Repetition Compulsion

7.

" I wanna be a Great One.

But the process is so tedious and time consuming, and I'm impatient;

I want everything to fall into my lap, and I want it to happen now.

I wanna be a Great One, but the world hasn't seen my work.

Yet there is nothing I want more than for the world to see my work and to fall in love with it just like I have fallen in love with the process.

I wanna be a Great One, but the thing about Great Ones is that they are not average people, and I'm as average as they come.

I wanna be a Great One, but the thing about Great Ones is that they endure through the pain, and they survive and they breathe and they live to tell their stories and inspire others. Then only at the end of it all, are they deemed 'Great Ones'.

I wanna be a Great One, but the universe keeps kicking me when I'm down. And every time I try to get back up, I am presented with yet another obstacle.

I wanna be a Great One, but I don't know how many more obstacles I can endure or if I have it in me to take any more pain and suffering or live any longer than I already have."

Sera came to an abrupt stop.

"Why did you stop? Surely it hasn't ended?", he said.

"I wrote it so long ago, I forgot how it ends."

A lie. She just knew he wouldn't like the way it ended. Besides, he was a stranger. He did not need to know everything.

Luckily, he didn't protest. Instead, he nodded in response. "Quick question? What's a 'Great One'?"

"A legend or a star."

"So, when you wrote this you dreamed of one day becoming a legendary writer? I'm guessing?"

"I did", Sera replied. "But I was so young back then. Now everything has changed."

"What changed? You were at that function, so I assume that means you still want to pursue a career in the Writing Industry?"

"Not the Writing Industry, Publishing", Sera replied.

"Why the change?"

"I'm just not the same person anymore".

"Who were you then and who are you now?"

She chuckled nervously, not wanting to be rude, but also sure as hell not liking where the conversation was going. "You ask a lot of questions, Mr Abimbola. You'd swear I was in a job interview."

"Well maybe that's because you're a very interesting soul, Ms S.e.r.a.—Sera, short for Serendipity.", he said with a smile before looking thoughtfully into the distance. "Speaking of which...who named you?"

Sera shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe my parents. I'm not too sure."

"You've never asked?"

"Never got a chance to...they both kicked the bucket when I was about 11"

His body visibly tensed.

"This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. Don't do that", Sera said in response.

"Do what?"

"Look at me with that pitiful look in your eyes. Look at me like I am a walking sad story..."

He opened his mouth, seemingly to argue, but Sera interrupted him. "Just don't, okay?"

He nodded. "Very well, then. But If you don't want people to look at you in a sad way, maybe you shouldn't tell them sad stories."

"Mmh...You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're stalling", Sera replied, punching him playfully on the arm. She knew she had to change the subject, because if she didn't, her fun night out had the potential to turn into something tragic. "Come on...your turn to work your magic on the piano."

He smiled softly, but then otherwise gazed thoughtfully into the distance before he pulled on his sleeves and started playing the piano.

His eyes were closed. But despite this, his fingers moved with style, poise and grace. It was almost like he had memorized every key, and knew exactly where it was even without looking. The more he played, the more Sera felt the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. She also knew that doing so had the potential to get weird and awkward, but she did it anyway.

He didn't flinch.

In fact, it was almost like he was unaware of Sera's head resting softly on his shoulders.

A sweet melody filled the room, and with every note he hit, Sera could feel a rush of emotions inside of her. It was quite obvious that Abimbola was pouring his heart and soul into the music. And even though Sera was not sure what it was exactly that Abimbola's music was communicating, she understood it and she felt it. She felt it coursing through her veins and flowing through her blood, pumping its way to her heart like a powerful drug.

Soon, her eyes started to feel heavy, and so she closed them and gave herself a few minutes to rest.

She was barely conscious when Abimbola hit the last note, but she was too tired to open her eyes, so she didn't. She felt him carrying her in his arms, and then tucking her safely in bed.