The Infinity of Like

The Infinity of Like

Sarah Godfrey had always loved the used record store. It was a place where she was happy. Working there among all the vinyl was an added bonus. Each record was a piece of history. She enjoyed the sound each one made, crackling like a warm fireplace.

She was pretty in her own right. Her friends saw her as a naïve, old soul. She saw herself as a sensitive artist. Scarborough Fair played through the speakers and she hummed along, sorting the records by name.

Sarah walked over to the window and reflected on her quiet surroundings. The sun beamed down on the pavement. A soft summer breeze swayed the trees. She smiled and opened the door, propping it open with a rock.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Gregory Bishop. Gregory was her classmate at the university. He sat next to her in class and openly mocked her for liking The Beatles. "Why would you like a band named after bugs?" He would constantly ask.

"Have you ever listened to them?"

"No, nor would I ever."

Sarah gulped. She was not prepared for Gregory.

As Sarah stepped outside and Gregory came closer, she could see the glint in his eyes. Gregory was handsome and he knew it. He had stormy eyes so blue they reminded Sarah of lightning. He wore his brown hair in an uncomplicated style with the right amount of casualness to seem playful.

Gregory smiled with all the joy of a happy puppy. He stated, in a quiet tone, "I suppose you'd be here."

Sarah looked back at him, even more confused and walked back inside the store to where she had been sorting through records. He followed her. "Don't you get bored of this?" Gregory asked.

"No." She shook her head, "I don't."

"What about this music?" He aimed at the speakers, "What is this crap?"

"Hush. That's Simon and Garfunkel, you're talking about," she answered.

"Simon and Garfunkel, The Beatles," he made a face, "what is with your taste in music?"

She sighed, "Look, did you come here only to harass me? This music is poetry. Yes, I listen to other music, but, this," she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, "is poetry."

"All right. Weirdo," he jested.

Sarah rolled her eyes, "Why did you come here?"

"I need a date."

"Okay," Sarah shrugged, "then go ask somebody out."

"I want a date," Gregory paused for dramatic effect, "with you."

They looked at each other, Sarah shocked, and Gregory delighted with himself. She dropped the record she was holding and gasped, "But, you're always making fun of me. Why would I go out with you? You always attack me for being myself. I like The Beatles. I love records. So what? Why is it such a big deal to you?"

"I know and I'm sorry."

Sarah regarded Gregory for a moment. "Fine, one date and if you say anything hurtful, I'm never going out with you again," she said with a smile.

Gregory looked ambivalent, his emotions swirling around like a boiling kettle, "Tell you what, I'll buy a record to prove how serious I am."

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." He laughed, "I don't even own a record player, and I'm buying a record to prove how much I want you."

"Ugh," Sarah made a face, "never say that again."

"What?"

"You want me." Sarah shuddered, "It sounds so insincere."

"What am I supposed to say?"

"I like you."

Gregory stepped forward, he lifted Sarah's chin up with his finger and whispered," I like you."

Sarah blushed and Gregory smiled, "Is that better?"

"Much."

"Now," Gregory stepped back, "about that record, what do you suggest?"

Sarah smirked, "The Beatles."

THE END