My voice isn't perfect and I play guitar like a (beginner-level) elementary school kid, but I've loved writing songs my whole life. During my year in Northern California, I filled journal after journal filled with lyrics. There was certainly no lack of inspiration in San Francisco.
Callie has been out of the loop for a while, due to some intense and unexpected circumstances in her life. She's missed a few open mic nights...and she's about to miss a whole lot more, for reasons she hasn't fully been able to explain.
Until now.
Xoxo,
Lisa
Chapter
15: JANUARY 4
How’s your day off? Andrew
texts while I’m walking up Geary Street.
Good, I say, dodging
the crowd already gathered in front of The Fillmore. How’s work coming
along?
It’s fine. Are you free tonight? I can call you once I get
home, he offers. Would love to hear
your voice.
I stare at the intersection of Geary and Webster, trying to
judge whether traffic is light enough for me to jaywalk. Meeting an old
friend for lunch, I text before darting across the street. But I’ll be
home after that. Feel free to call whenever.
Thanks, Cal. Will do.
I duck inside the world’s smallest Japanese restaurant, the
first place I ate at when I moved to SF four years ago. There are only a few
tables in the restaurant. Luckily for me, one happens to be empty. I weave
around customers to reach the vacant table.
My friend Trevor walks in just as I’m taking off my coat
and setting it on the chair beside me. He smiles, strolling toward the table.
“Hey Callie,” he greets me with a hug. “Man, it’s been a
long time. We missed you at Hotel Utah last week. Frankie played one of her new
songs, which was great. And this guy I’ve never seen before did slam poetry. To
be honest, I was skeptical. He wasn’t bad, though.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Sorry I missed it. God, I
haven’t been to SoMa in forever.”
“Have you written any songs lately? Any new material for me
to learn?” Trevor asks.
“You’re such a good sport, memorizing all those chords and
standing in as my guitarist,” I note. “How many years has it been? Three? I
never would’ve done open mic night without your help. I have no problem singing
in public, but I sure as hell won’t play guitar in front of a crowd. I suck so
much.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Trevor says skeptically. The
waitress comes by for our drink order, and we both get green tea. I order
brussels sprouts for an appetizer, my stomach rumbling so loudly that I’m sure
people across the street can hear it.
“I actually have some news,” I tell him. “Most of my
girlfriends already know, but I haven’t had a chance to tell any of my musical
buddies yet. I’m moving back to Florida at the end of the month.”
Trevor’s jaw drops. “Really? Back to Orlando?”
I shake my head. “Actually, this time I’m trying Fort
Lauderdale. It was a sudden decision. I plan to be in Florida for a year or less.
I just needed a change.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard to explain. I keep inching closer to 30,” I say
with a shrug. “Not that 30 is old, but I’d hoped to be published by now. I want
to pursue my writing and grow and learn and get better every day.”
“Can’t you do all that in SF?” he asks.
I pause. Outside, the sun is beginning to peek through the
thick clouds. Tiny golden fingers reach down from the sky. This might be the
only time all day the bright yellow orb makes an appearance. Through the
restaurant’s oversized windows, I can see pedestrians unzipping their jackets
and taking off their scarves, hats, gloves.
“There’s more to the story,” I confess before my brain can
register what my mouth is saying. “Yes, I do want to work on my writing. Always
have. But there’s something else…”
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