Played like a Guitar - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
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I woke up super nervous that day with a fair share of second thoughts, knowing well our encounters tend to be rather unpredictable, wondering if an additional one could possibly make things even worse. What if he avoids talking to me, or calls security to kick my ass out for stalking him?
"Relax, you can do this. You need to. It's for your own good." - I convinced my reflection in the mirror, wearing a dark grey cardigan, informal white shirt and slim jeans. You'd think I embraced the Italian over-the-top chic by now, but I felt most confident in casual wear. My typical fashion statement: dress up to feel good in your own skin, but nothing too extravagant to stand out from the crowd. It was just a small book gathering after all, and I had no one to impress (major question mark).
Securing a seat for his book tour was fairly easy, only requiring to be one of the first people to sign up online. I was lucky enough to have seen the poster before they even opened the bookstore. But was it really luck though, or destiny? I chuckled at the mirror at the silly thought. Before leaving my studio, I checked the address once again in the email I received after booking a seat online, only to find out the presentation was not taking place in the library we passed by with Leo, but another one from the same company a few metro stations away. I didn't plan on taking the metro so there was no way I could possibly arrive on time.
I grabbed all my essentials and ran out the front door towards the station but stopped halfway there, breathless, realizing it was dumb of me to rush. It's not like he knew I was coming anyways. Once you're late, might as well take your time, right? My luck was yet again challenged when the train I was supposed to catch arrived ten minutes later, which barely ever happened. Even though my pride protested, I couldn't help but feel anxious. I was both nervous and slightly excited, wondering how he'll react upon reuniting with the one who almost kissed him before he proposed to his girlfriend, but also scared I might miss the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity the universe planned for us. I flipped open his book of poems which I bought a few days ago, analyzing them for the millionth time, one by one. They were both beautiful and mysterious, resembling his persona. Delicately written, personal and honest. They covered a spectrum of topics, from falling in love and losing someone, to depression and nature's wonders. It was a true insight into his mind, or a glimpse of it at least. One of them, titled 'Under the Stars', felt oddly familiar, as if I experienced the same scenery and thoughts once. I was convinced it was inspired by the night we spent together, but maybe he shared it with Valentina instead, his new fiancée. What's the deal with the two of them, anyways? From all the rumors I heard (unwillingly), they attended some public events and shows together but weren't spotted much outside of them.
I pushed my way out of the metro in a fast pace, worried that he'd be gone before I even got there. I was unsure of the bookstore's whereabouts, but a bunch of thirsty fans standing in front of an age-old dark brown building gave me a hunch. They consisted mostly of teenage girls pushing each other to catch a glimpse of him through the window. I barely managed to squeeze through the front door entrance alive, showing my ticket to the security guard as dozens of jealous eyes silently cursed me. Before entering the second door, I stopped to take a deep breath. "Chin up, straighten your back, look confident. You can do this." - I inhaled, closing my eyes for just a second before entering the library.
It was a spacious room with two floors and tall wooden bookshelves on both sides, rows of cheap folding chairs in the middle and a slightly elevated stage on the opposite end with two comfortable sofas. I was greeted by his soft voice and Irish accent while trying to find a place to sit but all the front seats were already occupied. Not wishing to attract his attention as he was in the middle of the interview with the store manager, I stood awkwardly at the back of the room. It was him, Jamie O'Dea, in the flesh.
"Did you have a specific process while writing the book?" - the interviewee asked with her heavy Italian accent. I preferred his.
"Well, I didn't exactly just sit down and write them out of the blue. I always keep a little notebook nearby, where I keep track of thoughts, ideas or concepts for future work. It mostly happens in the spur of the moment, like a light-bulb flash that needs to be written down immediately or else it could be gone forever. I let my emotions guide my hand, they are the crucial aspect of every poem after all." Normally I would have rolled my eyes if I heard someone else say it, but I knew it was true. He carried it with him all the time.
"Where do you usually get inspired? Is there a special place you visit when you feel like writing?" - she continued questioning him. His attire consisted of a pale yellow cable knit sweater and a pair of dark green cargo pants. It complemented his ginger features and eyes, the left one at least. He always looked so effortlessly stylish and well-groomed. The shiny engagement ring on his left hand, however, was not. The same one that ruined our last encounter, if I remember correctly. So he did propose to her after all. Cool. That's totally cool. Breathe, Noah, breathe.
"Traveling helps me out the most, learning about foreign cultures, meeting extraordinary people and discovering hidden places in each city. It's a beautiful world we live in, but there is also cruelty behind it which some people choose not to see. I wanted to put my thoughts and feelings into words, so as to make something useful out of them in hopes of inspiring others or helping them relieve some of their pain. You know, it can be a relief knowing that someone out there went through the same negative emotions you may have experienced." - he explained passionately, securing a place in the audience's hearts in his typical effortless O'Dea manor. "It's a very intimate piece of work, and at first I wasn't sure if I was ready to share it with the world, but I figured every person would interpret it in their own way based on their past experiences. When it comes to writing, however, its usually done back in my hometown where words come to mind more easily. Lots of memories I made there, some of which I'd rather forget and others I cherish every day." - he revealed. Something changed in him, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it. He was clearly excited about sharing his body of work with the audience, but some of the poems were a bit too dark.
"What I particularly found intriguing about the poems was how different they all were in terms of themes. Did you have a plan in mind about their structure when writing?" The lady was way too into him, it was so obvious. I could swear drool was coming out of the corner of her mouth. Not that I blame her of course, but still unprofessional.
"As the title shows, I wanted to explore impactful moments in our lives, those of rejoice but also of despair. From our very first seconds of life until our last breath, and what happens after. Of course, our first love, losing them, finding someone knew, it's all part of the journey. And as a writer I wanted to approach them from different perspectives so that it feels fresh for readers." Did our conversations in Thess inspire some of the topics he covered? If I remember correctly, death wasn't exactly a topic of interest back then.
"That concludes our interview for today. Mr. O'Dea, thank you for sharing your time with us." - she smiled, and he nodded humbly. "Now before we give our audience free signed copies of your book, I would kindly ask of you to answer some questions they prepared." Desperate hands started filling the air, wishing to interact with him. Based on his expression, he had low expectations already.
The first set of questions were about the Midnight Blues, if they planned on organizing another tour and if they would perform in Rome to which he had no concrete answer (nor did he seem interested). Only a few people ended up asking him meaningful questions about his work and his annoyance was as clear as day.
A girl with dark hair, round glasses and a Midnight Blues T-shirt asked: "Jamie...um, Mr. O'Dea, sorry. I've read your book already and the poems are truly amazing. 'Under the stars' is my favorite one, but I couldn't help but wonder who inspired you to write it? Was it Valentina? How is she?" - she giggled. Jackpot! I'm all ears now, O'Dea. Let's see what you have to say.
"That's very kind of you to ask. Valentina is doing great, she's really busy designing her latest summer collection. As for the poem, its one of my personal favorites as well. Words came to mind so naturally for that one." - he looked down at the floor and smirked. "I don't think it really matters who inspired it. I wanted to describe the feeling most of us are aware of when finding love and, something everyone can relate to. It doesn't have to be a partner, necessarily. I wrote it in a way that it can apply to relationships, friendships, family, anyone really." He avoided the questions pretty well; I'll give him that. For a split second I thought he would mention a person he met a while ago in Greece. I doubt he wrote it about some minor high school crush or that girl he played the guitar for. The poem was too specific at some points, so Valentina was never an option. After answering the irrelevant questions, he took the opportunity to drink some water. Now's my time to strike.
"How did you know it was love, and not lust, Mr. O'Dea?" – I asked loud and clear all the way from the back. He opened his mouth to reply but stopped abruptly, recognizing my voice. Gotcha.
"Who asked that?" – he nearly choked on the water, analyzing the room in search of the person whose voice sounded all too familiar. After a brief hesitation, I spoke up again, and everyone turned their heads backwards to see who dared question the brilliant writer.
"I did." - I said proudly, leaning against a wooden pillar.
The chit-chat in the room went extinct, the guests vanished into thin air. It was just his gaze and mine. He seemed baffled, wondering what the hell was I doing all the way here in Rome, after everything that happened. There was something in his eyes, guilt perhaps? I smiled cunningly, putting him under the spotlight, patiently expecting a reply.
"Mr. O'Dea?" – the lady called, bringing us both back to Earth. The audience appeared confused but intrigued nonetheless. A devilish smile embellished his face now too, as if he came up with the perfect answer.
"That's a tough question you've got there for me, stranger." - he chuckled. I bit my lips automatically to suppress the smile that stupid nickname of his provoked every damn time. "Okay, let me think about it." A brief pause followed, almost as if he was trying to find the answer in an imaginary dictionary. He opened his mouth, then closed it, deep in thought, and once he
"It's this sense of security and certainty you feel when you look at this person, not only their physical self, but the entirety of their existence. Their body, personality, soul, aura, energy, presence. You just fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle designed for each other. Kind of reminds me of what Greek Mythology says: the original form of humans consisted of four legs, four arms and a head with two faces on it. Zeus split us all in half, forcing us to search our entire lives for the other half." - he shared Plato's words I was already familiar with. "If its true love, you wouldn't be questioning it in the first place. You feel it deep inside your heart. Therefore you're designed to complete one another, and I think that concept is truly wonderful. More talented artists have attempted defining the same in the past and as you can see, words can't really describe it entirely, but I hope my attempt answered your question." – he didn't blink, nor did he break eye contact once while answering my question. Oh for fuck's sake, why did I come here in the first place? Was the poem really dedicated to me? Is he saying what I think he is? So many questions again but one thing's for sure, I was still completely, utterly in love with him. All the buried feelings and emotions resurfaced and punched me in the stomach, which was now filled with butterflies anew. He did it again, the manipulative bastard.
"Relax, you can do this. You need to. It's for your own good." - I convinced my reflection in the mirror, wearing a dark grey cardigan, informal white shirt and slim jeans. You'd think I embraced the Italian over-the-top chic by now, but I felt most confident in casual wear. My typical fashion statement: dress up to feel good in your own skin, but nothing too extravagant to stand out from the crowd. It was just a small book gathering after all, and I had no one to impress (major question mark).
Securing a seat for his book tour was fairly easy, only requiring to be one of the first people to sign up online. I was lucky enough to have seen the poster before they even opened the bookstore. But was it really luck though, or destiny? I chuckled at the mirror at the silly thought. Before leaving my studio, I checked the address once again in the email I received after booking a seat online, only to find out the presentation was not taking place in the library we passed by with Leo, but another one from the same company a few metro stations away. I didn't plan on taking the metro so there was no way I could possibly arrive on time.
I grabbed all my essentials and ran out the front door towards the station but stopped halfway there, breathless, realizing it was dumb of me to rush. It's not like he knew I was coming anyways. Once you're late, might as well take your time, right? My luck was yet again challenged when the train I was supposed to catch arrived ten minutes later, which barely ever happened. Even though my pride protested, I couldn't help but feel anxious. I was both nervous and slightly excited, wondering how he'll react upon reuniting with the one who almost kissed him before he proposed to his girlfriend, but also scared I might miss the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity the universe planned for us. I flipped open his book of poems which I bought a few days ago, analyzing them for the millionth time, one by one. They were both beautiful and mysterious, resembling his persona. Delicately written, personal and honest. They covered a spectrum of topics, from falling in love and losing someone, to depression and nature's wonders. It was a true insight into his mind, or a glimpse of it at least. One of them, titled 'Under the Stars', felt oddly familiar, as if I experienced the same scenery and thoughts once. I was convinced it was inspired by the night we spent together, but maybe he shared it with Valentina instead, his new fiancée. What's the deal with the two of them, anyways? From all the rumors I heard (unwillingly), they attended some public events and shows together but weren't spotted much outside of them.
I pushed my way out of the metro in a fast pace, worried that he'd be gone before I even got there. I was unsure of the bookstore's whereabouts, but a bunch of thirsty fans standing in front of an age-old dark brown building gave me a hunch. They consisted mostly of teenage girls pushing each other to catch a glimpse of him through the window. I barely managed to squeeze through the front door entrance alive, showing my ticket to the security guard as dozens of jealous eyes silently cursed me. Before entering the second door, I stopped to take a deep breath. "Chin up, straighten your back, look confident. You can do this." - I inhaled, closing my eyes for just a second before entering the library.
It was a spacious room with two floors and tall wooden bookshelves on both sides, rows of cheap folding chairs in the middle and a slightly elevated stage on the opposite end with two comfortable sofas. I was greeted by his soft voice and Irish accent while trying to find a place to sit but all the front seats were already occupied. Not wishing to attract his attention as he was in the middle of the interview with the store manager, I stood awkwardly at the back of the room. It was him, Jamie O'Dea, in the flesh.
"Did you have a specific process while writing the book?" - the interviewee asked with her heavy Italian accent. I preferred his.
"Well, I didn't exactly just sit down and write them out of the blue. I always keep a little notebook nearby, where I keep track of thoughts, ideas or concepts for future work. It mostly happens in the spur of the moment, like a light-bulb flash that needs to be written down immediately or else it could be gone forever. I let my emotions guide my hand, they are the crucial aspect of every poem after all." Normally I would have rolled my eyes if I heard someone else say it, but I knew it was true. He carried it with him all the time.
"Where do you usually get inspired? Is there a special place you visit when you feel like writing?" - she continued questioning him. His attire consisted of a pale yellow cable knit sweater and a pair of dark green cargo pants. It complemented his ginger features and eyes, the left one at least. He always looked so effortlessly stylish and well-groomed. The shiny engagement ring on his left hand, however, was not. The same one that ruined our last encounter, if I remember correctly. So he did propose to her after all. Cool. That's totally cool. Breathe, Noah, breathe.
"Traveling helps me out the most, learning about foreign cultures, meeting extraordinary people and discovering hidden places in each city. It's a beautiful world we live in, but there is also cruelty behind it which some people choose not to see. I wanted to put my thoughts and feelings into words, so as to make something useful out of them in hopes of inspiring others or helping them relieve some of their pain. You know, it can be a relief knowing that someone out there went through the same negative emotions you may have experienced." - he explained passionately, securing a place in the audience's hearts in his typical effortless O'Dea manor. "It's a very intimate piece of work, and at first I wasn't sure if I was ready to share it with the world, but I figured every person would interpret it in their own way based on their past experiences. When it comes to writing, however, its usually done back in my hometown where words come to mind more easily. Lots of memories I made there, some of which I'd rather forget and others I cherish every day." - he revealed. Something changed in him, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it. He was clearly excited about sharing his body of work with the audience, but some of the poems were a bit too dark.
"What I particularly found intriguing about the poems was how different they all were in terms of themes. Did you have a plan in mind about their structure when writing?" The lady was way too into him, it was so obvious. I could swear drool was coming out of the corner of her mouth. Not that I blame her of course, but still unprofessional.
"As the title shows, I wanted to explore impactful moments in our lives, those of rejoice but also of despair. From our very first seconds of life until our last breath, and what happens after. Of course, our first love, losing them, finding someone knew, it's all part of the journey. And as a writer I wanted to approach them from different perspectives so that it feels fresh for readers." Did our conversations in Thess inspire some of the topics he covered? If I remember correctly, death wasn't exactly a topic of interest back then.
"That concludes our interview for today. Mr. O'Dea, thank you for sharing your time with us." - she smiled, and he nodded humbly. "Now before we give our audience free signed copies of your book, I would kindly ask of you to answer some questions they prepared." Desperate hands started filling the air, wishing to interact with him. Based on his expression, he had low expectations already.
The first set of questions were about the Midnight Blues, if they planned on organizing another tour and if they would perform in Rome to which he had no concrete answer (nor did he seem interested). Only a few people ended up asking him meaningful questions about his work and his annoyance was as clear as day.
A girl with dark hair, round glasses and a Midnight Blues T-shirt asked: "Jamie...um, Mr. O'Dea, sorry. I've read your book already and the poems are truly amazing. 'Under the stars' is my favorite one, but I couldn't help but wonder who inspired you to write it? Was it Valentina? How is she?" - she giggled. Jackpot! I'm all ears now, O'Dea. Let's see what you have to say.
"That's very kind of you to ask. Valentina is doing great, she's really busy designing her latest summer collection. As for the poem, its one of my personal favorites as well. Words came to mind so naturally for that one." - he looked down at the floor and smirked. "I don't think it really matters who inspired it. I wanted to describe the feeling most of us are aware of when finding love and, something everyone can relate to. It doesn't have to be a partner, necessarily. I wrote it in a way that it can apply to relationships, friendships, family, anyone really." He avoided the questions pretty well; I'll give him that. For a split second I thought he would mention a person he met a while ago in Greece. I doubt he wrote it about some minor high school crush or that girl he played the guitar for. The poem was too specific at some points, so Valentina was never an option. After answering the irrelevant questions, he took the opportunity to drink some water. Now's my time to strike.
"How did you know it was love, and not lust, Mr. O'Dea?" – I asked loud and clear all the way from the back. He opened his mouth to reply but stopped abruptly, recognizing my voice. Gotcha.
"Who asked that?" – he nearly choked on the water, analyzing the room in search of the person whose voice sounded all too familiar. After a brief hesitation, I spoke up again, and everyone turned their heads backwards to see who dared question the brilliant writer.
"I did." - I said proudly, leaning against a wooden pillar.
The chit-chat in the room went extinct, the guests vanished into thin air. It was just his gaze and mine. He seemed baffled, wondering what the hell was I doing all the way here in Rome, after everything that happened. There was something in his eyes, guilt perhaps? I smiled cunningly, putting him under the spotlight, patiently expecting a reply.
"Mr. O'Dea?" – the lady called, bringing us both back to Earth. The audience appeared confused but intrigued nonetheless. A devilish smile embellished his face now too, as if he came up with the perfect answer.
"That's a tough question you've got there for me, stranger." - he chuckled. I bit my lips automatically to suppress the smile that stupid nickname of his provoked every damn time. "Okay, let me think about it." A brief pause followed, almost as if he was trying to find the answer in an imaginary dictionary. He opened his mouth, then closed it, deep in thought, and once he
"It's this sense of security and certainty you feel when you look at this person, not only their physical self, but the entirety of their existence. Their body, personality, soul, aura, energy, presence. You just fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle designed for each other. Kind of reminds me of what Greek Mythology says: the original form of humans consisted of four legs, four arms and a head with two faces on it. Zeus split us all in half, forcing us to search our entire lives for the other half." - he shared Plato's words I was already familiar with. "If its true love, you wouldn't be questioning it in the first place. You feel it deep inside your heart. Therefore you're designed to complete one another, and I think that concept is truly wonderful. More talented artists have attempted defining the same in the past and as you can see, words can't really describe it entirely, but I hope my attempt answered your question." – he didn't blink, nor did he break eye contact once while answering my question. Oh for fuck's sake, why did I come here in the first place? Was the poem really dedicated to me? Is he saying what I think he is? So many questions again but one thing's for sure, I was still completely, utterly in love with him. All the buried feelings and emotions resurfaced and punched me in the stomach, which was now filled with butterflies anew. He did it again, the manipulative bastard.
End of Played like a Guitar Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to Played like a Guitar book page.