From the first hello To the last goodbye From the first smile To the last cry I want you to stay by my side, oh sweetheart.
My fingers moved rapidly across the guitar strings, pressing down on the second fret of the third string, then strumming the bottom four strings. The melody felt…incomplete.
Every hour of every day, Every day of every year, In the rain, in the snow, In the dark, in the glow, I want you to stay by my side, oh sweetheart.
“Crappy lyrics. Lousy tune. You’re a disappointment, Alicia,” the familiar voice of self-criticism echoed in my head. I knew it was true.
Take my soul, take my heart, Leave nothing, spare no part, Because sweetheart, I want you to stay by your side. Oh oh oh… I want you to stay by my side.
My fingers flew across the strings, faster and faster, yet I felt nothing. The composition was hollow, a pale imitation of the songs that could wrench tears from your eyes. There was no feeling, no passion, just empty words strung together.
Till my last breath, I want you to stay by your side. Till the end of time, I want you to stay by my side.
“Damn it.” The frustration surged, and I flung the guitar onto the floor. The sharp click of a tongue drew my gaze to my father, leaning against the doorway.
“It was beautiful,” he said softly, walking towards me. I stepped aside to make room for him.
“Stop lying, Dad.” I scoffed, the bitterness laced with exhaustion. “It was crap.”
His hand moved to my waist, drawing comforting circles on my back. I sighed, tears blurring my vision. Resting my head on his shoulder, I allowed a sob to escape.
“Why are we moving, Dad? Why can’t we stay in Florida?” I sniveled.
“You know why, Alicia. If it were up to me, we’d never leave this house.” He cleared his throat, his voice catching.
“This house is dear to both of us. This is where your mother and I started our journey. Where you were born. Where she…” He paused, the pain evident in his voice. “Where she spent her last days.”
I felt his body shudder slightly. I knew he was right. The move to New York was necessary, but it didn't lessen the ache.
It’s been five years since Mom left us. Yet, Dad still loved her with a ferocity that both humbled and terrified me. I’d seen him quietly weeping in the kitchen while making her favorite pasta, found him curled up in his room, clutching her photograph. Every Valentine’s Day, he hides in his bed and rereads her favorite novels.
It’s the kind of love I crave, a love that endures beyond loss. But lately, it seems boys only care about finding new ways to touch a girl.
“Ali.” His voice pulled me from my reverie. I lifted my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. His own eyes were brimming with moisture.
“Your phone is vibrating.” He pointed to my mobile phone. The caller ID displayed my best friend’s name.
“Good night.” Dad kissed my forehead and left the room. I answered the call, bracing myself for Rachel’s boisterous voice.
“Hey girl, how’s the packing going?” she asked cheerfully.
“Almost done,” I responded wearily.
“I can’t believe you’re moving to New York. I can’t imagine my life without you, Alicia.” Her voice turned forlorn.
“Awww.” I teased.
“Don’t get too smug. I’m sad because I won’t be able to admire your handsome dad.” She joked.
“Ew.” I groaned. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard women compliment my father’s looks. For a man nearing his fifties, he was remarkably well-preserved. Many women had tried to catch his attention after Mom’s death, but he hadn’t even glanced in their direction.
“On a serious note, take care of yourself,” she changed the topic.
“I will.”
“And don’t forget to send me pics of your new hot classmates.” She giggled.
“Do I look like a creep?” I rolled my eyes.
“Do you really have to ask?” she laughed. “Okay Al, Dad’s calling me. I need to go.”
After hanging up, I placed the phone on the bedside table. I pulled my pajamas from the closet and headed towards the bathroom. As I undressed, my gaze caught the mirror. I studied my reflection. I inherited my father’s strong features and my mother’s petite stature. My hair was dark brown, almost black. Unlike Dad’s piercing gray eyes and Mom’s mesmerizing blue orbs, mine were a dull brown.
I didn’t care much about my appearance. No matter how smart or beautiful you are, there will always be someone smarter, more beautiful. What’s the point of all the fuss? I guess I’ll never understand.
Smiling at my reflection, I stepped into the shower, letting the warm water soothe my mind. After half an hour, I felt lighter, cleansed. Changing into my pajamas, I snuggled into the warm duvet and pulled Mom’s favorite novel, *Me Before You*, from the side drawer.
It was almost midnight when I closed the book and turned off the table lamp.
“My last night in Florida,” I exhaled, closing my eyes, waiting for sleep to finally claim me.