It always starts with the music, for him. Even after all these years. When he thinks he has mastered all his weakest points. When, most of the time watching himself, he can tell where a lie he tells himself will be leading him. So he refuses to tell himself that lie. The lie that will lead him to thinking about calling her. Will lead him to remembering what it was like talking to her. The things they would most likely talk about. That Control movie he had been looking for, she had found it...to pick up that movie, he would be bringing for her that Jazmine Sullivan album Love Me Back....
“You knew, before anyone knew her, she would be a star. How could you tell?”
“Just. I knew.”
Then he would be asking, like he had never asked before, like they had not talked about it endless times, “Do you think we could have worked, if everything was different? Did you know?”
“Yes, I knew.”
He had learned how to stop himself from falling. Like he used to fall. Fall so bad, that Mondays to Thursdays, he was working double shifts, to be able to ask Fridays off. Because Fridays had been their day. Fridays, when partied. The thrill of Fridays, as much in the clubs they would crash into in giggling, hands around hips groups as the preparation. Back at the house, deciding what to wear. Finding pockets to stash in those sachets they loved to spill into their drinks, when the waiters and waitresses were not looking-cocktailing.
Fridays, when he had his brother’s car. Fridays when the next rising sun he would be seeing would be Monday morning. Fridays when the first card into his wallet was his blue Barclays Bank ATM, the embossed eagle there for his desires. Fridays, when the texts in his phone were all...where are you? Are you ready? Did you buy the silver condoms I asked? Don’t forget the Bond 7, you know Janet likes her Bond 7 if we are to get in...
There were things the music could bring back. Then some more.