There was momentary confusion written all over his face. "Oh...I see you've been going through my stuff", he finally managed to say, as he continued walking towards the piano. "You're an observant one, aren't you?", he chuckled. "Well, tell you what? I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."
Yeah. I would have to pass. I wasn't about to sit down and vent to some stranger. I refused to stoop that low. Or at least that's what I told myself that day.
The truth is, I probably would have answered him, except even I myself didn't quite know why I had been crying earlier on. Obviously Troy had hurt me, but the blame was on me too. I should have known better. I should have never allowed him to have so much power over me.
I slowly composed myself and walked over to him.
"I have a better proposition", I countered. "How about we forget everything that happened earlier on tonight and start on a clean slate?"
He smiled thoughtfully for a while. "You've got yourself a deal"
"I'm Sera, by the way", I said, extending my hand. I hadn't felt the need to introduce myself the whole night because I was under the impression that he would just be another one night stand, but for some reason exchanging names felt necessary then.
He cupped my hand, and as he did, his face softened. "Clinton", he replied, and as he did, he placed a soft kiss on my hand.
"Well, Mr Clinton.", I said offering a smile. "Can you play the piano? Or is it just here for decoration?"
He bit his lip. "Depends"
"On?"
"On what you're willing to do to hear me play the piano." he said, motioning towards my purse.
"You want money?", I teased. "Because boy, do I have bad news for you."
He let out a light-hearted chuckle. "Earlier on I saw you scribbling something in a journal...Can I see it?"
"You saw that?"
He nodded.
"How long were you watching me for, anyway?"
He shrugged. "I thought we weren't discussing anything that happened earlier on this evening, Ms Sarah"
I shrugged. "Touche"
I wasn't really ashamed of my work, but it felt weird having someone request to actually see it. Nonetheless, I reached for my bag and pulled out my notebook. I opened it to the page with the poem I had written earlier on and then handed it to him. His eyes scanned the page, but he didn't react. Instead, his eyes remained glued solely on the page, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Uhm, It's actually Sera, by the way.", I said as a way of distracting myself from the anxiousness I was feeling over someone else reading my work right in front of me. "S-e-r-a. Sera--short for Serendipity.", I finished nervously, because by then, the anxiety was fully taking over. I always got super anxious when other people read my work. It felt like I was exposing my bare soul to them, and somehow that made me uncomfortable.
"Oh?", he said, looking up with interest. "That's a beautiful name. Who named you?"
I shrugged. "Maybe my parents. I'm not too sure."
"You've never asked?"
"Never got a chance to...they both kicked the bucket when I was about 11"
His body visibly tensed.
"Don't do that", I said.
"Do what?"
"Look at me with that pitiful look in your eyes. Look at me like I am a walking sad story..."
He opened his mouth, seemingly to argue, but I interrupted him. "Just don't, okay?"
He nodded. "Very well, then. But If you don't want people to look at you in a sad way, maybe you shouldn't show them sad poems."
I fidgeted in my seat, and he must have noticed the discomfort in my body language because just then, he said, "You know what? Screw this. If you have to write it down to remember it, then it means it's not THAT special, right? Recite a poem for me...something you composed and have memorized. It doesn't have to be perfect. But it does have to be you. It has to be real and authentic."
The air was filled with heavy silence as I contemplated his request, but even then, I could feel his intense brown eyes solely fixated on me, and somehow that made me feel a little shy.
"Awfully demanding, aren't we?", I asked playfully.
He shrugged, but then clasped his fingers and leaned in to listen. This man really meant business.
I didn't have a lot of 'non-sad' poems memorized, but there was one I had written when I was in high school and it had stuck with me since. Mostly because it was a poem based on my then hopes and dreams. I could feel his intense gaze on me, as I tried to compose my thoughts. I closed my eyes so I could focus less on his gaze and more on the poem. It took a while, but once I started, I found I couldn't stop.
" I wanna be a Great One.", I started softly.
"I wanna be a Great One.
But the process is so tedious and time consuming, and I'm impatient;
I want everything to fall into my lap, and I want it to happen now.
I wanna be a Great One, but the world hasn't seen my work.
Yet there is nothing I want more than for the world to see my work and to fall in love with it just like I have fallen in love with the process.
I wanna be a Great One, but the thing about Great Ones is that they are not average people, and I'm as average as they come.
I wanna be a Great One, but the thing about Great Ones is that they endure through the pain, and they survive and they breathe and they live to tell their stories and inspire others. Then only at the end of it all, are they deemed 'Great Ones'.
I wanna be a Great One, but the universe keeps kicking me when I'm down. And every time I try to get back up, I am presented with yet another obstacle.
I wanna be a Great One, but I don't know how many more obstacles I can endure or if I have it in me to take any more pain and suffering or live any longer than I already have."
I opened my eyes and came to an abrupt stop.