The crisp Austin breeze of the mid-March evening air was
filled with
notes, conversations and good vibes as one of the many concerts came
to an end at SXSW*. Only to soon be disrupted by a sudden yell,
“Hey GiGi!”
Greg found himself frozen; completely unable to exit the stage after
just finishing up his last set for the evening. That’s when he heard
the shell-shocking familiar childhood nickname suddenly being screamed
from a very unfamiliar female voice. As he slowly turned to unveil
this mystery, his mind raced through his mental rolodex of people from
the past 21 years – desperately scanning the handful of aunts, cousins
and close friends who could possibly resurrect this name he personally
laid to rest many years ago.
He watched as she made her way through the sea of his departing
audience to the stage, this 19-year-old girl with an energetically
waving hand and a brilliant smile. Greg found something familiar about
the steadily approaching face. If only that face could give him a
name to go with it. Still left with nothing and now face to face with
this person, he resorted to returning the smile with his own perfectly
crafted smile that every aspiring singer needs, especially at a time
such as this.
“You’re not fooling me with that fake smile, Gi – don’t tell me you
really don’t remember me,” she immediately replied to his
industry-ready smurk, “It’s me, Gina.”
“No way, Gina,” he exclaimed as his smile illuminated brighter with a
glowing reconnection to the childhood friend's name he hadn’t
spoken in years.
“How have you been? How is your family? What have you been up to over
the years? When did you grow-up so much?”
Even with all of these questions rummaging through his head all he
managed to get out was,
“So what brings you to SXSW*?”
She explained how she dragged a couple of her friends from college
into coming with her to get a change of scene. Greg watched amazed
that the attractive, vintage v-neck tee-shirt and jeans wearing young
lady before him now was the same Gina, the tomboy neighbor who helped
him start his first garage band, from 8 years ago.
“I was surprised to see your name on a flyer when we got here and
decided to check out your band,” she said interrupting his thoughts
with her charming smile, “You guys sound great; so it looks like at
least one of us from our backyard band really made it after all.”
“It was a garage band,” he corrected.
“Right, good to see that those good looks and that great voice haven’t
changed that near OCD stickler for details I knew growing,” she
laughed, “Same old GiGi.”
“Maybe, maybe not; the band and I were getting ready to check out
some parties, would you like to join us?” he asked.
She replied that she needed to catch up with her friends before doing
anything else. After extending the invitation to the rest of her
party, they quickly exchanged phone numbers with a promise to
reconnect later that night as they separated for the second time in
their lives.
A week later, finishing up his routine practice, Greg was surprised
by an unexpected text message:
Greg, it was great seeing you again. Believe it or not, when I
saw you on stage I saw the same star I had first recognized years ago
in our garages. I wish you the best on your musical endeavors,
and hope to hear from you soon.
-Gina
Many hours later, Greg had still yet to reply to such a simple message.
The ambiguity in each words' meaning that even smartphones struggle
to convey, left Greg with a mixture of thoughts and emotions.
He felt a sudden excitement, not sure whether sparked by the thought of
reinforcing a childhood bond or possibly creating a new mature connection
between the two adults, Gina and himself had developed into over the
years. He finally began to type his reply.
Either way, time would tell.
notes, conversations and good vibes as one of the many concerts came
to an end at SXSW*. Only to soon be disrupted by a sudden yell,
“Hey GiGi!”
Greg found himself frozen; completely unable to exit the stage after
just finishing up his last set for the evening. That’s when he heard
the shell-shocking familiar childhood nickname suddenly being screamed
from a very unfamiliar female voice. As he slowly turned to unveil
this mystery, his mind raced through his mental rolodex of people from
the past 21 years – desperately scanning the handful of aunts, cousins
and close friends who could possibly resurrect this name he personally
laid to rest many years ago.
He watched as she made her way through the sea of his departing
audience to the stage, this 19-year-old girl with an energetically
waving hand and a brilliant smile. Greg found something familiar about
the steadily approaching face. If only that face could give him a
name to go with it. Still left with nothing and now face to face with
this person, he resorted to returning the smile with his own perfectly
crafted smile that every aspiring singer needs, especially at a time
such as this.
“You’re not fooling me with that fake smile, Gi – don’t tell me you
really don’t remember me,” she immediately replied to his
industry-ready smurk, “It’s me, Gina.”
“No way, Gina,” he exclaimed as his smile illuminated brighter with a
glowing reconnection to the childhood friend's name he hadn’t
spoken in years.
“How have you been? How is your family? What have you been up to over
the years? When did you grow-up so much?”
Even with all of these questions rummaging through his head all he
managed to get out was,
“So what brings you to SXSW*?”
She explained how she dragged a couple of her friends from college
into coming with her to get a change of scene. Greg watched amazed
that the attractive, vintage v-neck tee-shirt and jeans wearing young
lady before him now was the same Gina, the tomboy neighbor who helped
him start his first garage band, from 8 years ago.
“I was surprised to see your name on a flyer when we got here and
decided to check out your band,” she said interrupting his thoughts
with her charming smile, “You guys sound great; so it looks like at
least one of us from our backyard band really made it after all.”
“It was a garage band,” he corrected.
“Right, good to see that those good looks and that great voice haven’t
changed that near OCD stickler for details I knew growing,” she
laughed, “Same old GiGi.”
“Maybe, maybe not; the band and I were getting ready to check out
some parties, would you like to join us?” he asked.
She replied that she needed to catch up with her friends before doing
anything else. After extending the invitation to the rest of her
party, they quickly exchanged phone numbers with a promise to
reconnect later that night as they separated for the second time in
their lives.
A week later, finishing up his routine practice, Greg was surprised
by an unexpected text message:
Greg, it was great seeing you again. Believe it or not, when I
saw you on stage I saw the same star I had first recognized years ago
in our garages. I wish you the best on your musical endeavors,
and hope to hear from you soon.
-Gina
Many hours later, Greg had still yet to reply to such a simple message.
The ambiguity in each words' meaning that even smartphones struggle
to convey, left Greg with a mixture of thoughts and emotions.
He felt a sudden excitement, not sure whether sparked by the thought of
reinforcing a childhood bond or possibly creating a new mature connection
between the two adults, Gina and himself had developed into over the
years. He finally began to type his reply.
Either way, time would tell.
♥ Reesie
------------
Prompt: Use this line as the last line: Either way, time would tell.
Note:
*SXSW - South by Southwest; an annual, internationally recognized
music, new media and film conference held in Austin, TX.
music, new media and film conference held in Austin, TX.
Word Count: 693