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Authors: Katie Kacvinsky

Tags: #General Fiction

Second Chance

BOOK: Second Chance
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Copyright © 2012 by Katie Kacvinsky

 

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced
, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
or used in any manner whatsoever
without
the express written permission
of the publisher
, except for brief quotes used by reviewers
.

 

www.katiekacvinsky.com

Cover art: heart image
credited
to
CarbonNYC
via
www.flickr.com

 

 

 

 

Dedicated to:

 

Adam
Duritz

 

Your song lyrics inspired me to become a writer.

Is g
ray really your favorite color, too?

I hope we have that in common.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Second Chance

 

b
y

 

Katie Kacvinsky

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gray

I can’t sleep tonight because memories are pooling in my mind like a lake and I’m floating
face-down
on the surface, trying to
see
the bottom
.

Mostly, I’m
thinking about a girl
.

Which brings me to my
latest theory:

I
think
falling in
love
should come with a
warning
label
:
CAUTION—
side e
ffect
s
may include
breaking up
,
accompanied by
heartache,
severe mood swings,
withdrawal from people and life itself, wasted hours obsessing over bitter reflections, a need to destroy something (preferably something expensive that
shatters), uncontrollable tear
ducts, stress
,
a loss of appetite (
Cheet
os
and
Dr. Pepper
exempt
), a bleak and narrow outlook on
the future
,
and an overall hatred of everyone and everything (especially all the happy couples you see strolli
ng hand-in-hand,
placed
on your path
only to exacerbate your
isolation and
misery)
.
All above reactions will be intensified with the consumption of
one or more
alcohol
ic beverage
s
.

What, me, bitter
?
Not at all
.
Just honest
.
 

I
turn the music
up
on my stereo
and
take a long drag of
f
my joint
.
The smoke fills my lungs and I hold it in
until I feel a soothing burn
.
I count the months it has
been since I’ve heard from Dylan
.
I haven’t seen
her
since
she surprised me in Phoenix
over Christmas
,
and I was naïve enough to think
a long distance relationship could
work
.
Now s
he’s over
seas gallivanting around
Europe
like a bird migrating from one scenic landscape to
the next
.
S
he’s slowly becoming my past, s
omething like
a dream and reality mixed
.
I forget whe
re one ends and the other begins
because the
lines of
memories
are a
lways a
blur
.

She flew to
E
ngland
with a family who hired her to chaperone their
thirteen
-ye
ar-old daughter for
two
months
.
They covered all of
Dylan’s
traveling expenses
and paid
her
a daily stipend
.
Only Dylan would
fall into such a perfect situat
ion, like fate for her is a waterfall that
rushes her from
one exciting adventure
to
the next
with torrid
speed
because she
never seems to slow down
.

After her
job
commitment
,
Dylan stayed
in
Europe
to backpack
by h
erself
.
She sent me two postcards in the last four months
.
How thoughtful
.
It’s comforting to know she spent about six minutes thinking of me
in
Melk
,
Austria
and
Munich
, Germany
.
I’ve only spent about six
hundred hours obsessing over her
.

I’m assuming
she
met
some hot Ital
ian named Francisco or Alfredo
.
He
probably
has
haunting dark eyes and
chestnut brown hair
that flows in the wine-infused wind
.
He seduced her with lines like,
“I want
to
make love to you on the stars.” 
And he can get away with sounding like an ass-clown
just because he has a
n
accent
.
How am I supposed to compete with
that
?

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