A Love Ballad: A Fictional Memoir (Song for You Book 3)

by Megan Rivers

  When we got to the airport, she locked me in a hug that said more than words. Her damp hair smelled like plumeria and I missed her even more when I had to say goodbye. “Call me.” It was never a question with her, but an expectation; a reminder.

  “Often and always,” I said still holding onto her hug.

  As Meadow drove away my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a picture message from Galvin. It was a picture of a picture the parks take when you're on a ride. It was a picture of them on Splash Mountain. Phoenix looked excited, like he just discovered the mountain was made of candy, while Galvin looked panicked and scared. He wrote: “This picture sums up my day spent with a seven year old on a sugar high. Ha ha.”

  And while the chilly winter air pushed past me like the people who were in a hurry to make their flights, I smiled. That's when the reality of Meadow's words hit home, churning like a steam engine beginning to move forward.

  XVI.

  Time is a Square

  “Just Give Me A Reason” – Pink

  On New Year's Eve, Galvin showed up mid-afternoon on my doorstep. He wore a dark peacoat over a maroon sweater and a pair of jeans. A black and gray scarf was tied snugly around his neck and thick black gloves covered his hands. His cheeks were pink from being outside and when he walked past me, I still felt the chilly air clinging to him.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? It's freezing out there!” Galvin said standing by the heating vent.

  “It'll be fun!” I said, nudging his arm as I walked to get my coat.

  “Says the one who has been inside all day,” he mumbled, jokingly, as he took off his gloves and rubbed his hands together.

  “Here,” I said, grabbing a thermos off the counter and handing it to him. “Hot soup, from Joe. I didn't cook it so you don't have to make comments about food poisoning all day.”

  “You are an angel,” he said, screwing off the top and letting the steam escape.

  We waited around for a few minutes to let Galvin warm up. He kept encouraging me to put on another layer. When I was nearly sweating bullets, we finally walked out the door and bought hand warmers from the store on the corner.

  When we got to Time's Square we were nowhere near where the ball dropped. Apparently, you're forced into this closed off pen lining the street and have to stay there. When we were ushered into a pen, Galvin looked down at me and raised an eyebrow. “You're sure?”

  “Yes! It'll be fun!” I did not want to admit that I had already lost feeling in my toes.

  He glanced at his watch. “Okay, six hours and counting.”

  Honestly, there was nothing to do since we weren't close to any of the performance stages or screens. We mostly stood around, rubbing our hands together to keep warm. The other people around us talked and dance to the music in the distance. There were a few stores nearby, but once we left our pen, we wouldn't be allowed back in unless we sneaked by a police officer. So, naturally, we peppered the air with conversation.

  Jumping up and down became a natural habit not long into our wait—it made blood flow and it warmed me up. The sun had nearly set—it was that time of the evening where everything seemed to glow.

  “So, what's new on the Galvin front?” I asked, hoping from one foot to another, watching some people in our pen dance to music on their iPod.

  “Not much,” he said stoically, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his face burrowed in his scarf.

  “You just spent two weeks in L.A. and you must be doing something on the days I don't see you. What are you up to?”

  He shrugged, eyeing the dancers and taking a step towards me when they got too close. “I'm helping Trey run a scholarship program for different music programs, but mostly I'm turning down work.”

  “Why? Is the work that bad? Like cleaning public toilets?”

  He chuckled beneath his scarf. “No. A few days ago my agent called about doing a duet with Taylor Swift. It's a break up song that gives both sides of the story, but I couldn't do it. It doesn't feel right.”

  “Do you ever think you'll get back into the music biz?”

  He thought about it then shrugged again. “Maybe.”

  Galvin was starting to put up a wall so I decided to change the subject. “Well, I had something interesting happen to me at work on Friday.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

  “Well, this spring will be my six year anniversary working at the MET. I really can't be a real curator without an advanced degree, so I'm pretty much stuck where I am unless I want a demotion.” Galvin nodded, glancing between me and the dancers who were getting too close for his comfort. “They're offering to pay for my Master's degree in return for four more years at the MET.”

  The dancers seemed to disappear from his world and his focus was solely on me. “That's wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Are you going to do it?”

  I bit my bottom lip and noticed they were becoming chapped. “I'm not sure,” I said, digging into my coat pocket for the tube of chapstick. “It's a great offer and I'd be a dummy not to take it... but I don't know where I'm going to be in four years.” I took a moment to relieve my lips and shrugged. “I probably will take it. I'd be an idiot not to.”

  Galvin stood beside me so that I could feel his warmth against my right side. “Don't think about it as being an idiot or not, is it what you really want?”

  After a few moments considering his words I said, “I don't know. I have to think about it.”

  Just then a violently bitter breeze tore through the street and I moved closer to Galvin to block its attack. “You know,” he said, “I could make a phone call and we could be in a nice warm building, a lot closer to the Ball.”

  Metaphorically, I put my foot down. “No. I want to do this, follow it through, frostbite or no frostbite.”

  “I forgot how stubborn you can be.”

  “It's the icing on the cake,” I replied, nudging him in the arm with my elbow.

  By now night had cloaked the sky. Galvin took a small reprieve in a nearby McDonalds and stealthily returned with hot coffee and warm food. “You are the best!” I exclaimed, cradling the cardboard coffee cup in my gloved hands.

  Galvin unwrapped a burger and began munching. “Three more hours,” he reported in between bites.

  I suppressed a groan. I did not want to give in and leave, but it was positively glacial outside. At times it felt like my legs were freezing to the ground, as if I was slowly becoming and ice statue from the ground up, if I stopped moving around.

  Sipping the coffee, I let its warmth thaw out my insides. A rendition of “Baby, It's Cold Outside” started playing nearby. It was an understatement.

  Hugging the cup of coffee, I smiled to myself and held back a giggle, staring at the pavement. “What?” Galvin asked, crumbling the wax paper that once held his burger. “What's so funny?”

  “This song,” I said, pointing to the air above me. Galvin listened for a few moments and his pink cheeks turned red. “Remember this song? That one Christmas you came to visit?” Memories from the last time I set foot in my childhood home tapped me on the shoulder like an unexpected friend. Galvin had just arrived to spend the holiday with me back in 2000 and we had danced in the empty apartment to this tune.

  Galvin blushed deeper. “Oh god! That was so cheesy! I thought I was so smooth.”

  Letting a laugh escape, I said, “Oh, I thought you were!”

  “Cheesy?” he asked, inclining his head while reaching into the paper bag for a fry.

  I laughed. “No! Smooth!”

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, since we're on the topic of embarrassing stories, please tell me more made up adjectives that describe Leonardo DiCaprio. And can you do it in iambic pentameter?”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Ten. I was ten years old. You can't hold that against me!”

  Galvin raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Oh, no? I can't?” then a sly grin grew across his lips.

  “Galvin Julius Kismet,” I stated, playf
ully stern, “I hereby induce a truce.”

  He held out his gloved hand to shake mine and said, “Deal.”

  And we never again spoke of those two events, even though they were happy memories. We never mentioned them because we earned each other's respect and trust, which was a huge step in our adult relationship.

  “Here we go! Five more minutes!” Galvin said, excited. I think it was more because we would be leaving the cold night air rather than the arrival of the new year.

  “Any regrets?” I asked.

  “No, it was pretty cool to stand out here and freeze my ass off to do the New Year in New York style.” He was lightly rocking on his heels while he rubbed his hands together.

  Rolling my eyes, I replied, “No, I meant about the past year. A lot has happened.”

  “I think it's been a pretty good year.” Galvin shrugged like the past year had been nothing but a year and then craned his neck to peer down the street where we could barely see the Ball.

  I thought back to the events that happened over the past twelve months. How broken I was after Antony's death. How the little things—like a broken mug—tore my insides to shreds. Pizza Fridays with Galvin. Pieces of my heart and soul that went into the mural. Our trip to Los Angeles. Seeing Trey. And Meadow. Christmas.

  How every progressing month in 2012 seemed to get better. Was it time that healed? I wasn't sure I would have made it this far with just time on my side... it was because of Galvin. His selflessness, his time, his energy.

  A smile played on his lips as the energy of the crowd multiplied. He didn't struggle to keep his chin buried in his scarf or his gloved hands shoved deep into his pockets. That stoic mask was swept away by the chilling breezes.

  For over a year now he had been a frequent visitor in my everyday life, always pushing me to be better and never asking for anything in return.

  “Sixty seconds!” he said, glancing at me, more bounce in his step. I could see the cloud of his breath hovering over him for a moment before it disappeared. He wiggled his eyebrows as the people around us began counting down.

  Smiling at him, I began counting down too. I tried to focus on the energy of the crowds, the fireworks shooting across the square, the bits of confetti that broke free early and slide down on drafts of cold air, but I couldn't. I felt blessed; lucky to have someone care for me as much as Galvin did.

  As the crowd cheered when the count down stopped, I pulled Galvin into a hug.

  And I cried. He held me as people sang along to “Auld Lang Syne” and I cried. I wept because I was so happy he was in my life. Happy that he came back into my life. That he was strong enough now. It dawned on me that he went through a terrible time in his life by himself, with just a memory of me to get him through, and he didn't want me to suffer the same fate. He stood by me and helped me inch my way through the debilitating journey of grief. I don't think there would ever be a way to thank him.

  Galvin was undeterred by my wave of emotion and when Frank Sinatra's “New York, New York,” played, he actually sung along, the vibe of the joyous crowds finally rubbed off on him.

  Somewhere in the middle of the song I pulled away and wiped my eyes. I loved that he didn't ask me what was wrong or look down on me for it; he just squeezed my shoulder and smiled.

  As we walked down the streets of Manhattan, most of the crowds stayed close to the Square to dance and sing in celebration. When we reached a street that was quiet enough to hear the outskirts of silence again, Galvin nudged me with his elbow. “Thanks, that was pretty fun.” I returned his smile and he added, “We don't have to go again next year, do we?”

  I stretched a grin across my face because I knew he was saying it in good humor. “No.”

  “Good.” He sighed. “I think it'll take me until next year to thaw out.”

  I half grunted/half laughed as I watched my feet trek down the cracked sidewalk, lost in my thoughts. Now that we were walking, it didn't seem as cold.

  He zig-zagged his gait so that his hip bumped into mine to knock me out of my trance. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands still buried deep in his pockets.

  I involuntarily shrugged my shoulders. “Just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  For a few moments I bit my chapped lips, letting the mild burn it gave me numb my thoughts. The street was quiet except for a pub on the corner. Echoes of its patrons traveled down the pavement like an inebriated college student.

  Not wanting to say yes or no, I changed the subject. “Tell me the highlights about your trip to Disneyland with Phoenix,” I urged, poking him in the ribs with my elbow.

  Galvin insisted on traveling to Brooklyn with me to make sure I made it back home safely, although it was completely out of the way for him. Under the streetlamp, on the corner where my apartment was located, I stopped and turned to face him. Most of the commute we made small talk, but I couldn't shake my funk. Only one thing could.

  “I need to talk to you, about something... scary.”

  Galvin's eyes focused on mine, letting me know he was listening without words.

  “Well, not scary-scary, but... scary-strange?”

  Galvin's eyebrows jumped slightly with curiosity.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. When I opened them again, a rush of words spilled out of my lips. “I don't know if I'd be here today without you—not that I would have killed myself—but it hurt to get through each day after Antony died. You helped me become independent again, to be myself again. Without you, I don't know if I ever would've pulled myself out of it.

  “I mean, when I found him, the world wasn't nearly as scary anymore. When he died, it was like living through an earthquake. Each day was shaky and every second I wondered if this was the moment the earth would open up and gobble me whole. Going through that was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. How could anyone do that alone and still be normal?

  “Then you did a brave thing: you came around knowing full well that you wouldn't get the warmest welcome. And you kept coming back—just to be sure I'd make it through. I can never thank you enough for that.”

  The corner of Galvin's mouth dipped slightly. “You don't have to—“

  “I know I don't, but I will say it everyday for as long as I can because you were being a selfless friend, expecting nothing in return.”

  Tears started to well up behind my eyes, against my wishes, and slowly trickled. “And I'm dreading the day you leave because I'm better now. And I never ever would have thought we would be in the same room again, let alone be friends. But now you're my best friend—how in the hell did that happen? How did I go from hating you to loving the time we spend together?

  “And I don't want you to leave, but what's in New York for you besides me? You have so many happy moments waiting for you in California, so I should not be selfish and let you go. To encourage you that I'll be fine and you should go back, but I don't want to.”

  Galvin took a deep breath in and softly said, “You're being unfair to yourself. It's my choice to be here, not yours. Besides, I've had my share of happy moments here in New York, that belong to me—my own life—not Trey's.”

  My chest ached with the things I was afraid to say. “It's not only that.”

  “The what is it?” He looked concerned, bracing for the worst.

  I swallowed hard, fully realizing that so much would change—one way or another—after I spoke the next few sentences. “It scares me that sometimes I want to kiss you. I don't want to hurt again and I also don't want to ruin our friendship. And we tried it once, but it didn't work. And you've seen so many horrible sides to me over the past year that you probably don't think of me in that way. And I'm probably ruining everything just saying all this out loud, but deep down I really do think the struggle is worth it.”

  That barrel in my head where my words were kept was empty. They spilled out and soaked the world we stood in. I watched as they stained and absorbed the space between us. Galvin di
dn't say anything, but I could tell a storm was brewing in his head. Only the sound of stray cars peppered the air and the wind whistled by our ears.

  “Say something, Galvin, because a small piece of me has always loved you and it always will... as a friend, as an ex, as a musician... or something more.”

  I must've looked like a crazy ex-girlfriend at that point—chapped lips, crazy hat hair, wind burn, snotty nose, and teary cheeks. Geez, Christie, haven't you ever heard that timing is everything? This is clearly not the time!

  Ugh! Who did I think I was? This was a mistake. This could never work out. I ruined everything—

  “I don't know what to say.” Galvin's eyes skated the ground, his shoulder tense. When he finally looked up at me, he said, “Christie, since I came back into your life I thought of you as nothing more than a friend. I would have been full of guilt if we were anything more than that. I couldn't bear to have you think I slipped in when you were suddenly free. I just wanted to help you through, as a penance for what I put you through when we were younger.

  “But Christie, I never stopped loving you either. I never expected for this friendship to happen. I had lost you forever that night in Maine and I had to accept that.”

  Tears seeped over my eyelids again as his words began to take meaning; he didn't feel the same.

  Barely able to look me in the eye, he said, “If we became something more, I would hurt you, I know I would. I would tip-toe through life worried about it and I couldn't do that to you or to me.”

  “How do you know that?” Honestly, how could he foresee the pain? Did he not care enough or was there something I wasn't seeing.

  Pain etched the corners around his glassy eyes. “Because I know me, Christie. I'm all kinds of messed up in here.” He pointed to his head, suddenly antsy and shifted his weight from leg to leg constantly. “Everyday is a battle for me. It's not fair to put you through that, even if you did it willingly. You don't deserve it.”