The Irony Of Falling In Love With That Girl
Count Me In
Victoria's POV
I wonder why I stay when I know it’s time to leave.
You’ve got a full-size ego and my heart on your sleeve.
The waters are dangerous but I know how to swim.
I’m exhausted from playing a game that I never can win.
My fingers strum the guitar strings lightly, and the words pour from my mouth with a familiar ease. I love singing at Corona’s Karaoke. I don’t get paid and most of time people just turn to their quesadillas and cheese dip, completely ignoring the entertainment, but I love it. I get to sing songs that I’ve written myself for a live audience. To me, it’s almost like being famous. It’s as close as I’ll ever get. I’ve frequented at Corona’s every Saturday night for almost two years. When I finish my song, there is a light applause and I perform a slight curtsy in my short blue dress. I take my guitar and walk over to the owner of the place, Calum Forester.
“Brilliant as usual, Vic.” Calum says, offering me a Pina Colada, which I gladly accept with a small eye roll. Calum is a large man, towering over six feet and somewhat burly. I think he’s about fifty years old, but I’m not sure.
“Thanks, Cal.” I say, sipping my drink as a young girl—nine years old at the most—takes the microphone and starts singing some pop song I can’t name. The tune is familiar, but I’m not big on pop music.
“I think you caught someone’s attention, actually.” Cal says, gesturing towards a dark haired man who’s approaching us. He looks a bit older than me, but not too much, and he’s somewhat attractive. Calum gives me a sly grin before walking off just as the dark haired man reaches me.
“Hey.” The guy says, offering his hand. I shake it slowly. “I’m Matt Flyzik.” I give the guy—Matt—a small smile.
“Victoria Glenn” I say, tossing my long brown hair out of my face. I’m not too keen on meeting strangers, but I’m a bit of a flirt, and for an attractive guy, I can make an exception.
“Was that an original song, Victoria?” I crinkle my nose when he says my full first name. It’s so formal and such a mouthful.
“Call me Vic.” I say, “And yeah, it was. Was it the amateur lyrics or the cheesy chorus that gave it away?” I joked. Matt laughed lightly. He had a low, genuine laugh.
“Actually, it was the way the lyrics were adapted to you. They perfectly fit your voice, like they were written for you.” Matt said dreamily as he leaned closer to me. It was strange, like he was making some sort of romantic gesture, but I understood the joke when he followed with “And I’d never heard it before, so I just took a wild guess.” Matt pulled away and winked.
“Well, I’m glad you liked it.” I said, not being able to keep the smile from my face. This guy was nothing special, but what can I say? I’m easily smitten. Not that I was head-over-heels for this Matt character. It had just been a while since a remotely attractive guy had looked at me.
“You know, I’m a tour manager for a band.” Matt started. I raised my eyebrows as I took a sip of my Pina Colada. I had to admit, that was pretty cool. But, of course, I had my doubts. There was always the chance that he was trying to impress me to get me in bed. That type of guy was the only type I’d ever known.
“Yeah? What band?” I asked casually. Or at least, what I hope was casually. I’m not a fantastic actress.
“All Time Low.”
“Never heard of them.”
“You should.” Matt says with a grin. I laugh a bit. “You should also show me some more of your songs. You’re really talented, and the guy who writes most of ATL’s songs has been slack lately.” I frown. What was he going to do, try to steal my songs?
“So?” I inquire further.
“So I was wondering if you’d want to start writing songs for them. They seem down your alley. There are four guys in the band, and they’re all--” he pauses after the word “all”- “—great.” Matt finishes. My eyes widen at the opportunity.
“You mean write for a real band?” I repeat, gaping. It’s my dream. Well, next to being a professional singer myself.
“I need to see some of your other songs first, but if they’re as good as the one you just played, it would be an honor to have you.” I feel my face flush. I never get these opportunities. I have the worst luck in the world. My parents are divorced, my sister is dead, my brother’s somewhere on the road doing drugs…
“You can come back to my apartment.” I offer, “I’ve got loads of material I can show you.” Matt agrees and we head over to my place.
I’m kind of embarrassed to have a guy here, since I haven’t cleaned since I moved in three months ago. Boxes are still stacked everywhere and pushed against the walls. The only pieces of furniture in the living room are a large sofa and a small keyboard. My kitchen is pretty clean, at least, and I offer to make Matt something to eat, but he just asks for coffee instead, which I prepare for him. Then I retrieve a big blue binder from underneath my bed. It’s worn and the front cover is nearly entirely torn off. I shove it into Matt’s hands.
“This is everything I’ve ever written, in chronological order.” I tell Matt. He whistles.
“Damn, girl. You’re busy.” Matt says as he flips through the laminated pages. He stops on a song I wrote last year called One More Hour, which I wrote for my boyfriend, Jacob, around the time he left me. “Will you play this for me?” I swallow hard. Thinking about Jacob is painful, but I want to write songs for this band more than I can explain, so I just nod and sit at the keyboard.
One more hour, it won’t go to waste.
One more picture, another memory to save.
The lyrics roll of my tongue and the keys float under my fingers. My the second verse, Matt is singing with me, and he’s good. He’s really good.
“I thought you were a manager.” I smirk once we finish the song.
“I am a manager.” Matt says, “I used to sing in a band, though.”
“Oh, so are you one of those onion guys?” I ask.
“Onion guys?”
“You know, guys with ‘many layers’?” I tease. Matt laughs.
“Maybe. You’ll have plenty of time to find out on tour.” My jaw drops and my eyes pop right out of my face.
“Tour?”
“Yeah. You’ve got write the songs with Alex, and the band’s leaving for the tour in a little over a week. We need to go ahead and get to work on the next album. Are you in?” Matt asks with a knowing smirk on his face. My face breaks into an eager smile.
“Fuck yeah I’m in!”
I wonder why I stay when I know it’s time to leave.
You’ve got a full-size ego and my heart on your sleeve.
The waters are dangerous but I know how to swim.
I’m exhausted from playing a game that I never can win.
My fingers strum the guitar strings lightly, and the words pour from my mouth with a familiar ease. I love singing at Corona’s Karaoke. I don’t get paid and most of time people just turn to their quesadillas and cheese dip, completely ignoring the entertainment, but I love it. I get to sing songs that I’ve written myself for a live audience. To me, it’s almost like being famous. It’s as close as I’ll ever get. I’ve frequented at Corona’s every Saturday night for almost two years. When I finish my song, there is a light applause and I perform a slight curtsy in my short blue dress. I take my guitar and walk over to the owner of the place, Calum Forester.
“Brilliant as usual, Vic.” Calum says, offering me a Pina Colada, which I gladly accept with a small eye roll. Calum is a large man, towering over six feet and somewhat burly. I think he’s about fifty years old, but I’m not sure.
“Thanks, Cal.” I say, sipping my drink as a young girl—nine years old at the most—takes the microphone and starts singing some pop song I can’t name. The tune is familiar, but I’m not big on pop music.
“I think you caught someone’s attention, actually.” Cal says, gesturing towards a dark haired man who’s approaching us. He looks a bit older than me, but not too much, and he’s somewhat attractive. Calum gives me a sly grin before walking off just as the dark haired man reaches me.
“Hey.” The guy says, offering his hand. I shake it slowly. “I’m Matt Flyzik.” I give the guy—Matt—a small smile.
“Victoria Glenn” I say, tossing my long brown hair out of my face. I’m not too keen on meeting strangers, but I’m a bit of a flirt, and for an attractive guy, I can make an exception.
“Was that an original song, Victoria?” I crinkle my nose when he says my full first name. It’s so formal and such a mouthful.
“Call me Vic.” I say, “And yeah, it was. Was it the amateur lyrics or the cheesy chorus that gave it away?” I joked. Matt laughed lightly. He had a low, genuine laugh.
“Actually, it was the way the lyrics were adapted to you. They perfectly fit your voice, like they were written for you.” Matt said dreamily as he leaned closer to me. It was strange, like he was making some sort of romantic gesture, but I understood the joke when he followed with “And I’d never heard it before, so I just took a wild guess.” Matt pulled away and winked.
“Well, I’m glad you liked it.” I said, not being able to keep the smile from my face. This guy was nothing special, but what can I say? I’m easily smitten. Not that I was head-over-heels for this Matt character. It had just been a while since a remotely attractive guy had looked at me.
“You know, I’m a tour manager for a band.” Matt started. I raised my eyebrows as I took a sip of my Pina Colada. I had to admit, that was pretty cool. But, of course, I had my doubts. There was always the chance that he was trying to impress me to get me in bed. That type of guy was the only type I’d ever known.
“Yeah? What band?” I asked casually. Or at least, what I hope was casually. I’m not a fantastic actress.
“All Time Low.”
“Never heard of them.”
“You should.” Matt says with a grin. I laugh a bit. “You should also show me some more of your songs. You’re really talented, and the guy who writes most of ATL’s songs has been slack lately.” I frown. What was he going to do, try to steal my songs?
“So?” I inquire further.
“So I was wondering if you’d want to start writing songs for them. They seem down your alley. There are four guys in the band, and they’re all--” he pauses after the word “all”- “—great.” Matt finishes. My eyes widen at the opportunity.
“You mean write for a real band?” I repeat, gaping. It’s my dream. Well, next to being a professional singer myself.
“I need to see some of your other songs first, but if they’re as good as the one you just played, it would be an honor to have you.” I feel my face flush. I never get these opportunities. I have the worst luck in the world. My parents are divorced, my sister is dead, my brother’s somewhere on the road doing drugs…
“You can come back to my apartment.” I offer, “I’ve got loads of material I can show you.” Matt agrees and we head over to my place.
I’m kind of embarrassed to have a guy here, since I haven’t cleaned since I moved in three months ago. Boxes are still stacked everywhere and pushed against the walls. The only pieces of furniture in the living room are a large sofa and a small keyboard. My kitchen is pretty clean, at least, and I offer to make Matt something to eat, but he just asks for coffee instead, which I prepare for him. Then I retrieve a big blue binder from underneath my bed. It’s worn and the front cover is nearly entirely torn off. I shove it into Matt’s hands.
“This is everything I’ve ever written, in chronological order.” I tell Matt. He whistles.
“Damn, girl. You’re busy.” Matt says as he flips through the laminated pages. He stops on a song I wrote last year called One More Hour, which I wrote for my boyfriend, Jacob, around the time he left me. “Will you play this for me?” I swallow hard. Thinking about Jacob is painful, but I want to write songs for this band more than I can explain, so I just nod and sit at the keyboard.
One more hour, it won’t go to waste.
One more picture, another memory to save.
The lyrics roll of my tongue and the keys float under my fingers. My the second verse, Matt is singing with me, and he’s good. He’s really good.
“I thought you were a manager.” I smirk once we finish the song.
“I am a manager.” Matt says, “I used to sing in a band, though.”
“Oh, so are you one of those onion guys?” I ask.
“Onion guys?”
“You know, guys with ‘many layers’?” I tease. Matt laughs.
“Maybe. You’ll have plenty of time to find out on tour.” My jaw drops and my eyes pop right out of my face.
“Tour?”
“Yeah. You’ve got write the songs with Alex, and the band’s leaving for the tour in a little over a week. We need to go ahead and get to work on the next album. Are you in?” Matt asks with a knowing smirk on his face. My face breaks into an eager smile.
“Fuck yeah I’m in!”
8/21/13