by Megan Rivers
“Fair enough,” I said, putting my hands on the arm rests of the chair to get up. I didn't make it off my seat when I dropped my arms and added, “I'll do it in the morning.” Galvin laughed, his smile reaching his eyes.
Since my attention was no longer on food (or how incredibly beautiful Galvin was that evening), my eyes began to take in the beauty of the backyard. I noticed that Galvin's guitar was leaning against the Adirondack chaise lounge just behind him on the patio and I could just picture him thumbing the cords in the twilight. “Would it be too much to ask for a song?” I asked, nodding to the guitar.
Galvin followed my gaze and picked up his guitar. He sat it on his lap, draping his right arm over it. He plucked a few notes then began playing “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles. It was my favorite song to hear on the guitar—well, besides the guitar solo in the Prey for Chance song “Photograph Fountain.” I got lost in the melody, and how at peace our world was.
A few measures into the song Galvin stopped playing and asked, “Hey, do you want to hear a song I've been working on?”
That was my favorite question. I nodded, smiling. “Okay. It's called Circle Circus.” He tuned a few strings and then began plucking a unhurried tune. It started off slowly melodic, then as the chorus came in, it started picking up. His body swayed with the upbeat portion as he strummed faster on the guitar. He seemed so happy when he played, I couldn't imagine how he spent so many years without it.
The song he sang was lovely and tender, and at times he made me laugh. And, though I thought it wasn't possible, I fell deeper in love, watching him sing.
“Circle Circus”
I was the line that didn't fit
bent out of shape from the spit and grit
of human hands and a mortal life
in this 2D world of a straight-lined knife
Then you bounced in like an eye roll
your radiant, inflatable soul.
My plaguing hex was gone—
you sanded down the edges of this hexagon.
And just like a circle, you make this world go round.
[Chorus] Oh, oh
Like a loop-de-loop at target practice
Like a Spirograph in a Christmas package
You're the giddy eye of a hurricane
And yet you don't mind dancing in the rain
The swirling pattern of your fingerprints
graze the word with a hit or miss fist.
We grew like tree rings,
Talked like whole notes,
Skipping through the circles of Hell.
Like sundials, our shadows peel,
and rock around the clock,
riding the hour like a Ferris wheel.
We hoola-hooped through days we never found
Stretching across the equator like a sunset crown
Even Archimedes can't measure the subjects we've danced around.
[chorus]
You're a rotation, a revolution,
A trip around the sun.
You arrange my life in crop circles,
mysteriously and comically done.
I reached for you and you reached for me
in our tight grasp we found infinity, an eternity,
We leave Fibonacci deterred
with an absurd curse word.
[chorus x2]
After he stopped singing, he still strummed the guitar, letting the notes slow and silently slip away.
“Oh, I love it!” I exclaimed, my eyes blurry with emotion. “When did you write that?” He was always strumming his guitar around the apartment, but I never heard that tune before.
He shrugged, taking his guitar down from his lap, placing it gingerly against the table. “A little bit here, a little bit there.” He leaned back in his chair, and the way he looked at me sent shivers down my spine. “When you think about it,” he started, “a lot of things in life are circles, either spiraling or circling; never ending.”
I smiled, thinking of playing Ring Around the Rosy as a child, and how predators circled their prey, though it probably didn't relate to what he was talking about.
“And when two circles come together, you get the infinity symbol; going on forever. For example,” he started, leaning over the edge of the table. He took off the silver ring he has worn on his left middle finger since I've known him and held it up. “This is a circle, no edges, it goes on forever in a loop.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out another ring and put it along side his. “When you put another circle next to it, it represents infinity, their looping intertwines for eternity.”
My heart stopped momentarily when I realized what he was holding. My breath caught in my throat. “Is... is that?” I couldn't finish my sentence.
He nodded with a smile. It was the engagement ring Kevin gave to my mother. She wasn't buried with it as I had assumed. “When I called Kevin a few weeks ago, he insisted on giving it to me, that your mother would have wanted you to have it.”
Overcome with emotion, I tried to keep the tears at bay, but my heart swelled.
“Christie,” Galvin said, moving onto one knee beside me. He looked me in the eye, not from above or below. His sea salted hair fell onto his face, making his green eyes pop with surging color. “We've had our ups and downs, but that's what circles do. The past four years with you have been filled with more life than I have ever known and more love than I could ever have hoped for. I want to ask you if you'd wear this ring, to entwine our winding lives together, in a never-ending loop.” He swallowed, taking a breath, and I cut in before he had a chance to ask.
Nodding, I said through a smile, “Always and forever, Galvin.”
And even though he seemed so cool and confident the whole time, a wave of relief washed over his face before we embraced.
AFTERWARD
We married quickly, nearly six weeks later, and it wasn't a shotgun wedding or a ploy to keep his hand in marriage like some of the tabloids suggested. We were in love. We had been in and out of each other's lives for more than half our lives. We wanted the next step. We were ready.
So, on July 12, 2015—exactly fifteen years from the date we met on that infamous plane ride—we got married in Trey's backyard. It only seemed fitting to loop back around to the date when our lives changed, and to the place where we always found happiness. Kevin, Meadow, Trey, Leah, Phoenix, Lexi, and Van were the only ones present besides the justice of the peace and a sole photographer. It was a simple ceremony, but it was ours.
And later, when we were sitting down to eat, we didn't even get mad when Phoenix dumped a bucket of water on us. Despite the looks of horror on Leah and Trey's face, as they sat across from us, Galvin and I fell into a fit of giggles. It was the beginning of our infinity—our eternity.
Now, in 2016, Prey for Chance is on a reunion tour. I am bound by contract to stay at the MET until 2017 in return for my Master's Degree, so I would fly out to meet Galvin as often as I could—nearly every weekend. It was exhausting, but he was worth it.
It was on one of these plane rides I met a woman, who encouraged me to share my story; to set the record straight. A woman who allowed me to use her words to tell it all.
So, there you have it world: despite what has been written about use, this is the true story behind rockstar Galvin Kismet and ordinary girl-next-door, Christie Kelly.
MEGAN RIVERS is a writer who graduated from Northern Michigan University with a degree in writing and literature. She currently lives in Illinois with her spoiled pup, Gracie. When not writing, she loves to visit thrift stores, bask in the outdoors, read books, or cook delectable vegan dishes. Her website is meganrivers.weebly.com. You can also follow her on Facebook @MeganRiversAuthor, on Pinterest @MeganRiversAuth, on Instagram @MeganRiversAuthor, or on Twitter @MeganRiversAuth.
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br /> Megan Rivers, A Love Ballad: A Fictional Memoir (Song for You Book 3)