Prologue

Sat, 15 Apr 2006 20:56:00 GMT

Prologue

He was special. I was convinced of that from the first day that I met him. How special, I never knew, but when he left the air heavy with broken promises and things left unsaid, I wondered what I did wrong. Was it my fault that he spoke these fateful words. A sad dedication.

‘This is to a girl I knew a long time ago,’ he muttered into the microphone, his long hair in his eyes, his voice scratchy from his sometimes long set, every night. The unspoken words of his departure spoken through a song, his deft fingers playing the notes on his prized piano. The song was for me, for him, for everything....

I can't imagine all the people that you know

And the places that you go

When the lights are turned down low

And I don't understand all the things you've seen

But I'm slipping in between

You and your big dreams

It's always you

In my big dreams

‘Konstantine,” he once told me, one humid summer day as he absently touched the keys of the old piano in my living room, ‘We’ll do it..”

‘Do what?’ I asked him quietly, the sun peaking through the large window near the couch, surprised by the desperation in his voice. He looked at me in the same surprise that was written all over my face. The couch creaked as I sat up, meeting his eyes.

‘We’ll become something...’

He had always been a dreamer, a little boy forced to grow up. Forced into the harshness of life, ripped away from his best friend, his love for music, his love for the world that he had created for himself.

I wanted to believe that we would become something, that life would offer us our ‘big dreams’ but as he played, almost angrily, the song that he had written night after night.

The big dreams seemed to slip away...

And you tell me that it's over

Wake up lying in a patch of four leaf clovers

And your restless, and I'm naked

You've gotta get out

You can't stand to see me shaking

No Could you let me go?

I didn't think so

He blamed me for his dreams, for having to leave. And in a way, I blamed myself. I blamed myself for giving him the confidence in music, in love, in friendship.

Regardless of his words, lyrics, written in anger, one of the cold, lonely nights after he left, I never told him it was over.

I would always love him, I would always be his best friend.

Nothing more, nothing less.

His Konstantine...

And you don't wanna be here in the future

So you say the present's just a pleasant interruption to the past

And you don't wanna look much closer

Cause your afraid to find out all this hope

You had sent into the sky by now had crashed

And it did

Because of me

Hope was no longer with me. He would play every club in the entire USA, before even thinking of coming back to me. But watching him playing the notes, singing his lyrics, I wondered if I wanted him to come back.

I was a fluke accident, something he never expected to last.

But here I was, standing in the shadows of a bar that I heard that he was playing in, a forgotten friend, nothing more than a stolen kiss.

I wondered if he knew I was there, if he would be happy to see me. I wondered if he would look at me differently 4 years later. If I could ever be more than a fleeting glance in a crowd.

And then you bring me home

Afraid to find out that you're alone

And I'm sleeping in your living room

But we don't have much room to live

‘Can I sleep on your couch, just for tonight,’ he said a hand on his neck, looking innocent and jaded all at once. He smelt of burnt firewood and cigarette smoke, probably from one of his local gigs. It was late, his voice was raspy, his clothes rumpled, and his mind set. I would shift uncomfortably for a second, forgetting that I was his best friend, and focusing on wishing to be his everything.

I couldn’t even remember how many times that he’d asked me the same question. How many times he didn’t go home, but hearing him sing about, made it feel like only a distant memory. Did it matter?

‘Yeah,’ I would tell him, letting in my house, closing the door and shutting out the world.

It was only us in that house.

It would always just be us....

I had these dreams that I learned to play guitar

Maybe cross the country

Become a rock star

And there was hope in me that I could take you there

But dammit you're so young

Well I don't think I care

And if I hurt you Then I'm sorry

Please don't think that this was easy

Oh how he’d hurt me.

And how had it not been easy for him?

I wanted to make my presence known at that moment. I wanted to scream out in the suddenly quiet crowd, but for some reason I stayed quiet, entranced like the rest of the group. His voice was mesmerizing. Almost as mesmerizing as it had been when he used to sing in my living room, using the same old piano that he himself was fascinated with.

I never knew why he loved it so much, but somehow, it had been the beginning of everything.

A majority of the people knew the words and when it came to the line about ‘becoming a rock star’, he stopped singing and the audience sang it for them.

Was it hard for him to speak those words, is that why he had the crowd sing it? to cut down on the pain?

Because if he was feeling the same amount of pain as I was at the moment, than how could he even keep speaking.

I was jostled a bit by the person next to me, and I took a deep breath, listening intently to the next verse.

Then you bring me home

Cause we both know what it's like to be alone

And I'm dreaming in your living room

But we don't have much room to live

My living room. He slept there, always and forever.

Sometimes lost in those dreams that I condemned so wholeheartedly.

The quick music, made the crowd buzz for a moment, and he stood up, pressing the keys hard in frustration and despair. He sang into the microphone, his hair hiding his pained expression.

And Konstantine is walking down the stairs

Doesn't she look good

Standing in her underwear

And I was thinking

What I was thinking

We've been drinking and it doesn't get me anywhere

‘You’re beautiful, d’you know that?” he would tell me, his voice slurred. He was right, Drinking didn’t get us anywhere, it confused me and destroyed me even more.

‘You’re drunk,’ I would tell him seriously, after answering the door one of the many times he would show up at me house completely plastered. He would raise his hand to my cheek, skimming it softly, then pushing a piece of my blonde hair behind my ear. His hands were rough, and I had to resist so strongly to fall against his hand, wanting nothing more than for him to touch me forever, “Come inside,’ I would tell him, realizing how much I hated myself for loving my best friend so much.

‘Konstantine, life would be dull without you,” he would tell me, catching my arm, ‘You make everything worth it.”

I forced my raging heart to slow down, wondering if he could hear my screaming thoughts. I smiled at him. That was the beers talking, I would tell myself.

The heart of a rock star I could never capture.

And now, as I pushed my way through the crowd, needing to get a closer look at him. I wondered if I had been wrong all this time.

I froze, did I want to find out?

My Konstantine came walking down the stairs

And all that I could do is touch her long blonde hair

And I've been thinking

It hurts me thinking that these nights

When we were drinking no they never got us anywhere

No, no, no, no....

This is because I can spell confusion with a k

And I like it It's to dying in another's arms and why I had to try it

It's to Jimmy Eat World and those nights in my car

When the first star you see may not be a star

I'm not your star

Isn't that what you said

What you thought this song meant

The soft hum of Jimmy Eat world lingered in the air, along with humidity of that same summer of drunkenness and meaningless words. We sipped cheap liquor, stolen from our parents, with every sip parts of our innocence stolen as well.

‘And if you were with me tonight/ I'd sing to you just one more time’ he sang along with the CD, while the lead singer attempted the bridge to his favorite song, Hear You Me. But his voice, almost boyish compared to that of Jim Adkins from Jimmy Eat World, made me sigh. He shifted and stopped singing. ‘See that star up there...’ he said pointing above us, at a sparkling gem in the sky. I frowned, sitting back on the hood of his car, wishing that he hadn’t stopped singing.

‘That’s not a star, that’s an airplane.’

‘You’re so cynical,’ he told me taking a sip from the bottle he was holding.

‘You’re a dreamer, we both have our downfalls,’ I informed. He frowned and turned towards me, after taking another sip. His tone was light when he mentioned my cynicism but now, in the club, hearing him passionately belting these words, I wondered how lighthearted his words actually were.

‘Being a dreamer isn’t a bad thing, it gives a person ardor, passion, hope, you of all people should know that..” he told me staring at me intently.

‘Why should I of all people know it?’ I asked him slowly, narrowing my eyes confused, lost, hopeful when a crooked grin lit up his face.

‘Because you dream more than me,’ he told me smugly, almost in childish confidence and I wanted to argue. But instead I sat back and thought intently about his words.

He was right and thinking intently about his mentioning of being a star ignited something in me.

Rage, sadness, hope, that ardor and passion that he insisted I have...

He would always be my star, I had all the faith in the world in him, I wished I could tell him at that moment.

And if this is what it takes

Just to lie in my mistakes

And live with what I did to you

And all the hell I put you through I always catch the clock

It's 11:11

And now you want to talk

It's not hard to dream

You'll always be my Konstantine

Will I? Will I always be his? yours?

I wanted to dream, I wanted to believe. I wanted him to knock on my door like he did all those nights and ask to sleep on my couch. I wanted him to assure me that being the dreamers that we were was what made my thoughts echo with the past, I wanted him to drive me up to the lookout in his car and assure me that all those sparks of light were stars, and that they would always be there.

solid.

jimmy eat world.

him.

me.

dreams.

He would always be there...

Konstantine, they'll never hurt you like I do

No they'll never hurt you like I do

No, no, no no no no no no

He was right, no one could hurt me like he did.

No one in this entire world.

This is to a girl who got into my head

With all the pretty things she did

Hey

You know

You keep me up in bed

This is to a girl who got into my head

With all the fucked up things I did

Hey

Maybe

Baby

You could keep me up in bed

My Konstantine

Spin around me like a dream we played out on this movie Screen

And I said

Did you know I missed you?

I miss you

He missed me.

I almost allowed myself to be effected as I had by the rest of the song. Unlike all these people in this club, I had never heard the song that had been written for me. I had never felt the need, never felt the desire to put myself through everything that embodied it. The memories, lies, loss, everything...

I wondered how everyone in this small room, sweaty and half drunk, would react to find out that the same Konstantine that the song was written about was standing only a few feet away from them. Most likely no one would care...

I was just that lucky girl that got into the head of a rock star, that loved pianos, cheap beers and Jimmy Eat World.

My thoughts shifted to that rock star that I loved.

How would he react to know that his Konstantine was there, lost in her thoughts and wishing nothing more than to miss him like he missed her? Would he care? Or was this song all a lie, a memory of all that happened between us.

And then you bring me home

And we'll go to sleep, but this time, not alone, no no

And you'll kiss me in your living room I know

You'll miss me in your living room cur these nights I think maybe that I'll miss you in my living room We don't have much room I said does anybody need that room?

Because we all need a little more room

To live

He looked so intent at singing the song, so caught up in the words, that I couldn’t move.

This part of the song never happened, he never admitted that he wanted me, he never kissed me, he never loved me.

The song was coming to a close, my song was ending, as was my painful journey down the path of my relationship, my memories, with him.

I loved him and I always did, but this song was closure.

No longer did I believe the empty promises that he would one day come back to me and make everything up to me.

It was now my turn to walk out on him, even though he wouldn’t really know it...

My Konstantine

I left the club, the unfinished set echoing from the open doors, and jumped in my car. Laying my head gently against the steering wheel, my blonde hair shielding my eyes and laying across the dashboard, I wondered why I had come.

I was only a song to him now.

But I would always be his Konstantine, the girl that many girls longed to be. The girl that had a heartbreaking song written about her. The girl that had her heart broken so that a song could be written...

I didn’t want to be his Konstantine, I didn’t want the fucking song written about me, I didn’t want to be that girl that thousands of girls wished they could be.

I wanted nothing more than to be back in my living room, this time alone, no longer missing him....

An no longer his Konstantine...

Forgotten Sheet Music

Prologue