VII – The Chariot
“You’ve been neglecting me,” Nadya says, taking a seat opposite me in the Student Center. I look down at the sheet of music in front of me and scratch my head. This piece isn’t coming out the way I want it.
“Neglecting you? We’ve been practicing every night. Your voice is golden, babe,” I say, then look back at the sheet.
She pulls it out from under me, my pencil making a long dark mark.
“Look at me.”
My eyes met hers. Blue, intense. I remembered our first meeting, the little comment about the professor, the way her jeans clung to her. The way my heart began to race, imagining what we could be together.
“Let’s forget this for tonight,” she said, balling the paper up and throwing it in the trash. “One night. Please. I miss…” she paused, a suggestive smile dancing around her lips, “you know.”
One night turned into two, then fourteen. Two months went by.
Meanwhile, the music, well. I hadn’t been writing any. Or playing any, at least not outside the band practices. And those… didn’t go well. The other guys noticed my inattention, and hers. Rehearsals found me making the same mistakes over and over again
“We need a new singer,” the drummer said one night. “Or a new lead guitarist. Or both.”
The others nodded their heads. “You either need to get your head back in the game, or we need to find us a new group.”
I promised I would, but she didn’t. I didn’t lose her, though. Instead, I forced my self to limit my time. Practicing took time, but I needed it as much as I needed her company. And she helped me practice occasionally, if I made it clear that I couldn’t just give in to the waves of passion.
We found another lead singer, and Nadya became our biggest fan.
The End.
