The little bell taped to the glass door jingled as the girls walked in. Stardust Records was the only store this side of downtown that actually had a record player in it – sometimes, if you were nice, they would let you play requests. Vexy had been coming here pretty much every day since her and Kazie arrived – the repurposed bookshop was kind of cramped, but in a good way.
Aforementioned catgirl followed her in, shivering in the temperature change.
“God, it’s warm in here. But it’s good. Vex, you know you’re way around this place, where’s the synthpop?” she asked, before promptly turning on her heel and disappearing behind a tall shelf.
“Kaz. Kazie. KAZIE. That’s the stock room.”
“…. Oh.” She came back around, sheepish. “My bad. But hey¸this whole place is all record-y and it all looks the same, how am I supposed to tell? But whatever. “
“Uh, anyways, I think you’d like these guys I found a few days ago. They’re kind of lo-fi for your taste but the lead singer’s got a pretty nice voice. And the record glows in the dark, so there’s that.”
Showing her bubbly friend around the store, Vexy quickly pointed out places of interest. Indie record shops were the best, because they had some lovely finds and, most importantly, character. There was a map of the Greater Metro Area, with pushpins to show where it’s patrons lived, and a shelf of books to muse or draw in and leave behind. Kazie and Vexy found their personal favorites, electropop and nu-jazz, respectively, and settled in.
Three hours and twenty seven pieces of vinyl, the tall pink-haired girl was curled up in a large red armchair, listening to some ancient orchestral piece on a gramophone. Kazie, however, had staked out one of the tiny stools by the door, with one of the more modern listening booths, when the little doorbell dinged again, and she looked up at the sudden draft. For a second, the world froze around her, time twisting itself into knots as she was hit by a wave of emotion. Someone had just entered the store-
No.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening.
There is no possible way this is happening.
Yet, somehow, it was.
After all, she of all people would know those eyes the color of smoked seaglass, always holding in too many thoughts all at once.
But there was no way in heaven or hell the random boy in front of her was Rory Rogers.
Rory Rogers, the crazy lute-playing loner boy with a penchant for absurd cars. The boy who always remembered her favorite ice cream and never ever would let you down. Back when he used to drive to the beach every afternoon, they used to joke that he spent so much time there that he started to look beachy – sandy brown hair, those beautiful dark eyes, and passion that burned like a bonfire under the stars. The boy who came so close to winning against his demons.
But this, whoever this was, this was not Rory.
She could see it in his step, in each fold of the fabric on his back, each blink of his eyes and each bob of his head. The similarities were overwhelming – even Rory’s own brother, who she (admittedly) never knew well didn’t look much like him. But the differences, though subtle, were there. Ironic tshirt – Rory always thought those were for people that were too boring to make their own wit. Weaved bracelets – from some fundraiser for Guatemalan children or something. Rory would just have donated the money, never asking anything in return.
And, of course, there’s the fact that Rory’s….
He’s…
Well.
Oh God, her eyes were watering now. This was supposed to be a grand adventure, moving on and living the life she’d always dreamed of, and now she’s crying in a record shop in god-knows-where after seeing a guy that looked like her dead boyfriend.
Well, that’s it, then.
Kazie never remembered moving. Somehow, she ended up in a corner, sitting on the floor clutching her knees and trying hard not to make too much noise as her body was wracked with sobs. Rory was the one person that she could trust, back home; he was the first person she really opened up to, about anything. Rory was the one who always inspired her, who made living her life worth it.
But one day, spiraling downward during the darkest weeks of winter, he decided he didn’t feel the same about his own.
Rory always said he would see the world. That never quite worked out. But a year ago, standing out in the rain, outside of a marble-columned room filled with people she didn’t know dressed in black and crying, she told herself things would be different. She would be different. Because living like this wasn’t living at all.
She never remembered Vexy showing up, either, but she did, and they sat together under the shelves of Latin cds, tears streaming down Kazie’s face as the pink-haired girl let her cry on her shoulder.
It was some time later before they got up. Before leaving, the girls stopped to buy a record full of 80’s one hit wonders and a German techno compilation cd. The boy from earlier was outside, sitting on the steps smoking, but Kazie didn’t even spare him a glance.
The boy she loved was dead.
But she knew that.
And it was time to move on.
For him.
For her.
For the past.
For the future.
After all, new beginnings, right?
