The last thing I expected on a Friday night was to come across this huge box of paper I saved from the past three years.
I sat on the ground of my room, looking through each piece of paper that poured out of that box. I couldn’t help but remember everything about the context of these papers. I kept them all.
Many of them were flirty and playful; a side of Sophie that no one got to see but me. The first time Sophie was openly flirtatious with me, documented on these papers that we would pass along to each other in band class. That was the one time Sophie and I got caught passing notes.
“Milo, Sophie; please stay in your class after class,” Mr. Harrison said as he crumbled the piece of paper in his hands and tossed it in the trash can next to his desk. “May I remind the class that we have a competition at the end of the week, and that any distractions during our rehearsals will not be tolerated.” I felt my ears get hot, and I can only imagine Sophie was internally freaking out. I looked over at her, and can confirm that she was.
I shuffled through the other pieces of paper, and came across another conversation exchange; this one not so cheerful as the first one. It was the conversation about the Julliard program she was in, and how little time we had spent together that specific week.
“I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” Sophie’s note read. “This is an opportunity of a lifetime and you’re acting like since you’re not in the program that it’s useless.”
“Do you really believe that?” I wrote back. “You think I’m jealous of you being in the program and not me? That’s not even close to the truth and you know that, Soph.”
Soph. Not Scout; but Soph. I was angry at her that day. I shoved that note back in the box, not wanting to remember how the rest of that conversation went. I skimmed through the box one last time and came across a note entitled, “For the greatest boyfriend ever.” I don’t open it to read it; I know exactly what it read. It was one of the notes that I read back frequently when we were dating, just as a reminder how I was dating the greatest girlfriend ever.
My bedroom door opened, which startled me at first. I sighed when I realized it was Mollie.
“For fuck’s sake, Mol,” I said, shoving the box back in my closet. “You could’ve knocked first.” Mollie stood there, looking toward my closet. She knew exactly what I was doing. “I was cleaning out my closet–“
“You say that every time you go through that box,” Mollie said, entering my room to sit on my desk chair. “When are you going to get rid of it?”
“Huh?”
“The box,” Mollie emphasized. “When are you finally going to let go of your past?” I got up from the floor, and sat on the edge of my bed, facing Mollie.
“You know, for someone that had their heart ripped out their chest this summer, you sure are over your relationship with Aaron.”
“I grieve differently,” Mollie immediately answered. “But one thing that’s universal is that if you keep the shit that reminds you of that pain, you get stuck in that same cycle.” Mollie shifted in her seat, as if she wasn’t finish making her point. “Also, my relationship with Aaron wasn’t as… intense as yours was with Sophie.”
I was confused. “Intense?”
“You and Sophie were crazy into each other; Aaron was more into his band than he like to admit.” Mollie’s tough exterior began to crack, falling in the same trap I constantly put myself in when thinking about Sophie.
“Does it ever get easier?” I asked. Mollie tilted her head.
“You want the truth, or a lie?” she asked back. I smiled, nodding my head.
“Forget that I asked.”
…
Later that day, I opened my closet and saw the box on the ground, shoved behind various other things laying on the ground. Before I even had the chance to pick it up and skim through it again, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. My dad opens it as I looked in his direction.
“You have a friend waiting for you downstairs,” he said. “Ronnie.” Ronnie?
I closed the closet door and walked out of my room, heading towards the back door, towards the studio downstairs. Ronnie turned around when she heard the backdoor open.
“Jesus,” she said, holding her chest with her hand. “You scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know you lived in a fun house.”
I smiled. “Hey; nice to see you too.” Ronnie playfully rolled her eyes as she set down her guitar case on the ground. I completely forgot we agreed on guitar lessons today. I walked over to the closet, pulling out a chair and a music stand for Ronnie. She stood there as she watched.
“I didn’t realize your family had a studio installed in your house,” Ronnie commented. “You must live in here.”
“It’s my stepmom’s studio,” I began to explain. “She’s the owner of the academy Mollie dances for.”
“Your stepmom is Mollie’s oldest sister?” she asked seemingly surprised. I sighed as I came back with another chair and music stand, placing it next to Ronnie.
“It’s a long story,” I simply said, grabbing my guitar from the closet. Ronnie observes the instrument as I walk back toward her. Her eyes widen, staring at me now.
“An Ibanez?” she said out loud.
“It’s my dad’s,” I said, not thinking much of it.
“Can’t lie, I thought Mr. Kamalani was just an old and corny ass vocal teacher,” Ronnie said. I laughed out loud, totally agreeing with her assumption. “But for him to own a vintage Ibanez guitar is badass.” I look at Ronnie putting out her electric guitar, a cherry red Yamaha model.
“Yamaha is pretty good,” I mentioned. “A classic instrument brand.”
“Eh, it’s good for casual play,” Ronnie said, tuning the strings before plugging it in to the amplifier. “So, where you wanna start?”
“Oh, uhm–“
“Like what do I teach Waverly’s most talented dual major student that he doesn’t already know,” she casually commented. I began to feel my ears get hot. Her compliment took me off-guard there for a moment.
“Not necessarily how to play,” I said as I cleared my throat, plugging in my electric guitar into my amplifier. “I just–” Before I can continue, I play an awkward note, not used to the tuning process of an electric guitar.
“Fuck’s sake, dude,” Ronnie said, immediately coming to me to tune the strings. I watched her as she put my electric guitar on, playing random chords for tuning. Why does she look ten times cooler with my guitar? I picked up her guitar and put it around me, getting her attention now. “What are you doing?”
“You play mine, I’ll play yours,” I suggested. She didn’t say much about to swap. I figured she wanted to play the Ibanez. “It’s not necessarily playing that’s hard, it’s more about the finger placement and style that gets me.”
“It’s a lot like playing piano,” Ronnie said, standing next to me now. “The finger placement for each chord just requires you to make sure that you’re on the right string rather than on the right key. As for style,” Ronnie began to shred a bunch of chords together. Damn. “That comes with drive and passion.”
“Really? It’s just that simple?”
“Learning to play is the easy part; playing with meaning isn’t,” Ronnie said. “Do you really want to play electric guitar?” I looked at her, not really knowing how to answer her. To be quite honest: it wasn’t a thought until I saw her with her electric guitar. “Milo?”
“Huh?” I snapped out of thought.
“Something tells me you really don’t wanna learn, and I’m not going to waste my time if that’s the case,” she said, beginning to take the guitar off.
“Wait,” I quickly protested without really knowing what to tell her. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn.”
“Then what is it?” Ronnie bluntly asked, cutting through the bullshit.
She would be the first person I’d admit this to; not even Mollie knows this. I sighed, sitting on the chair now. “I haven’t been passionate about playing music for some time now.”
“What does that even mean? You play music every day for school.”
“That’s… different. That’s just reading notes on sheet music and playing what’s on it,” I began to explain. I looked up at Ronnie as she stood there. “I haven’t had the passion the way I did before.” Ronnie raised her eyebrows, pulling the other chair in front of me and sat across from me with my guitar still around her neck.
“What changed?” she genuinely asked. “Dual majors don’t just lose their passion. They embody it; it’s why they’re there in the first place.”
“You’d be surprised how many dual majors are in the program simply because they play good,” I mentioned, looking at Ronnie. She seemed like she didn’t know that tidbit about the prestigious program.
“I mean, I’ve been there for the showcases; you’re definitely not one of them.” I smirked as I looked down at Ronnie’s guitar on my lap.
“That’s uncharacteristically sweet of you to say.” I responded.
“You still haven’t told me what changed,” Ronnie reminded me. Her exterior is definitely a lot thicker than I’m used to in these situations.
“Sophie,” I finally admitted.
“Your ex-girlfriend?” I nodded. “What about Sophie?”
“She’s been my muse since the beginning,” I vented out, thinking about the box of notes upstairs in my closet. “We connected through music and… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”
“I get it,” Ronnie said, nodding her head. “Music needs to have meaning; what’s the point when it doesn’t?”
“Exactly,” I agreed, now looking at Ronnie. I didn’t realize she was looking directly at me, and I didn’t realize just how much her face softened. It was like she felt compassion, and actively listened to the words I was saying. It was nice to feel heard.
“But,” she continued to say. “Take this time as inspiration. You can find inspiration in everything for music. Just because you guys aren’t together, doesn’t mean you stop playing music. That shit is always gonna be with you.” I smiled at Ronnie, taking in her words; hearing someone else for the words they are saying.
“Thanks, Ronnie. I really needed to hear that.” She smiled back at me.
“Call me Vero,” she simply said. “Ronnie’s cool but I imagine that when I make it big in some band that ‘Vero’ would sound epic.” I laughed, leaning back in my chair.
“Oh yeah? You’re looking for all the fanboys to hang your posters on your wall?” I teased. Vero scoffed, playing a random chord on the guitar.
“More like begging me to sign their girlfriend’s boobs,” she teased back. I laughed, thinking about that scenario in my head. I looked at Vero, deep in thought. Her facial expression changed. “What?”
“You wanna make a band?” I asked with a smile on my face.
“A what?”
“A band. Let’s make up a band together.”
Letters From Liz. 