This Song Is (Not) For You by Laura Nowlin

Author:Laura Nowlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2015-11-12T16:00:00+00:00

Tom

Another girl who wants something from me that I don’t know how to give.

Another friend I’m terrified to lose.

Another girlfriend.

But maybe this time it’ll be different.

Maybe I’ll be different.

Maybe this time I’ll feel what everyone else seems to know how to feel.

Maybe this time I won’t screw everything up.

And maybe Sam won’t hate me for “stealing” Ramona.

’Cause that’s another thing I have to worry about.

This is why sex seems like a big waste of energy to me.

• • •

The afternoon before Thanksgiving, we drive to Soulard together in my car, with Sam in the backseat. I’ve got the handheld recorder that has allowed me to capture everything from rain on the porch roof to my mother cooking bacon. We’re planning on walking around and asking different people what they’re thankful for and recording their answers. I’m gonna run some effects on the voices, and Ramona and Sam are gonna make the music to play under it.

We park at Grift Craft because I know Teddy won’t mind. Teddy is the owner. As soon as I learned to drive, I became such a regular customer that Teddy and I got to talking. And talking led to long discussions about music and art, and now he gives me work on the weekends for cash under the table. I haven’t mentioned that I have a job to Ramona or Sam yet because I already feel so outclassed by them.

(I know that’s dumb, and they aren’t snobby types at all, but emotions aren’t logical, okay? Plus, they might disapprove of me stocking yarn on the black market.)

It’s a gorgeous autumn day, crisp and bright. The gold leaves glow against the redbrick buildings. College students back home and mingling with their high school friends are parking their cars and walking to the bars that fill the gentrified neighborhood.

They are ripe pickings for our picking. Recording. (Whatever.)

We do a few test takes to make sure the recorder is working, and then I jump in front of the first twentysomething I see.

“What are you thankful for?” I shout at her. She jumps back, startled, and blinks at me.

“My dog,” she says. Her friend laughs at her and tugs on her arm, dragging her away from the crazy kids with a microphone in the street. I pass the mic to Sam.

“Do you have anything to be thankful for?” Ramona asks a passing man. He’s older—thirtyish. Sam readies the mic under his chin. He scowls at us.

“Privacy,” he barks. This time Ramona laughs, and the sound registers on the recorder. She has such a pretty laugh.

She grins at me and tucks some hair behind her ear.

I appreciate how pretty she is, like a rambunctious sunset.

I should feel something more than I do.

I smile back at her.

Sam isn’t looking at us; he’s holding the recorder out in front of a group of bleached blonds.

“What are you thankful for?”

“My friends,” one shouts.

“Me too,” I say. I smile at Ramona and look over my shoulder at Sam. He glances at us and looks away.

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