The Long Distance Playlist

by Tara Eglington

  Taylor Hellemann: I just . . .

  Finn Williams: What?

  Taylor Hellemann: It sounds bad, but I hadn’t thought of Ellie in months. I wasn’t expecting her to come into the store and I definitely wasn’t expecting her to ask me out. If she WAS asking me out.

  Finn Williams: Dude. She asked you to go stargazing up the Gondola. STARGAZING. It’s a legit date. So do you want to go or not?

  Taylor Hellemann: I don’t know.

  Finn Williams: Can you be straight up with me for a sec – are you stalling because of Issy?

  Taylor Hellemann: Why would Issy have anything to do with this?

  Finn Williams: Um, well, Ellie is seriously hot. You had a thing for her half of last year. And two seconds ago, you just told me you hadn’t thought about her – and I quote – ‘in months’. Maybe that’s because of the long-distance- relationship thing you and Issy have going?

  Taylor Hellemann: We’re NOT in a long-distance relationship.

  Finn Williams: Cough *liar* cough. You ‘skype-date’ twice a week.

  Taylor Hellemann: We just CALL it that.

  Finn Williams: Whatever. I’m not having this conversation for THE FORTIETH TIME. All I’m saying is: if you DIDN’T have a thing for Isolde, you would have texted Ellie LAST NIGHT.

  Taylor Hellemann: Just because I haven’t texted yet, doesn’t mean I’m not going to.

  Finn Williams: You’re not worried about dating after the accident or something, are you?

  Taylor Hellemann: You know what? I’ll text Ellie right now if that’ll make you happy.

  Finn Williams: I don’t want you to text Ellie to make ME happy. Only if it makes YOU happy. If you’d rather be with Issy, if SHE makes you happy, I’m on board with that. I LOVE Issy.

  Taylor Hellemann: I’ve just texted Ellie. Will you get off my back now?

  Finn Williams: Fine. Just so you know, I was actually secretly gunning for you and Issy.

  Taylor Hellemann: Finn, JUST DROP IT.

  Taylor’s Mobile

  Ellie

  Monday 8 April, 8:10pm

  Hey, Ellie. So I checked the Skyline QT Stargazing times – they run at 9:30pm every night this month. Tons of options :) What works for you?

  This Saturday’s good? :)

  I can do Saturday :) Wanna meet at the bottom of the Gondola at 7pm? That way we can watch the sun set from up on the viewing platform – another QT must-do.

  Totally up for that. Looking forward to seeing you :) :)

  Me too :)

  Taylor

  Sunday 14 April

  It’s 2am and I can’t sleep.

  All I keep thinking is: I wish Ellie hadn’t dropped by the store.

  Last night, at 5:45pm, when Issy sent me an IM, reality hit home.

  Isolde: Wanna skype tonight? :)

  I have to tell her. It’s weird if I don’t. I tell her everything.

  Taylor: I kind of have . . . a thing tonight.

  Isolde: A thing? Vague much?!? ;)

  Taylor: A date, I guess. Or I think it’s a date. Ha-ha.

  There’s nothing for a second. Then, ‘Isolde is typing’.

  Isolde: Oh wow. Well, that’s exciting :) :)

  Suddenly, all I want is to talk to her. Hear her voice. See her.

  Taylor: Hey, I don’t leave for an hour, can you chat now?

  Isolde: Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date?!?

  Taylor: Probably ;/ Wanna help me pick out an outfit? I’m out of practice with this kind of stuff. I’m nervous TBH. Stupid, right?

  I don’t know why I can admit the nervous thing to her and not to Finn. Why what feels like a gaping hole in my armour – a massive vulnerability – becomes just openness when she’s around.

  Isolde: Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself and she’ll love you.

  Taylor: That sounds too easy.

  Isolde: Trust me. That’s the way it works with you :)

  Taylor: Hey, listen, Is—

  Isolde: I better go, Tay. Mum’s yelling for me. She’s got people from work over for dinner tonight and needs my help with prep.

  Taylor: Talk tomorrow?

  Isolde: Sure. Enjoy the date :)

  She’d been totally cool. So I don’t know why I keep staring at our IM for ages after she ends the convo.

  At 6:15pm, I realise I need to get myself the heck together – as in shower and choose an outfit – because Dad’s giving me a lift in twenty-five minutes. He drives me into town and up the hill to the bottom of the Gondola. Ellie’s already there, standing near the entrance. She gives me a wave.

  I should’ve got here earlier. Or made Dad sit in the passenger seat at least. Ellie’s six months older than me, and here I am, five months shy of eighteen, climbing out of my dad’s car.

  It doesn’t look like it fazes her though. She gives me a big smile as I walk over. Still embarrassed about looking like a kid chauffeured around by his dad, I insist on buying the Gondola tickets.

  We climb into the cable car. We must be in between busy times because it’s quiet and we have the car to ourselves. We sit next to each other on the same bench so we can look out at the view as we go up the mountain. The ascent is so steep that my stomach is lurching – or maybe that’s just my nerves because this is the first date I’ve been on since the accident.

  Up at the top, we walk through the restaurant and out onto the viewing platform. The sun’s sinking in the distance, and there’s 180 degrees of lake in front of us, purply-blueish mountain plunging down into its waters.

  ‘I can’t get used to this place,’ Ellie says, shaking her head.

  ‘I’ve been here my whole life and I can’t either,’ I say truthfully.

  Once the sun is gone, it’s too cold to stay outside. We head indoors to a table against the viewing window.

  ‘Hot chocolate?’ I say without thinking, and Ellie starts laughing.

  It’s not the kind of laugh that makes me feel stupid. Her eyes are crinkled at the edges with amusement. The twist in her mouth triggers mine, and I find myself laughing too.

  ‘Um, anything else would be a major win?’ She shrugs.

  We opt for coffee. We hug the steaming mugs with our hands, and for the first time, we look at each other instead of the view. Ellie’s wearing a fuzzy white sweater, the type you just want to touch, and her cheeks are pink from the cold outside. She looks even prettier than the other day in the shop.

  The hot chips we ordered arrive, and we joke with each other while we demolish them.

  By our second coffee, I realise I’m having a really good time.

  At 8:45pm, we head to the meeting spot for the stargazing tour. We reach the telescope at the top of the hill and the guide, Justin, says, ‘Now I’ll give each of you an opportunity to view Saturn through the telescope,’ motioning the group towards him.

  ‘You were right about the must-do.’ Ellie smiles at me after taking her turn.

  I put my eye to the lens and look. There in the viewfinder is Saturn. I’ve seen the planet in my science textbooks, of course, and on space documentaries. But this is different. Saturn is curved, almost 3-D. It’s colourful too – shades of orange and yellow and white run around the planet, making me think of the milky, triple-toned marbles I used to collect as a kid.

  Looking through the telescope, I realise that out there in space is an actual planet with rings made of ICE. It’s a real thing. It kind of blows my mind for a moment or two.

  I can hear Ellie saying something to me. Her head must be close to mine because I can smell her shampoo. But all I can think about is how to describe Saturn to Is when I email her tonight. How no matter how descriptive or poetic an email I write, I won’t be able to do it justice – she’ll have to come and see it for herself. I’m planning how to bring her up here when she visits in June—

  Oh crap.

  I’m on a date, standing next to a beautiful girl – a funny, smart, kind, beautiful girl – and my mind is a million miles away, with Isolde.


  I lift my head from the lens and step away from the telescope. I look up at the sky. I’m dizzy, and it has nothing to do with the tens of thousands of stars staring back at me.

  I’m a zombie for the rest of the date.

  Dad’s waiting in the car to pick me up, and we give Ellie a lift to her sister’s place.

  ‘That was a really fun night,’ she says as we stand on the kerb.

  I feel awful because I can tell from her eyes that she’s not just saying that to be polite – she actually did have a great night. We hug quickly and say goodnight.

  Dad tries to get details out of me on the way home.

  ‘No goss for your dad! You must really like this one.’ He winks at me.’

  I don’t bother to correct him because then he’ll ask me why I’m not keen, and honestly, there’s not one thing about Ellie that I could name as a reason for why I’m not into her.

  The reason isn’t her. It’s Issy.

  As soon as I get home, I turn off my bedroom light and lie on my bed. Saturn, with its rings, is still burning on the inside of my eyelids. I knew I was developing feelings for Isolde, of course. I’m not an idiot. I could feel them creeping in at the edges the last few months.

  The buzzing in my body when I get an email from her. The way her voice makes me feel when we talk in the middle of the night. How hard my heart pounded when I’d swiped my card to pay for those Valentine’s flowers and imagined her face when she saw the little card that said ‘Love, Taylor’ at the end.

  My heart does the exact same thing every single time I think of June and her being here in Queenstown with me.

  Tiny parts of me have known I was starting to feel just like I had that summer I was fourteen. But I thought these feelings were something I could control. Something I could make a choice about, like I did that NYE when I chose not to kiss her. Chose to keep the friendship the way it was.

  I don’t know why it’s different this time. Why, when Ellie gave me that card with her number last Sunday and I thought about dating her, I felt physically ill because all I could think was:

  I don’t want to do this.

  I want her. ISSY. No-one else.

  Instant Messenger Conversation

  Sunday 14 April, 9:03am Sydney time, 11:03am Queenstown time

  Taylor Hellemann: Hey, you up?

  Isolde Byrne: Hey, I’m just heading to Pilates.

  Taylor Hellemann: Can we talk when you’re back?

  Isolde Byrne: Today’s a bit crazy – can I call you tomorrow?

  Taylor Hellemann: Sure – looking forward to it :)

  Isolde

  Monday 15 April

  When I said I’d call him tomorrow, I meant it.

  But then tomorrow became today and when I picked up my phone, I just . . . couldn’t.

  Taylor

  Wednesday 17 April

  She didn’t call on Monday.

  Or Tuesday.

  I try calling her tonight, but she doesn’t pick up.

  I can’t leave a message. I have no clue what to say, even though I’m the one who asked if we could talk. But I let the call go to voicemail anyway.

  I guess selfishly, all I really want is to hear her voice because my heart thinks that will solve everything.

  Taylor

  Saturday 20 April

  I’ve officially lost all sense. As in late this afternoon, haunted by ‘When is she going to call me back?’, I started putting together a private Spotify compilation on my iPad called the I Can’t Stop Thinking About Her playlist.

  And I’ve been lying here ever since listening to it, and letting myself think about everything I never let myself think about in the past. I close my eyes and imagine that Isolde’s lying here next to me, her dark hair against the white pillowcase. I stretch out my hand across the top of my doona, pretending I’m reaching over to take her hand or touch her cheek.

  I imagine kissing her.

  I can barely cope with that.

  I lose I don’t know how many hours to make-believe. I don’t realise afternoon has become night until Finn strolls into my room and finds me sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling, while a sad love song warbles through the room.

  Yup. Clichéd as anything.

  ‘I wouldn’t call this a healthy Saturday night, just so you know,’ he says, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  ‘Shut up.’

  He sprawls out next to me, phone in hand, and starts scrolling through Instagram. I don’t want to pick up my phone. It’s just a reminder there’s nothing from her.

  Mum’s shouting from downstairs. She’s making popcorn, so I drag myself off my bed for the first time in hours and head to the kitchen to help. Ten minutes later, when I head back to my room with a bowl of buttery goodness for Finn and me, he’s still in the same position, lost in his screen.

  ‘I wouldn’t call this a healthy Saturday night, just so you know.’

  ‘Ha-ha,’ he says, his nose still buried in Instagram.

  I pick up my own phone, hoping for something. Anything.

  Nope.

  I open Instagram, looking for a distraction. I can see Finn’s posted a story and I tap on it. It takes me a minute to realise what he’s posted. A screenshot of my iPad. Spotify, to be exact.

  He’s captioned it: When your best friend has a mushy-as-hell playlist.

  I turn to him, grabbing his forearm like we’re wrestling.

  ‘Are you some kind of imbecile?’ I shout as I rip the phone out of his hand and delete the story.

  ‘Hey!’ Finn yelps, his eyes wide.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ I say, shaking the phone.

  ‘You mean what’s wrong with YOU?’ Finn’s rubbing his forearm, which is red from my grip.

  ‘You put my playlist on your stories!’

  ‘I was being stupid. Making fun of your taste in music. Why are you freaking?’

  How is he not getting this?

  ‘You didn’t think the playlist might be private? You know, because I named it I Can’t Stop Thinking About Her?’

  ‘I thought it was a random playlist, I didn’t know it was your playlist. Okay, I feel bad now. But chill out, man. Ellie’s not on Instagram, remember? We couldn’t find her when we tried to look last year. She won’t have seen the thing.’

  ‘Isolde’s on Instagram. She follows you. She might have seen it.’

  I know I’m giving myself away. He’s going to guess the reason I’m freaking.

  ‘So what? You told me you’d chatted with her about your date and she was totally cool. Why are you so upset?’

  Or he’s going to miss it by a mile. Far out.

  ‘The playlist’s about HER, Finn. Isolde. She’s the one I can’t stop thinking about. You were right, okay? I have feelings for her.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  We both go quiet.

  ‘It was only up for five minutes,’ he says finally.

  ‘Can we check who saw the story?’

  Five minutes isn’t long. She probably didn’t see it. Don’t freak out unless you know for sure.

  ‘Not now you’ve deleted it.’

  I say a word I shouldn’t. Five times straight.

  Isolde

  Saturday 20 April

  I’m lying on my bed, swiping through Insta stories and trying to distract myself from the obvious, when I see it.

  Finn’s latest story.

  When your best friend has a mushy-as-hell playlist.

  I hold my finger down on the story so it doesn’t flip to the next one. I look at the name of the playlist.

  I Can’t Stop Thinking About Her.

  I know it’s Taylor’s.

  I know it’s about her.

  I thought playlists were our thing.

  They’re not, obviously.

  Instant Messenger Conversation

  Sunday 21 April, 4:02pm

  Finn Williams: Anything?

  Taylor Hellemann: Nope.

  Finn Willi
ams: Have you thought about calling her instead of waiting for her to call you?

  Taylor Hellemann: If I call – what am I going to say? ‘Oh, by the way, just in case you saw that lovey-dovey Spotify playlist that my idiot best friend posted on his Insta stories last night, don’t pay any attention to it?’ That’s not odd AT ALL. Plus, what if the reason she’s still not calling is because she wants to avoid me, as in she KNOWS the playlist is about her and she doesn’t WANT the playlist to be about her?

  Finn Williams: You’re losing your grip on reality. ’Course she’s not thinking the playlist is about her. Because:

  1) YOU HAVEN’T TOLD HER IT’S ABOUT HER.

  2) It didn’t say, ‘I can’t stop thinking about ISOLDE.’

  3) Like she’s going to think it is, when hello, you went on a DATE with someone else last week!

  Taylor Hellemann: Great, so she thinks the playlist is about Ellie. That’s even worse. I’ve basically blown any tiny chance that I might have had with Issy.

  Finn Williams: Well, you kind of already did that, what with asking Ellie out in the first place.

  Taylor Hellemann: You are NOT helping.

  Isolde

  Sunday 21 April

  I haven’t let myself get upset until now. I guess I’ve been living on the hope of it’s just one date and maybe it’ll go badly.

  Obviously it didn’t.

  I hate the fact that eight days ago, eighteen words about his date split between two short messages took all the breath out of me. He was so casual about it, and that hurt more than anything. But I guess casual makes sense, right? After all, that moment was just one friend telling another that they had a date.

  So I was casual too, or at least I was once the thirty seconds of screaming silence inside my brain subsided. I got it together enough to sound happy for him and throw in some smiley faces.