𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙷𝙴𝚁࿐ ྂ ᴊᴇꜰꜰ ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇʏ

ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

HER RING-CLAD FINGERS PRESSED NUMBERS ON THE CASH REGISTER MINDLESSLY,           and Polly simply just tried to stay awake for the last minutes of her shift, wishing that twelve could come faster before she nodded off onto the counter. Although with the next customer that entered through the door and walked up to the register, Polly's insides didn't groan with annoyance. During what Brooke had called their 'slumber party' she had come to quite enjoy the presence of the brown-eyed, wild-haired, guitar-playing man.

"It's twelve," Jeff told her, with a hint of eagerness in his voice.

"Is it?" She asked.

"Basically." He drummed his fingers on the counter.

It wasn't quite twelve, but she let it slide. She exited to the back of the restaurant and put away her apron, replacing it with a worn-out corduroy jacket, the same shade as her faded brown Docs.

The record store they'd wandered into was vast, with two levels. They stood side by side, poking through the countless 33's and 45's. A scratchy, acoustic song rang out through the shop, and soon a deep male voice had begun to sing. The words like a folkish poem, hung on the edge of Polly's mind as she hummed the melody, trying to remember who had sung this ballad, and how she knew it. Jeff, of course, knew the song well, he knew the record and he recalled many nights where as a child, he'd held it in his sticky and small hands as he dropped the needle down just one more time.

"You know this?" He asked Polly, surprised. He knew that his father was not unknown, but he was sure that people associated tragedy with his name, rather than his music.

"It's familiar," she said, distracted as she inspected a record for any obvious signs of warp or wear. "Do you?"

"Yeah. My old man." Jeff replied, treating the fact as nothing as he continued browsing.

Then, Polly remembered Tim Buckley. And then she was quiet. 

"I didn't know him," he told her, an odd reassurance in his voice.

At the recounting of who the man singing was, Polly could only feel guilty for her two-worded question. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He shrugged.

"I know the song." She said suddenly, desperate to relieve the tense air between them, "on piano."

He was quiet, but a small smile tugged on his lips.

"I'll play it for you." She said softly, falling quiet again as she remembered why she had learned the song in the first place. Her father. Polly had heard it countless times from the passenger seat of his C-10. So, she learned it for him, as a gift. She'd never forget how proud he was, although he was a better pianist than she'd ever been, and she had learned much more challenging songs- 'Song to the Siren,' was their song. It was special. 

"Id like that." Soon the record had ended, a new one was put on, and all the paternal thoughts were pushed from Jeff's mind. 

The streets were busy, as they always were whenever it was even a little sunnier. They stood waiting for the light to change at the crosswalk when Polly grabbed his hand in hers, and Jeff quickly held it tightly. 

God, she thought, what is this guy doing to me? 

She had never been this effusive with any man she'd been with, no man had made her child-like nerves come back as he had. 

His thumb absentmindedly ran over her hand as he held it, and Polly looked down and saw how perfectly their hands fit together. Gross. She was annoyed at her own mind, how her thoughts were blinded by lust. 

༻✦༺

Piano filled the downstairs of Polly's apartment, she sat on the bench next to Jeff, hands gingerly playing his late father's song. He had begun to sing softly, nearly unaware he was. His voice nearly stopped Pollys playing in its tracks. It was beautiful, deep, high, incredibly flawless, and unlike any voice she'd heard before. Her foot eased onto the dampener pedal, turning the beautiful melody into something out of a dream.  

"And you sang, sail to me, sail to me. Let me enfold you. Here I am, Here I am. Waiting to hold you."  His voice and the notes of the Steinway piano rang together perfectly. She nearly forgot to keep playing before the second verse, too distracted by the man next to her. But she continued on, and soon his transcendent voice began to sing once more. 

"Did I dream you dreamed about me? Were you hare when I was fox? Now my foolish boat is leaning, broken lovelorn on your rocks..."

She focused on the song in full, not looking up at him until it was over, worried she'd press the wrong key. 

"That was perfect." She finally spoke, turning to him on the bench slightly. 

Jeff cleared his throat, "well yeah, your playing." 

Polly shook her head, "No, you are." She glanced down, now he had grabbed her hand in his, "and you know it." 

He didn't take flattery well, but coming from Polly, it was different- it put a grin on his face as he held her hand quietly. 

"I want to show you something," she told him, and stood, almost dragging him by his hand to the stairs. She led him to a narrow door by the bathroom and opened it, soon they stood inside a room doused in red light, and rows upon rows of pictures and negatives hung. He walked through the small room, looking at the pictures in awe, wondering how she'd gotten time to amass that many. 

"You know what's the best about film?" 

"What's that?" He replied, still looking through the pictures. 

"You can develop anything. From years ago, like a time capsule. But it seems like you just took them yesterday." She picked up an old thirty-five-millimeter camera, and instructed Jeff to smile, which he did. 

"Are you gonna wait ten years to develop that now?" He asked. 

Polly laughed, "We'll see." She handed the Canon to him, and he snapped a picture, which he was sure would turn out to be incredibly blurry but knew still that anybody who would see the picture would know just how beautiful the girl in it was, despite the terrible photographer behind it.