Rattle&Hum96
The Fly
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2010
- Messages
- 44
Hey ladies! 
As you may or may not know, I'm more a FF reader than a writer, and I never thought I'd get up the guts to actually write one. But thanks to the lovely One_Acrobat, I've gone ahead and written one anyway.
This story is Edge-centric Though it might seem a little Larry oriented at the beginning 
If it's absolute crap, let me know, and I'll go back to just reading
No harm done. Feedback is much appreciated!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the computer I wrote this on. Actually, I don't even that. So please don't sue--you'll be dissapointed anyway. All I've got is three chords, a red guitar and somethingvaguelyresembling the truth. (Heh. Bad joke.)
Onward!
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]November 17th, 2000.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Hey, Larry, how about you and me buy a bus and travel around America and just do it for another year?” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I found out much later that those words had started it all. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Simple words, forming a simple sentence, an open request. A harmless request. But still words that would come to change my life forever.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I've grown to hate them. Sometimes, even though I've never actually heard them in person, I can almost hear them echoing—spoken in the soft Irish lilt I've come to know so well—in the dark, empty places in my heart—the ones that you left behind. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]And isn't it ironic that your new album is titled All That You Can't Leave Behind? If I was more sentimental, I might make associations between it and us. But I don't. I know better. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I'll always be the girl you met on some fun little excursion that you had years ago to get away from yourself. Isn't it funny how we were both running from ourselves when we first met? [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Oh, the irony. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Those words remind me that two years of my life were simply consumed by your presence. And nothing more. They're just a reminder that all this actually did happen; that the pain, the love, the frustration—everything—is still there. And that all of it was simple fate, nothing more, no matter how much I hope. [/FONT]
You left. Your're still gone.
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]But I'll never forget. No, Edge, that would be too easy. [/FONT]
As you may or may not know, I'm more a FF reader than a writer, and I never thought I'd get up the guts to actually write one. But thanks to the lovely One_Acrobat, I've gone ahead and written one anyway.
This story is Edge-centric
Though it might seem a little Larry oriented at the beginning If it's absolute crap, let me know, and I'll go back to just reading
No harm done. Feedback is much appreciated! Disclaimer: I own nothing but the computer I wrote this on. Actually, I don't even that. So please don't sue--you'll be dissapointed anyway. All I've got is three chords, a red guitar and somethingvaguelyresembling the truth. (Heh. Bad joke.
)Onward!
Prologue
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]November 17th, 2000.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Hey, Larry, how about you and me buy a bus and travel around America and just do it for another year?” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I found out much later that those words had started it all. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Simple words, forming a simple sentence, an open request. A harmless request. But still words that would come to change my life forever.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I've grown to hate them. Sometimes, even though I've never actually heard them in person, I can almost hear them echoing—spoken in the soft Irish lilt I've come to know so well—in the dark, empty places in my heart—the ones that you left behind. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]And isn't it ironic that your new album is titled All That You Can't Leave Behind? If I was more sentimental, I might make associations between it and us. But I don't. I know better. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I'll always be the girl you met on some fun little excursion that you had years ago to get away from yourself. Isn't it funny how we were both running from ourselves when we first met? [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Oh, the irony. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Those words remind me that two years of my life were simply consumed by your presence. And nothing more. They're just a reminder that all this actually did happen; that the pain, the love, the frustration—everything—is still there. And that all of it was simple fate, nothing more, no matter how much I hope. [/FONT]
You left. Your're still gone.
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]But I'll never forget. No, Edge, that would be too easy. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]*** [/FONT]
Chapter 1: Conversation on a Barstool
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]October 13th, 1990.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]It had started off as a bad day. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]But as these things so often do, it grew into a bad week—one of those weeks you hear about in books sometimes, where every little thing can and does go wrong. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]It started off with my job. My newly acquired place as a rookie reporter for the New York Times was simultaneously a dream come true and Hell on Earth at times. Working with people with ten years more experience than you was stressful, and I was constantly trying to impress, trying to grab the latest headline, anything to prove my worth as a young journalist. After all, 21 was a young age to be working for the Times. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]But it was hard, and shortened deadlines weren't helping. Especially since I still no topic, no headline, let alone a story.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]After five endless days of rain, running late, missing out on jobs, getting behind on my rent, and dealing with my ass of an ex-boyfriend, I decided I'd had enough. I'd never managed stress particularly well and the mixture of disappointment, anger and non-stop rushing to finish everything wasn't sitting well. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I left late on Friday evening, so that I was home by eight o'clock. I trudged up the endless flights of stairs to the 6th floor (of course, the elevator would choose this week to break down), struggling with my knapsack and a few bags of groceries I'd picked up on the way home. As I hit the 5th floor landing, I considered just staying in, kicking back with a few movies or a good book. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]But as soon as I jimmied open the door of my apartment, that idea was quickly dismissed. Apparently, the heater was broken yet again—which meant I could either stay in and freeze while I waited for my landlord to come and fix it, or I could go out and just hope that it would kick in my itself.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Choosing the second option, I stripped off my rain-soaked leather jacket and tossed it on the threadbare couch. My light brown hair was dark and knotted and damp, but I just combed it out and hoped it would dry halfway decently. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]As I changed out of my clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, I decided to call my roommate and best friend, Vanessa, and see if she was up for going out for the night. She had moved down to the city with me a year ago, but things were going considerably easier for her. She was a photographer, and a good one at that. Her art was currently being displayed at the Guggenheim and things were going spectacularly for her. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I dialed her number at the office, got her voice-mail, and left a message for her letting her know I was going out.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Hey 'Ness, it's Lily. I'm heading out now....dunno where, but probably won't be back till later tonight. There's groceries in the fridge. Don't eat my yogurts again, okay? Because—”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]She picked up the phone and cut me off mid-sentence. “I know, I know: they're your stupid pro-biotic yogourts and you have to eat them. Doctor's orders. Got it.” I could practically hear her smiling.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Yes. Hi. I'm going out, okay?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Sure. I'd come, but I'm working late tonight. Have to prepare for the exhibit on Monday.” [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]'Okay. I'll see you tonight, then. The heat's off again, by the way.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Damn. Doesn't that just figure? Well, where are you going? Maybe I can catch up with you later.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I shifted the phone to my right ear and began to doodle absentmindedly on a flier on the counter. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I have no idea. Nowhere exciting, I think. I'm really tired. This week has been absolute Hell.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I hear you. Well, I'll see you sometime later tonight. Have fun and try not come home with any strange men, all right?” Vanessa laughed. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I rolled my eyes. “Right,” I agreed sarcastically. “I'll try not to. Talk to you later.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Bye!” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I placed the phone in its cradle and smiled to myself. Come home with any strange men. Right. I was fresh off an ugly breakup—getting together with anyone was the last thing on my mind. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]With that thought, I gathered my jacket, purse and keys and headed out of the apartment. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I wasn't feeling reckless; far from it. I was exhausted and stressed, miserable from the weather ad just about everything else the world had thrown at me lately. I wanted a drink. I wanted to relax, maybe with some good music and a friendly, anonymous face.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Although New York City was an absolutely spectacular place to live, it certainly wasn't the place people came to to relax. Everything was bustling and bright, thrumming with energy and alive with noises, sounds, smells. It was almost a sensory overload. Normally, I lived for it. Tonight, I just wanted to get away.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I thought longingly of my hometown—a small suburb just outside Montreal where nothing ever happened—as I made my way down the stairs. What I wouldn't give to be there, even just for the night....[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I shook myself out of those thoughts. I'd left for a reason. Now I determined to get out of my head for a bit. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Downstairs, I stepped out into the street and hailed a cab with surprising ease. The yellow taxi drew up beside me and I hurriedly ducked inside, blinking rainwater out my eyes and hoping my makeup wouldn't run.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]The cabbie peered at me through the rear-view mirror once I'd done up my seatbelt.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Where to, miss?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Off-island.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]He raised a surprised eyebrow, but made no further comment. The fare would be compensation enough, his skeptical expression told me.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]As we made our way through Friday night traffic, I watched the rain come down in sheets. Normally a city that was bright and thriving, New York just seemed gray and clammy tonight. The sky was a starless mass of bruised clouds, and the building were all looming and desolate. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Later, once we had crossed the bridge and into the mildly busy suburbs of New York, I felt myself begin to relax. I was getting away from myself for a while. Finally. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]So, where're we going, miss?” The cabby asked as me slowed and stopped at a red light. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Know any quiet bars around here?” [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Sure,” he replied. “I know just the place. It's a few blocks away...The Whiskey Jar.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I smiled at him, zipping my jacket. “Sounds great.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]A few minutes later, we came to main street and the car pulled over to the sidewalk in front of a pub with a faded wooden sign hanging over the doorway. A bottle of whiskey. Light flooded out through the pane glass windows.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I paid the cab driver the fare—hardly caring that it was twice as much as I would've usually paid—and thanked him. He pulled away as I jogged into the pub, ducking my head against the wind.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]It was a typical sort of bar, about half-full, thick with the smells of smoke and alcohol. More importantly, it smelled warm. Welcome. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I took a seat at the far end of the long bar, close to a small stage where a drum kit and a few amps were set up. I could vaguely hear a Dire Straits song playing over the quiet chatter from everyone in the bar. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Glancing over at the bartender, an older man with gray hair and dark eyes, and gave him a smile. He returned it and nodded at me.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]No band tonight?” I asked, looking at the darkened stage. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]He wiped down a glass with a ragged cloth and walked up to me behind the bar. “Oh, they should be on in a little while, I guess. What c'n I get you?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Guinness, please.” I wasn't normally a beer drinker, but I was in the mood. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Sure thing.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]As he moved away to pour my drink, I surveyed the rest of the occupants of the bar. A few middle aged men in rumpled suits, looking tired after a long day at the office. A couple my age, sitting together in a booth and laughing. Two men in their thirties drinking shots at the opposite end of the bar. A typical Friday night, I guessed.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I thanked the bartender as my drink arrived. As I went to sip at the white froth at the top of the glass, a voice spoke up next to me, from a few seats down. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Guinness, huh. Don't see too many Americans drinking that!” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I glanced up, a little startled, and looked into smiling blue eyes. The man who had spoken (how had I missed him the first time I'd surveyed the bar?) was young, late twenties maybe, with close-cropped blonde hair and a charming smile. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I guess not,” I agreed, “but I'm Canadian, anyway.” I smiled as he moved down a few seats closer to me. “You must though...you're Irish.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]His smiled widened and he leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on the edge of the bar. “You caught that pretty quick.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I shrugged a little, feeling a little shy. He was cute, and I had the feeling he was flirting with me. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Kinda hard to miss, especially around here.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]The guy laughed, flashing white, straight teeth. “Yeah, it's just that most people don't pick up on it that quickly. In my experience, anyway. I'm Larry, by the way.” He offered his hand.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I took it, feeling wiry muscles contract beneath smooth skin. Maybe he worked with his hands. “I'm Lily.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]So, Mr Irish, you're a long way from home. What might you being doing here, anyway?” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Larry smiled, sipped his beer. “I could ask you the same, Ms Canadian.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I'm living here for a little while,” I retorted, amused, and added, “But I asked you first.” I tilted my head, watching him carefully. I thought I might have been flirting back a little. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Fair point. Well, I'm just...traveling around with my friend for a bit. Just the two of you, you know.” He nodded at the stage, and I automatically glanced over.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]A man was sitting there, partly obscured by shadow , a guitar cradled in his arms. He was tuning it quietly, an intent look in his hazel eyes as he strummed gently. A faded bandana was tied over his head, and dark brown hair peeked out from under it. He looked vaguely familiar. He didn't look up when Larry gestured at him.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]That's Edg—Dave.” [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Ed-Dave?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Dave.” Larry clarified, grinning. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Okay. You guys are the band?” I asked, surprised.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Yeah, me and Dave. Guitar”--he gestured at his friend again—“and drums.” He laid a hand across his chest.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]That's cool,” I said, because it was. He was a musician. Of course. My ex, Josh, had played bass. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Larry shrugged modestly. “I think so. Been playing since I was 14 or so.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Wow. Have you ever thought of recording anything?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I watched as he smiled faintly, glancing at Dave the guitarist and replied a vague “Oh, a few times...”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]'A few times'?” I echoed, curious and suddenly charmed by his easy nature and bright blue eyes. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Larry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a quiet murmur from the man with the guitar. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]All right, I'm ready Lar'. We were supposed to be on five minutes ago.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]So he was Irish, too. He looked a little older than Larry, and his accent varied a little from his friend's. His voice was soft and carefully measured. The guitarist's green-brown eyes wandered over to me, and I smiled instinctively. Dave smiled a little in return, then looked back at Larry who nodded at him.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Yeah, okay. Could've beenon five minutes ago, if someone hadn't had guitar 'issues'.” He winked at me and stood up. I was suddenly feeling distinctly flustered. “Excuse me for a few minutes would you, love?” [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Of course!” I replied, watching as Larry brushed a hand through his hair and walked—no, sauntered—over to the stage and moved to the drum set. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]When I looked back at Dave, he broke his gaze away, smiling and slung a guitar strap over his neck. Again, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere. [/FONT]
So?
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]It had started off as a bad day. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]But as these things so often do, it grew into a bad week—one of those weeks you hear about in books sometimes, where every little thing can and does go wrong. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]It started off with my job. My newly acquired place as a rookie reporter for the New York Times was simultaneously a dream come true and Hell on Earth at times. Working with people with ten years more experience than you was stressful, and I was constantly trying to impress, trying to grab the latest headline, anything to prove my worth as a young journalist. After all, 21 was a young age to be working for the Times. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]But it was hard, and shortened deadlines weren't helping. Especially since I still no topic, no headline, let alone a story.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]After five endless days of rain, running late, missing out on jobs, getting behind on my rent, and dealing with my ass of an ex-boyfriend, I decided I'd had enough. I'd never managed stress particularly well and the mixture of disappointment, anger and non-stop rushing to finish everything wasn't sitting well. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I left late on Friday evening, so that I was home by eight o'clock. I trudged up the endless flights of stairs to the 6th floor (of course, the elevator would choose this week to break down), struggling with my knapsack and a few bags of groceries I'd picked up on the way home. As I hit the 5th floor landing, I considered just staying in, kicking back with a few movies or a good book. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]But as soon as I jimmied open the door of my apartment, that idea was quickly dismissed. Apparently, the heater was broken yet again—which meant I could either stay in and freeze while I waited for my landlord to come and fix it, or I could go out and just hope that it would kick in my itself.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Choosing the second option, I stripped off my rain-soaked leather jacket and tossed it on the threadbare couch. My light brown hair was dark and knotted and damp, but I just combed it out and hoped it would dry halfway decently. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]As I changed out of my clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, I decided to call my roommate and best friend, Vanessa, and see if she was up for going out for the night. She had moved down to the city with me a year ago, but things were going considerably easier for her. She was a photographer, and a good one at that. Her art was currently being displayed at the Guggenheim and things were going spectacularly for her. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I dialed her number at the office, got her voice-mail, and left a message for her letting her know I was going out.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Hey 'Ness, it's Lily. I'm heading out now....dunno where, but probably won't be back till later tonight. There's groceries in the fridge. Don't eat my yogurts again, okay? Because—”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]She picked up the phone and cut me off mid-sentence. “I know, I know: they're your stupid pro-biotic yogourts and you have to eat them. Doctor's orders. Got it.” I could practically hear her smiling.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Yes. Hi. I'm going out, okay?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Sure. I'd come, but I'm working late tonight. Have to prepare for the exhibit on Monday.” [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]'Okay. I'll see you tonight, then. The heat's off again, by the way.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Damn. Doesn't that just figure? Well, where are you going? Maybe I can catch up with you later.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I shifted the phone to my right ear and began to doodle absentmindedly on a flier on the counter. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I have no idea. Nowhere exciting, I think. I'm really tired. This week has been absolute Hell.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I hear you. Well, I'll see you sometime later tonight. Have fun and try not come home with any strange men, all right?” Vanessa laughed. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I rolled my eyes. “Right,” I agreed sarcastically. “I'll try not to. Talk to you later.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Bye!” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I placed the phone in its cradle and smiled to myself. Come home with any strange men. Right. I was fresh off an ugly breakup—getting together with anyone was the last thing on my mind. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]With that thought, I gathered my jacket, purse and keys and headed out of the apartment. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I wasn't feeling reckless; far from it. I was exhausted and stressed, miserable from the weather ad just about everything else the world had thrown at me lately. I wanted a drink. I wanted to relax, maybe with some good music and a friendly, anonymous face.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Although New York City was an absolutely spectacular place to live, it certainly wasn't the place people came to to relax. Everything was bustling and bright, thrumming with energy and alive with noises, sounds, smells. It was almost a sensory overload. Normally, I lived for it. Tonight, I just wanted to get away.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I thought longingly of my hometown—a small suburb just outside Montreal where nothing ever happened—as I made my way down the stairs. What I wouldn't give to be there, even just for the night....[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I shook myself out of those thoughts. I'd left for a reason. Now I determined to get out of my head for a bit. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Downstairs, I stepped out into the street and hailed a cab with surprising ease. The yellow taxi drew up beside me and I hurriedly ducked inside, blinking rainwater out my eyes and hoping my makeup wouldn't run.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]The cabbie peered at me through the rear-view mirror once I'd done up my seatbelt.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Where to, miss?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Off-island.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]He raised a surprised eyebrow, but made no further comment. The fare would be compensation enough, his skeptical expression told me.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]As we made our way through Friday night traffic, I watched the rain come down in sheets. Normally a city that was bright and thriving, New York just seemed gray and clammy tonight. The sky was a starless mass of bruised clouds, and the building were all looming and desolate. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Later, once we had crossed the bridge and into the mildly busy suburbs of New York, I felt myself begin to relax. I was getting away from myself for a while. Finally. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]So, where're we going, miss?” The cabby asked as me slowed and stopped at a red light. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Know any quiet bars around here?” [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Sure,” he replied. “I know just the place. It's a few blocks away...The Whiskey Jar.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I smiled at him, zipping my jacket. “Sounds great.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]A few minutes later, we came to main street and the car pulled over to the sidewalk in front of a pub with a faded wooden sign hanging over the doorway. A bottle of whiskey. Light flooded out through the pane glass windows.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I paid the cab driver the fare—hardly caring that it was twice as much as I would've usually paid—and thanked him. He pulled away as I jogged into the pub, ducking my head against the wind.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]It was a typical sort of bar, about half-full, thick with the smells of smoke and alcohol. More importantly, it smelled warm. Welcome. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I took a seat at the far end of the long bar, close to a small stage where a drum kit and a few amps were set up. I could vaguely hear a Dire Straits song playing over the quiet chatter from everyone in the bar. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Glancing over at the bartender, an older man with gray hair and dark eyes, and gave him a smile. He returned it and nodded at me.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]No band tonight?” I asked, looking at the darkened stage. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]He wiped down a glass with a ragged cloth and walked up to me behind the bar. “Oh, they should be on in a little while, I guess. What c'n I get you?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Guinness, please.” I wasn't normally a beer drinker, but I was in the mood. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Sure thing.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]As he moved away to pour my drink, I surveyed the rest of the occupants of the bar. A few middle aged men in rumpled suits, looking tired after a long day at the office. A couple my age, sitting together in a booth and laughing. Two men in their thirties drinking shots at the opposite end of the bar. A typical Friday night, I guessed.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I thanked the bartender as my drink arrived. As I went to sip at the white froth at the top of the glass, a voice spoke up next to me, from a few seats down. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Guinness, huh. Don't see too many Americans drinking that!” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I glanced up, a little startled, and looked into smiling blue eyes. The man who had spoken (how had I missed him the first time I'd surveyed the bar?) was young, late twenties maybe, with close-cropped blonde hair and a charming smile. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I guess not,” I agreed, “but I'm Canadian, anyway.” I smiled as he moved down a few seats closer to me. “You must though...you're Irish.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]His smiled widened and he leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on the edge of the bar. “You caught that pretty quick.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I shrugged a little, feeling a little shy. He was cute, and I had the feeling he was flirting with me. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Kinda hard to miss, especially around here.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]The guy laughed, flashing white, straight teeth. “Yeah, it's just that most people don't pick up on it that quickly. In my experience, anyway. I'm Larry, by the way.” He offered his hand.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I took it, feeling wiry muscles contract beneath smooth skin. Maybe he worked with his hands. “I'm Lily.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]So, Mr Irish, you're a long way from home. What might you being doing here, anyway?” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Larry smiled, sipped his beer. “I could ask you the same, Ms Canadian.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I'm living here for a little while,” I retorted, amused, and added, “But I asked you first.” I tilted my head, watching him carefully. I thought I might have been flirting back a little. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Fair point. Well, I'm just...traveling around with my friend for a bit. Just the two of you, you know.” He nodded at the stage, and I automatically glanced over.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]A man was sitting there, partly obscured by shadow , a guitar cradled in his arms. He was tuning it quietly, an intent look in his hazel eyes as he strummed gently. A faded bandana was tied over his head, and dark brown hair peeked out from under it. He looked vaguely familiar. He didn't look up when Larry gestured at him.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]That's Edg—Dave.” [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Ed-Dave?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Dave.” Larry clarified, grinning. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Okay. You guys are the band?” I asked, surprised.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Yeah, me and Dave. Guitar”--he gestured at his friend again—“and drums.” He laid a hand across his chest.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]That's cool,” I said, because it was. He was a musician. Of course. My ex, Josh, had played bass. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Larry shrugged modestly. “I think so. Been playing since I was 14 or so.”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Wow. Have you ever thought of recording anything?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]I watched as he smiled faintly, glancing at Dave the guitarist and replied a vague “Oh, a few times...”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]'A few times'?” I echoed, curious and suddenly charmed by his easy nature and bright blue eyes. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Larry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a quiet murmur from the man with the guitar. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]All right, I'm ready Lar'. We were supposed to be on five minutes ago.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]So he was Irish, too. He looked a little older than Larry, and his accent varied a little from his friend's. His voice was soft and carefully measured. The guitarist's green-brown eyes wandered over to me, and I smiled instinctively. Dave smiled a little in return, then looked back at Larry who nodded at him.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Yeah, okay. Could've beenon five minutes ago, if someone hadn't had guitar 'issues'.” He winked at me and stood up. I was suddenly feeling distinctly flustered. “Excuse me for a few minutes would you, love?” [/FONT]
“[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Of course!” I replied, watching as Larry brushed a hand through his hair and walked—no, sauntered—over to the stage and moved to the drum set. [/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]When I looked back at Dave, he broke his gaze away, smiling and slung a guitar strap over his neck. Again, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere. [/FONT]
So?
Oh, and just something I forgot to mention: there's some continuity in my story (kudos to you if you got it right away!) 
Thank you very much for the postive feedback 
!~
