Explanation of Rating

Music – 4

I think the piano, and his singing, are both beautiful in this song. The tempo of the song, despite it being a sad song, I think is great too. Very unique.

I mean the piano in this a real standout.

Poetry – 2

It’s pretty corny in its lyricism. But I love the chorus.

Change – 1

There’s no change in this song.

Insight – 1

It’s a pretty classic trope for a song. And besides the chorus isn’t particularly memorable.

Good – 4

I think this song is great, If you couldn’t tell, I love the piano in it. It’s very catchy and beautiful, and I find myself humming this song a lot. I would definitely show this to someone.

This story is a part 2 to Everybody Loves You Now. Click here for the third part of this story.

Story

Sarah strangely took our incident to mean we were now ‘friends’. I guess that’s the kind of person she is, one nice moment and suddenly you’re buddy buddy. Of course. She started knocking on my door, and just letting herself into the room without waiting for me to respond. She’d be talking the second the door opened. She’d sit herself down on my bed, since I was usually in the chair. I’d just look at her, and she’d just talk. And talk. And keep talking. I didn’t even know what to say. Sometimes I’d nod in response if she was staring particularly hard at me, but most of the time she needed nothing to keep going. If she asked me a question, which was rare, I usually didn’t have to answer, she’d just guess an answer. 

“Do you love rabbits? I bet you love rabbits. They’re quiet. Vegetarian. So sweet. When I was a kid…” and I’d just look out the window, listening as much as I could. Her voice wasn’t the most grating sound in the world. If she talked for long enough, it could begin to sound more like a tune, or a melody, than speech. I liked it when it did that. It made the scene outside my window seem better. And I had to admit she was a gripping narrator, even if she only talked about things that didn’t really matter. I mean, who cares if her friend Katie that she worked with, who wore glasses with terrible frames, happened to be wearing an outfit that was too revealing today at their brunch? Or that her favorite coffee shop, which isn’t the one that’s closest to us, but is the one a couple blocks down ran out of the sweetener that she always uses? But somehow the way she talked about it I couldn’t help but be invested. And so that’s how we were sitting, me staring out the window, her on my bed on her phone or doing her nails or something.

Sometimes her visits were long. Other times she’d just poke her head in for a couple minutes, to give me some kind of update or other. Not that I ever asked. Eventually, irritatingly, she stopped knocking all together, just waltzing into the room as if she owned it. Turning my light on if it was late, putting her stuff down all over the floor. Sometimes she’d walk in while I was half asleep, laying in bed, occasionally I was shirtless. She didn’t seem to care, just sitting down on the chair, taking her shoes off, talking the whole time. Her boss was annoying her. A stranger came over to her and flirted with her all morning. Her friend Elizabeth is getting married. She has a new problem with…

“Thomas. Can I ask you about something? I feel like I’m always the one doing the talking. You must hate it. I mean, you can always feel free to stop me at any time.” I look at her. She looks at me expectantly. Oh God. This isn’t usually part of the deal. My heart rate goes up. She is asking me a question. She actually wants me to respond with something. I have to say something. She’s looking at me. 

“I don’t hate it.” 

“Oh good! Okay phew, because, you know, I was just sooo worried. It’s just that you don’t really say anything, and you don’t seem to ask about anything or stuff like that haha… You know what I mean?”

We sit in silence for a second. 

“Yes.”

“Okay good. Well that’s a relief. Anyway, you’re never going to believe WHAT Elizabeth did at lunch today…” She goes on talking. 

I nailed it. 

---

But as time passes she seems to ask more questions like that. She’s quiet and expectant more often. Her visits get shorter. Her eyes search my face, but for what, God only knows. We’re sitting in my room, it’s late afternoon, the room is stuffy and we’ve been sitting in silence for a little while. I like the silence. She’s staring at me. I try to ignore it and continue looking out the window. I can feel her stare. It’s intense. 

“What?” I finally ask her.

“You’re quiet today.”

“I’m always like this!”

“Yeah, I guess you are.”

---

She didn’t come in today. Not even late. I heard her come home over an hour ago, walk up the stairs, into her room, and then… nothing. Not that it bothers me. It doesn’t bother me. I mean, great. A break, for once! I mean a break from all the blabbering. I can finally just think. Clearly. In the silence.  

I find myself knocking on her door. 

“What?” she says from the other side. Well, I assume she says that, it’s hard to hear her honestly. 

“It’s Thomas.” 

“Okay? And?” 

I hadn’t thought of that. I stand there awkwardly, looking down at my feet. 

“What do you want, Thomas?” 

I can’t think of what it is I want, I just know I don’t want to walk away from the door. 

“God Thomas, just come in.”

I always imagined that her room would be just as loud and obnoxious as her, the walls would be bright pink, or maybe some other equally garish color. There would be eight thousand light bulbs burning, just to spite me about leaving the lights on. There would be collages on every surface, scraps of paper on the floor. She’d have stuffed animals, balloons, maybe ever some hideous sculpture that she’d consider art. But it isn’t. It’s plain, just like mine. An eerie amount like mine. The only difference is a standing closet with a bunch of clothes, and makeup lying on her desk. She’s lying on her bed, curled on top of her blanket, facing away from me. 

“What do you want?” she asks again. Her voice is soft. 

“You didn’t come in today.”

“Yes? And?”

“You always come in.”

“Did you invite me? Did I miss some invitation from you for us to spend time together? Maybe it’s over on my desk, could you look for me?”

“I’ve never asked you to come in.“

“Exactly Thomas. I mean, have you ever even wanted me there?”

“You always come in, every day, and I’ve never invited you.”

“And how do you think that’s supposed to make me feel?”

Was I going crazy? What does she want? Oh so for months it’s just fine to storm into my room like you own the place and now, suddenly now, you need an invitation? 

“I don’t know.” 

“Yeah. Big surprise. Thomas doesn’t know. Maybe you should stand there in silence about it.”

That hurt my feelings. I know a lot more than she does. I just dont need to run my mouth off all the time to prove it to everyone, like she does. I don’t say that though. I feel a tension in my chest. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I want you to do whatever it is that you want to do.” 

What I want to do? I keep standing there, thinking about it. But it’s hard to think like this. It’s easier to think at the window. Or even when she’s talking. 

“How was your day?” 

Maybe that will get her going. 

“It was long. I’m tired. So unless you have something you’d like to share, for once, I’m going to bed.” 

“Okay. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight Thomas.”

I linger for a moment longer. Then I walk out the door and close it behind me. 

She never comes into my room again. 

---

Two tense weeks after that I walk into her empty room. I could hear her outside my door an hour ago, shuffling for about twenty minutes. I guess she was deciding whether she was going to say goodbye. Eventually she went down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door forever. The house is back to the way it was. Quiet. Dark. Maybe this time it’s a little too quiet. Too dark. I look around her room, and remember how she had been laying on her bed, curled up, the last time we spoke. I keep replaying that conversation in my head. I stare out my window and only think about that. Maybe I handled it wrong. Maybe I should have invited her to come to my room. Maybe I should have said something nice, or told her how she was right about the lights. I look over at her desk and find a note, folded in half, with my name on the front. 

Thomas – 

You know how to find me. 

-Sarah