Epilogue, David’s P.O.V.



January, 1979


“I’m sorry, you know it’s never going to work for us.  We’re just two different people.  You’re a fantastic bloke, and you deserve a girl who will appreciate you…your music and all.  You will always hold a special place in my heart, David.”

She reached up and brushed my cheek with one last parting kiss, just as her painful words cut me in half.  Everything inside me went numb—my heart essentially shut down.   The girl that I loved for nearly a year had just singlehandedly torn me to shreds.  She’d tossed me aside like rubbish.

I was nothing; I felt nothing.

And that is how I remained over the following six months—numb.


June, 1979

Life was finally becoming enjoyable again.  I’d just landed a part time position at the neighborhood record shop, thanks to my guitar instructor.  I decided to celebrate with one of my mates over curry night at the local pub.

After putting in our orders and taking a seat, my eyes scanned the room for any familiar faces.  They stopped when they fell upon the most breathtaking girl I’d ever seen.  She had sparkling sapphire-colored eyes and long blonde hair which draped around her wispy shoulders.

“Somers!” Martin pulled my attention away.  “Are you gawking at the blonde piece over there?”

“I might’ve been. What’s it matter to you, eh?”

“Haven’t seen you do that in ages. I was starting to think— “

“—never mind that,” I interjected.  “I’ve not lost my interest in women, I just haven’t met the right one yet.  And to be honest, who has the time to look?  I’ve been busy with the band and school.”

“Alright then, perhaps I’ll go chat her up…” He made like he was getting up from the table.

Though I suspected he was putting me on, my hand flew out to stop him. “That blonde is off-limits!”

“Is that so?” Martin challenged. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m going to marry her someday,” I said, with all sincerity.

Bloody hell, where did that come from?

It didn’t matter; regardless of the improbability of the statement—and the way Martin looked at me like I’d lost it—I felt an honest connection to the girl who was sitting across the room.  It was the first time in over six months that my heart ached to be near someone.

Upon meeting Beth, I knew straightaway that she liked me, if her crimson cheeks were any clue.  Shaking her hand was like getting struck by lightning—it was a quick jolt, but the effects were lasting. Elizabeth Anne Johnson was in my blood; I knew I could never let her go.