“True love stories never have endings.” – Richard Bach

Chapter One: 

James

 

The supermarket was always crowded at this time of day. Every time I drove the cart down another aisle — more people. And it wasn’t just the amount of people that made me insane; it was that they didn’t sense they were the ones holding up the line. There would be an elderly person driving one of those scooters, and I normally wouldn’t think anything of it. But, the next thing I knew, the old lady with a jug of milk and a loaf of bread in her basket was drawing a crowd of more elderly persons, making conversation. Now, I was stuck with nowhere to move.

 It was so aggravating. All I wanted to do was grab my groceries and leave. 

Finally, the old bags of skin and bones decided to stop talking about absolute nonsense and I was free to move down the aisle. I sped past them with my cart, not bothering if a wheel ran over a few toes. I got to the end of the aisle and grabbed some instant coffee and threw in a few coffee filters. 

I got to the checkout. But, of course, there were more idiotic people. This was my constant struggle. Every time I was in public, there were tons of people who didn’t know what they were doing. It seemed to be the new age of man — the stupid era. I had acquired over my grocery trips what times had the most idiotic or elderly people shopping. I got off late at work today, so I didn’t get to go when the people with as much as one-fifth of a brain cell were here. 

Once I finally got up to the conveyor belt, I began throwing my groceries on. The teenager behind the counter was no more than sixteen. She had excessive acne and more piercings than I could count. It made me feel old. I know my father would have beat me to a pulp if I did anything the kids of today did. 

The girl was scanning my things the slowest I had ever seen. I scratched at the stubble growing on my cheeks in aggression. It was getting frustrating. It was half-past seven and this was how I was spending my evening. I could have gotten so many case files done by now. 

I glanced to my left at the “impulse buy” section. There were packs of gum, mints, candies, basically anything last-minute you could purchase. I usually didn’t get anything at the check-out, but today was one of those days. I reached for a pack of mints when my eye caught a glimpse of one of the magazines. 

The cover of the pamphlet had the last face I wanted to see: Halo Nelson. Well, it’s actually just Halo now. Her “stage name.”

On the front was the girl I hadn’t seen in nine years. She had changed so much. Her hair was cut short and she was absolutely painted in makeup. In her hand was a microphone she held as she belted some note in a song she wrote herself. I bet her net worth is enormous. Halo wore the same clothes any celebrity would wear — short and extreme. The caption at the top of the article read: HALO MAKING HER WAY TO THE TOP IN THE MUSIC INDUSTRY

“Isn’t she just doing well?” I muttered to myself in annoyance. 

I was still upset that she moved all the way across the country for a record label. She had told me she was comfortable — that she didn’t want to be famous. The next thing I know, she was picked up from school in a limousine. She tried to give me a letter that supposedly explained her feelings and why she decided to take the deal. But, I didn’t bother even reading it. Was I supposed to read her letter and suddenly realize she was making the right decision?

The day after the concert, she just…left. For all I know, she was homeschooled for the rest of high school and “graduated” college with a Bachelor’s Degree. 

Her past decisions — it didn’t seem logical. And better yet, she told me she never loved me. 

“I love you, Halo. I thought you loved me.”

“I never said I did.”

The memory of her words still made my heart ache, but I quickly pushed the feeling away. Instead, I threw my pack of mints on the conveyor belt and reached for my wallet to pay. “How much?” I asked, my voice sounding gruff. 

“Fourteen dollars and five cents,” the angsty teen said. 

Angrily, I slapped a few bills on the counter. “Keep the change,” I replied as the girl slid the money into the register. 

 

As I walked home to my apartment, grocery bags in hand, the bustling streets of the city of Annapolis, Maryland were louder than usual today. Horns honked on the busy road; businessmen and women chatted excessively on their phones; homeless people held signs barely readable. 

Once I reached the building, I dropped my grocery bags to the ground to search for my keys in my pockets. After a few moments of fidgeting, I found the shiny piece of metal and twisted it into the lock. I immediately put all of my groceries away as soon as I entered the room. I have so much work to do, kept repeating in my mind. The grocery store was terrible. 

My apartment wasn’t the largest, but it was suitable for one. The apartment had one bedroom, a bathroom, and an adjoining kitchen and living room. All for a little over two hundred dollars a month. I wasn’t cheap — I just didn’t like using my money on nonsense things. I could afford a much nicer and luxurious place to live, I just didn’t want to spend all my money on something like that. 

After high school, I graduated with honors surprisingly. I took Geometry again senior year, actually paid attention, and passed with straight A’s. I took so many AP classes, I ended up quitting the soccer team. But, it was fine. I didn’t care. I wanted to get a well-paying career that made my life after high school suitable. 

So, I became a lawyer. 

I had sent an application to Harvard Law — and, what do you know — I got in. I had the GPA standards, the ACT scores, and everything else in between. I work for a law firm nearby that has prestigious clients — mostly celebrities like the Kardashians or whoever is “trendy” in the music industry. It pays well, too. 

After I had stored my groceries away, I swept over to my desk in the living room. I had case files to complete — even more now since I was behind idiots at the supermarket. I grabbed my ballpoint pen and opened the first file. 

Being a lawyer meant resolving anything you were tasked with — even if it wasn’t your personal belief. It was one of the few hardships I was faced with at my job. It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was the paycheck at the end of each week with my name on it. Every week I would receive a check made out to James Middleton for about fourteen-thousand dollars. I know it seemed greedy that I was becoming a lawyer only for the money. But, what else was I to do? Was I supposed to sing my heart out and play the piano like I dreamed of in high school? 

I slammed my fist on the desk in frustration. “No,” I muttered, almost as if there were others present. “Never again,”

I had whisked away my fantasies of becoming a famous musician long ago. It first happened when that video went viral nine years ago. Halo had made me feel better then. But after that, she ended up being famous and disregarded my feelings. Once she left, I sold my piano, guitar, anything that reminded me of those ridiculous dreams I had. And — most importantly — her. 

It had been years since I last touched an instrument. I forgot what it felt like to play. That sensation you feel when your fingers are dancing along the keys or when you’re strumming the guitar. I found that it was best to not think about it. 

But how can I not? 

It was my mother who got me interested in music in the first place. When I was ten, she had me sit down at the piano and taught me all the keys. By thirteen, I could play any piece someone would lay in front of me. But then, she died when I was fourteen of cancer. 

I remember her funeral vividly. My father and I stood underneath an umbrella dressed in black as it furiously dripped rain from the sky. We were the only attenders, other than her sister. My family didn’t have many friends, since we were moving around all the time. I hoped it was what Mum had wanted — just her close family. She always told me that family and love were the most important assets you could have. 

I thought Halo loved me. Guess I was wrong. 

Angirly, I slid my chair away from the desk and rubbed my eyes. It was getting late. And, even worse, I was surrounding myself with old memories instead of getting my work done. If I didn’t have these case files completed, my boss was sure to scold me for it. I glanced over at the clock on the wall; it read nine thirty. 

“I guess I could get these finished in the morning if I wake up early,” I murmured. 

I slammed the case file shut and made my way to the bedroom to get dressed for the night. Once I was clothed in pajamas, I laid on my bed and gazed up at the ceiling, waiting for my eyes to close for the next four hours of my night until I had to get up and finish my work. This was normal. I was used to getting up early and going to bed late. It was a routine now. All I would need to stay awake is a cup of black coffee. 

“Mum,” I whispered. “I wish you were here,” I held in a cry. I wasn’t going to sob, not even when I was by myself. “I wish you were here so that I would keep playing music.”

Although I knew it was a foolish dream to think I could become famous now, I could still hope. I could only pray that life would turn around for me. 

My eyes slowly closed. And, after a few moments, the alarm clock blared.