her from the bitch that's sent her astray!"
I couldn't hold back the tears that had started to fall from my eyes. I hugged Mrs. Lavender my boss, finished my shift at the flower shop, then dropped by my school, to fill out some paper work, saying I was dropping out.
That night I packed my suitcases with cloths and other personal belongings I would need, put the rest of my stuff in the same storage area I had stored Sandras, signed off my lease for the apartment, emptied my savings, and rented out a room in a cheap hotel where I spent the night.
The next morning I woke up early, met a nice woman named Libby at the airport, who was able to get me a cheap flight just like Mrs. Lavender had said and was on my way to L.A.
This small town wasn't for you.
It wasn't for me.
But L.A. seems to be
Where were both suppose to be.