Kelley Scott

And People Say Maybe That He’s Coming Around 

      We stood in the parking lot of our local taco shop just staring at each other. We had a million things to say but not enough words to do so. And when we started talking it started to rain because we didn’t want to see one another cry; so instead, we just let the rain wash away months of “I’m sorrys,” “I owe yous,” and “Are you okays.” The wind picked up and so did the rain, so I pulled my sweater tighter. The drops of rain exploded on our faces, pleading for attention, but we turned away and sat in your car.
      You turned on your CD player because you always need music in the background. You gripped your steering wheel like you had somewhere to go, but the engine wasn’t even on. You said you were scared, and tired, and you weren’t ready. And you pleaded for me not to cry, and I tried hard not to, but I needed something to fill the space between words and track changes. You went off on a desperately needed tangent and I told you things were going to be okay—it just takes time. Everybody needs time, right? We decided we needed space and we can’t let the future interrupt right now. And I told you I didn’t know what I was going to do because I wasn’t sure where I was going to be an exact year from that exact time. But we knew we desperately needed each other too. That’s when I stopped. Distance doesn’t create space—time does.
      My favorite song came one. I stole that coaster from the Shamrock Pub that says, “Music Says 1,000 Things Words Cannot.” And True Love Way seemed so right because they sang “I want in like a substitute/I’ve been working awful hard for you/but you don’t say you just hold your breath” and I could feel the song building up in your car. And I was torn between absolute fears of the unknown and wanting to know everything so I could move on.

            And then you told me your life goes in cycles. Like everything comes around eventually. And I had a place in your cycle where I’m supposed to be. Exactly where you want me to be. And I don’t know where that is, and only you know, and it’s better that way. It scares me; but it’s better that way, I kept telling myself. The rain hit your windshield harder than before, trying to break through an impossibly impenetrable surface. All I wanted to do was protect my heart from the rain and I know you did too, but we let our guards down, and there in the parking lot of the taco shop were two raw human souls that needed to be told “it’s going to be okay.” You said everything was going to be okay, and I trusted you. And when we finished talking, the rain started to let up. I got out of your car and I told myself you were coming around.