{"id":5000,"date":"2013-01-25T00:00:21","date_gmt":"2013-01-25T05:00:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=5000"},"modified":"2013-01-25T09:54:57","modified_gmt":"2013-01-25T14:54:57","slug":"the-only-one","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/the-only-one\/","title":{"rendered":"The Only One"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"OnlyOne_585x585\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Ever took the stairs slowly, each step getting a bit harder than the last to hoist up her hundred-pound body.\u00a0 She ached down to the bone and knew that if she stopped moving, she\u2019d probably fall asleep on her feet and end up in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.\u00a0 She didn\u2019t get it.\u00a0 It had been two weeks, and neither the fatigue nor the pain had subsided.\u00a0 She grasped the cool, iron railing, pulling herself up the stairs by her arms now, letting the burning ache fill them.\u00a0 Why the hell was the elevator in this building still broken?<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat<\/em> are you doing?\u201d she heard, and jerked her head upwards to see Lindsey staring at her.\u00a0 She hadn\u2019t even known someone was there, making it easy for him to spot her first.\u00a0 He was standing on the landing just a few steps above her, his hand still on the railing.\u00a0 He\u2019d obviously been watching her a while.\u00a0 She looked at him, seeing his incandescent blue-green eyes grimace and scrutinize her over.<\/p>\n

He was right, she thought, to look at her that way.\u00a0 Why would she be here? What possible reason could she have to come to his home?\u00a0 She opened her mouth to speak, but as usual, when around him, no words immediately came to her, only a dozen thoughts that found no real voice to express them.\u00a0 Damn him, he was the only one who could make her feel like this.\u00a0 How the hell did he always do that?\u00a0 Around anyone else she never had trouble speaking her mind and knowing what she wanted to say when she wanted to say it.\u00a0 She was a songwriter; that was her job.<\/p>\n

She shook her head.\u00a0 She guessed that was one reason she was here.\u00a0 Lindsey made her feel the way no one else could.\u00a0 She broke away from his look for a moment and focused on the pale beige floor, noticing how cracked and chipped it was in areas.<\/p>\n

When she looked back at him, he was still waiting, but his expression had softened a bit, the way it always did when he looked at her long enough.\u00a0 It was that way on stage, too.\u00a0 He\u2019d be singing that song, the angry one he wrote for her, at<\/em> her, really, the one she did backup vocals on, and would suddenly angle his body toward hers.\u00a0 He would never miss a note or a word on the song, would keep strumming those angry chords on his Gibson Les Paul, and though she was miles away on that colossal stage, she\u2019d feel him turning towards her and would turn, too, the way she used to do when they were starting out and had to share a mike.\u00a0 She\u2019d still have hold of hers the way she always did and for the rest of the song, even though they never moved closer together, they\u2019d sing just to one another, oblivious to the sounds of the crowd or the percussion, hearing only those angry words he\u2019d written to her the day their relationship ended.\u00a0 And even though the words were harsh, his look never was.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted . . .\u201d she began, starting out the conversation slow, feeling the urge to say, \u201cI wanted to talk to you.\u201d\u00a0 But, wasn\u2019t that much obvious? Why else would she be coming to his home, his creative fortress where she was no longer welcome?\u00a0 She sighed.\u00a0 May as well get it done with.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had an abortion,\u201d she said, letting her sins be known to him.\u00a0 His expression stilled.\u00a0 She kept her eyes even with his, ready to accept whatever reaction he had.\u00a0 It was a long time before he gave her one.\u00a0 The hand resting on the railing finally took her arm and he pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs with him, shoved his hand in his pocket, extracted his keys, and pushed the door to his studio apartment open, letting her walk ahead of him the way he always did.<\/p>\n

She walked into the studio, warmed from the afternoon sun shining in the open blinds, and surveyed his usual mess: kitchen sink overflowing with dishes, unopened mail stacked on the tiny two-seater breakfast table, clean and dirty laundry mixed together on the sofa, pages of finished and unfinished songs scattered over his desk.\u00a0 She couldn\u2019t help but half-smile at these subtle reminders of living with him not three years earlier, at his complete contentedness to still live like this despite the millions of dollars he raked in for the band and himself.\u00a0 She supposed that, after seeing this, few would guess that he<\/em> was the organized engineer behind the band, the one who brought it all together at the end of each album, and the one who kept it together.\u00a0 If he left, everything would undoubtedly fall apart.<\/p>\n

He gathered a pile of laundry and took it to his bedroom, emerging seconds later, pulling off his leather jacket.\u00a0 He folded it over the chair opposite the sofa and stood with his hands on his slender hips for a second.<\/p>\n

\u201cDrink?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u00a0 Please.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned to leave the room, didn\u2019t have to ask what she wanted.\u00a0 He knew her drink of choice after a long day was a rum and Coke, just like she knew his was Jack Daniels.\u00a0 He knew to leave the light on in the hallway after coming to bed because she didn\u2019t like total darkness; she knew that just because he was quiet in the early mornings didn\u2019t mean he was angry.\u00a0 And they both knew that one another needed time alone, and lots of it when they were writing their individual songs.<\/p>\n

She hummed quietly to herself as she thought about that.\u00a0 She could hear him rinsing out glasses and mixing the concoction she liked, and took a minute to look at her surroundings once more.\u00a0 There was a small wooden table next to the sofa.\u00a0 Various random pictures of the entire band laughing or smiling, though they could have been fighting not ten minutes earlier, sat on the table.\u00a0 She reached over to pick up one of the larger ones and heard something fall as she did.\u00a0 When she stood up to look for the fallen object, she saw it was a smaller photo of just the two of them, in a plain black frame. She put the larger one down and reached down to retrieve it.\u00a0 It was a picture taken shortly after they\u2019d gotten together.\u00a0 Her blonde hair was shorter than it was now, barely on her shoulders in loose curls, the way she liked to wear it back then, and his was longer, unlike the shorter cut he wore today.\u00a0 He was behind her, looking at the camera and she had her head turned to the side, laughing at something he\u2019d said to her a second before the camera had snapped.\u00a0 He used to do that a lot, say something witty or out of the blue funny and keep a straight face, though she could always tell he was laughing, too.\u00a0 What had he said to her that day?<\/p>\n

\u201cLike what you see?\u201d he asked.\u00a0 She jumped and turned.\u00a0 He was standing over her, holding out the drink he\u2019d made.\u00a0 She half-smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou caught me,\u201d she said, taking the drink and replacing the picture on the table.\u00a0 \u201cI can\u2019t believe you still have that.\u201d<\/p>\n

He sighed, sliding down on the opposite end of the couch, never quite making eye contact with her, instead looking at the building across the way from his apartment.<\/p>\n

\u201cI keep everything, baby,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cYou ought to know that by now.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded.\u00a0 She did know that.\u00a0 She also knew that he was the only one she\u2019d let get away with calling her \u2018baby.\u2019\u00a0 She\u2019d always hated that pet name, found something just a little seedy about it.\u00a0 He used it a lot, though, around everyone, as more of an expression than a term of endearment, and she couldn\u2019t help but find something undeniably charming about it.\u00a0 And when he used it to address her, she\u2019d feel like it was only for her, and there would be a small flutter inside of her that felt good.<\/p>\n

Still looking out the window, he swallowed his drink almost entirely while she took a small sip of hers.\u00a0 \u201cYou all right?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

She took a breath, then turned her head slightly in his direction and nodded once.<\/p>\n

She could feel him studying her before saying, \u201cDon\u2019t believe that,\u201d and downing the rest of his drink.<\/p>\n

He read her right, the way he always did, but she didn\u2019t acknowledge that. She swallowed hard and blinked a few times.\u00a0 She hadn\u2019t cried since she\u2019d had the abortion, and now there she was, doing it all over again.<\/p>\n

Lindsey said nothing to her as she put her face in her hands and cried silently, only placed a hand on the back of her neck the way he always did when he was comforting her.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t shush her or tell her it was going to be all right, or give her any other clich\u00e9d sympathies.\u00a0 He just let her revel in it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou tell him, yet?\u201d Lindsey asked when she sniffed and rubbed her nose, her sign that she was finished.<\/p>\n

She shook her head, wiping at her eyes.\u00a0 \u201cI think he knows, though.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n

She sighed, trying to get her ragged breath under control.\u00a0 \u201cBecause when I found out I was pregnant, I stopped seeing him. Wouldn\u2019t return his calls.\u00a0 I think he\u2019s picked up on something.\u00a0 He\u2019s left about ninety-eight messages in the past couple of weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lindsey took a slow, but heavy, deep breath and settled even further into the sofa, the way he did when he was contemplating something\u2014a song\u2019s lyric, a guitar riff.\u00a0 He had some thoughts, she could tell, but as usual, was keeping them to himself for now.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think I should tell him?\u201d she probed.<\/p>\n

He studied something outside the window for a moment.\u00a0 \u201cYou think he wants<\/em> to know?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shrugged then thought, no, he wouldn\u2019t.\u00a0 Like Lindsey, he was also the lead singer of a band and enjoyed the life a band offered him\u2014lots of money, parties, women.\u00a0 A child, even one who\u2019d never been born, would ruin that, if only in part.<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you have?\u201d she asked.\u00a0 \u201cWanted to know, I mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lindsey looked her fully in the eyes then.\u00a0 \u201cCourse I would\u2019ve.\u201d<\/p>\n

She half smiled, knowing that was the difference between Lindsey and Stephen.\u00a0 There was actually a time when Lindsey had wanted marriage and children with her, but the only thing they\u2019d ended up ever creating together were songs, and the best ones happened after he\u2019d ended it between them and they had to still go into the studio the next day and face one another and work together.\u00a0 It took years to work through that pain and get to a point where they could go into the studio, and just work again.<\/p>\n

Maybe that was another reason she was here, now. Seeing Lindsey all the time allowed her very little time to get over him.\u00a0 He was her constant, and she was his.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u2019d you tell me<\/em>?\u201d he asked, bringing her back to the conversation.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re my friend,\u201d she said, grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table and then blowing her nose.\u00a0 When she was done she breathed in deep and wrinkled the paper in her hand.\u00a0 She folded her arms across her knees, knowing her words to be true.\u00a0 If she\u2019d ever had a best friend, it was certainly Lindsey.\u00a0 They were friends long before they were lovers, had seen one another grow from gangly, know-it-all seventeen-year-old kids to more seasoned thirty-year-olds, had lived with the tenacity with which they held to their work, tenacity that led to those stormy recording sessions that seemed to go on forever, one ending in Lindsey smashing one of his Les Paul\u2019s against the wall.<\/p>\n

They loved and hated each other in equal measures during those times, which, Ever supposed, was too much for almost anyone to handle in frequent doses.\u00a0 So, one night, after giving her everything he was for nearly ten years, Lindsey began packing up his things, told her he was going to stay at a hotel until he figured things out.\u00a0 That was the night he\u2019d written the song that was to become their only number-one hit.<\/p>\n

When she thought about it now, he really had done them both a favor.\u00a0 She could feel the end of their relationship coming months before that, but instead of accepting it the way he had, she\u2019d clung more desperately to what was left of it, thus draining it and the both of them even quicker.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know me,\u201d she continued.\u00a0 \u201cWhat\u2019s good for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He leaned forward slightly.\u00a0 \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell<\/em> me you were pregnant, Ev?\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked at him, seeing the help he could\u2019ve offered her during the time she was sick to her stomach, and worried and hopeless and so tired she could barely move.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t\u00a0 . . . know how you\u2019d react . . .\u201d\u00a0 She stopped and raked her hands through her hair.\u00a0 \u201cI thought I could handle it all by myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike you do with everything,\u201d he said, rattling the ice left in his glass.<\/p>\n

Ever nodded.\u00a0 Definitely true.\u00a0 She was the one who, a year ago, had refused to see a doctor when, during a three-week bout with Bronchitis, constant coughing fits caused her to crack a rib.\u00a0 She\u2019d still pathetically tried to make it to the studio each day, fevered and fatigued and coughing every two seconds, until Lindsey had taken her out to his car, put her in it, and drove her home, himself, while she fell immediately asleep in the passenger seat.<\/p>\n

She looked up at him.\u00a0 \u201cI was wrong.\u00a0 You\u2019re the only person I want to help me go through this.\u00a0 But I understand if the answer\u2019s \u2018no.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

He cocked his head to the side, giving her an exasperated look.\u00a0 \u201cCourse the answer\u2019s not \u2018no.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Then he got up to refill his drink.\u00a0 \u201cI would\u2019ve before.\u201d<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

Tanya W. Newman has always been an avid reader of stories.\u00a0\u00a0It was at the age of ten that she actually decided to write a story of her own.\u00a0Now, more than twenty years later, writing is still something she loves to do each day.\u00a0\u00a0Her previous works have appeared in\u00a0writersINC<\/em>\u00a0and she is the recipient of the University of South Carolina-Upstate Center for Women\u2019s Studies Fiction Writing Award.\u00a0\u00a0She is a graduate of USC-Upstate and Clemson University’s Master of Arts program in English.\u00a0\u00a0She lives in South Carolina with her husband and son.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ever took the stairs slowly, each step getting a bit harder than the last to hoist up her hundred-pound body. She ached down to the bone and knew that if she stopped moving, she\u2019d probably fall asleep on her feet and end up in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. She didn\u2019t get it. It had been two weeks, and neither the fatigue nor the pain had subsided. She grasped the cool, iron railing, pulling herself up the stairs by her arms now, letting the burning ache fill them. Why the hell was the elevator in this building still broken?
\n\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d she heard, and jerked her head upwards to see Lindsey staring at her. She hadn\u2019t even known someone was there, making it easy for him to spot her first. He was standing on the landing just a few steps above her, his hand still on the railing. He\u2019d obviously been watching her a while. She looked at him, seeing his incandescent blue-green eyes grimace and scrutinize her over.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":131,"featured_media":5118,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[218,200,219],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5000"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/131"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5000"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5000\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5122,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5000\/revisions\/5122"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5118"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5000"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5000"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5000"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}