“Hi Owen” she said, speaking even bubblier than normal. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Ah… I think I’m going to the footy.” Always leave your options open.

“Oh.” She then paused.

“Why?” I asked, interrupting the silence.

“Well, a few friends and I are going to go watch Katya sing at the Cue Club.” She answered excitedly. Everything inside me froze.

“Katya?” I echoed.

“Yeah, you know.” Jamie started, “Katya who you met the other day at Uni.” She knew about my and Katya’s meeting? I recollected our first meeting in the courtyard. The sun shining, words filling my notebook, and her. I recalled Katya’s friends watching as we talked. I remembered Jamie standing in that group of people.

“So,” my memories were disrupted – “Do you want to come?” Jamie inquired insistently.

I weighed up my options – Hearing Katya (a girl I’m completely besotted with) sing OR watching a bunch of sweaty men chase each other and a big red egg – for a second.

The decision was easy.

As I drove to the Cue Club in my beaten up old Ford I thought non-stop about Katya – which I’d been doing since our first date. I couldn’t get her out of my head. Her face, her voice, her song, all of it was entrenched in my mind and having a field day in there. For the past few days all my writing had been about her. Short stories, poems, haikus. All of it about her.

“So, your father left and stole a piece of you for keep?”

“I see by your song that you don’t feel alive.”

“Your song was so sad. I feel terrible for you.”

Yeah, I over think everything to the point where nothing seems appropriate. The fact is my over-analysis of things had made it impossible for me to call her. Now, I was going to see her sing, and afterwards would likely be thrust into a meeting with her by her not-so-subtle friends. There would be no time for over-analysis of premeditation. Exactly what I needed.

I arrived at the bar and was met inside by Jamie, Sammi and a few more of Katya’s friends. Katya was somewhere getting ready, so I had to hang around with them, or be by myself. I thought it’d be too rude if I just went and sat somewhere else, so I, unfortunately, stayed with Katya’s friends.

All the conversations they started with me were exactly the same.

“So, have you heard Katya sing before?”

“I heard you and Katya had a couple of drinks the other day.”

Etcetera etcetera. I was forced into these meandering chit-chats about her. Don’t get me wrong, I could have and wanted to talk about Katya for hours, but not to her friends and not when it is so obvious what they are doing.

The aggravation was broken by some guy on a microphone announcing Katya’s name. We all cheered loudly as the rest of the people in the bar gave her mild applause.

She had a guitar in her hand and went and sat on a lone stool. She scanned over the audience. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. Her stunning, seductive, beautiful, intricate, delicate, glorious, adjective eyes. During our first date I’d identified her eyes as a highlight in a sea of many. When she wasn’t speaking, her eyes told a story. You could tell exactly what she was thinking. They’d light up like a lighthouse showing lost ships the way home, when she was happy. When she was withdrawn or apprehensive you could tell. Her eyes communicated it.

She played her first song – strumming note after perfect note on her guitar – singing word after eloquent word over it. The song was about a girl stranded on an island, forced to make her own friends and adventures inside her imagination.

The second song was stunning. I listened and watched intently as she versed about a child, all alone, watching as the world passes her by, never stopping to pick her up and bring her along. All the while Katya was singing, she scanned the audience and made eye contact with every one of them – except me.

I was on my third beer when she started her third song. It blew me away. There was no guitar, no background music. Just her. The song went for nearly five minutes. The only lyric in it, repeated over and over again was: “She’s all alone.” Katya sang the line beautifully, harmonizing. I looked around me, fearful that perhaps the audience wouldn’t ‘get’ it and would be growing bored.

A sense of joy filled me when I saw everyone in the audience watching, listening, silently. All enraptured by her.

When the song finished, the small crowd went nuts. Overwhelming cheers and claps and whistles poured over Katya as she just watched us, smiling sweetly. She seemed completely taken by the response.

Her fourth song was her last for the night. It was “Lonely Heart”. The song she’d written about her father. The song she’d shown me on our first date.

The entire duration of the song, her eyes were on mine. She sang soulfully whilst burning her way into my infatuation. She watched as I sunk. She watched as I tried to pick myself up. She watched as I failed. All of this she saw in my eyes, and I saw her see. In that one moment an understanding connected us. We knew everything would be all right.

When “Lonely Heart” finished, Katya got up off her stool. Her audience cheered and she accepted gratefully. She placed her guitar down on the small set and stepped off of it. She approached me, our eyes fixed the whole time. As she neared me I readied myself to greet her. I opened my mouth and…

“Oh my God, Katya! You were amazing!”” Jamie, drunk, beat me to the punch. Katya smiled halfheartedly to me and then turned to face Jamie and her other friends reluctantly. A sea of praise washed over her.

“That was incredible!”

“I almost cried in that ‘She’s All Alone’ song!”

“You have an amazing voice!”

Feeling not much like interrupting, I sat down on my barstool and asked the tender for another pot. I sat and drank for what seemed like an eternity as Katya’s friends prattled on.

Three beers later, a voice broke me out of my daze.

“Hi there.” It was Katya. I turned to face her – all her friends were gone. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get to you. My friends never stop TALKING!” She said, smiling and giggling.

“That’s fine.” I replied, a little drunk. “Where are they now?”

“Um…” she began, “I think they went to some club.”

“Oh. And you didn’t want to go with them?” I asked, hoping she’d cite me as the reason she stayed.

“Not really. I’ve got my guitar with me, so I can’t really take that into a club.”

Strike out.

“Plus,” she added with a smile. “I wanted to hang out with you.”

Swish!

As always, I hid my inner joy.

“Well, would you like a drink?” I asked smoothly.

“Actually, I don’t really like this place much. I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drive with me.”

A drive?

“Uh, yeah. I’m probably not fit to drive though.” I admitted.

“That’s fine.” She said. “I wanted to take my car anyway.”

She smiled and I couldn’t help but mirror her.

“I’ll just grab my guitar and money and we can head off.” She said. I obliged and watched as she put her guitar in its case, then spoke to what must have been the owner of the bar. He gave her some cash and soon enough she was back.

“All right,” She spoke. “Let’s roll.”

I followed her out the door, down the street and into her Mercedes-Benz?

Taken back by her incredibly expensive and relatively new looking vehicle, I got inside nonetheless. She loaded her guitar into the boot and did the same. Then we drove away.