Story 1 | Sometime Around Midnight

Late night in a bar, a man runs into a woman from his past. Based on the song by The Airborne Toxic Event.

Aug 29, 2024

Our first weekly short story is here! This short is based on the song “Sometime Around Midnight” by The Airborne Toxic Event. The song is just *so good* 🤌🏻 - yes, I’ve been listening to it since 2009, and I have never tired of it.

I’ve debated this for years: for my stories based on songs, does one listen to the song first, or read the story first? Ultimately, I slightly favor listening before reading, but whatever works.

Listen to “Sometime Around Midnight” on Spotify.

Now get to reading! There’s an opportunity for feedback at the end.

Sometime Around Midnight

You just have to see her

You know that she'll break you in two

- “Sometime Around Midnight” by The Airborne Toxic Event

His heart had been broken before. When he originally wrote the songs, a cathartic exercise, he hadn’t thought performing them nightly would be so exacting, throwing him right back into the fresh anguish of heartbreak. His ability to relive the material, pulling the crowd down to it as though their own experience, drew that other level of attention to the band, but cost him a personal confidence. He shared this with no one.

But this was a night off, so he could drink and erase everything a little bit. He was not one to partake the night of a show, that wouldn’t end well. It was an old friend’s birthday, and the party had overtaken their usual spot. It was odd being back, what was familiar felt stale. Another beer could help that. Last year, his band had played at this same bash, kicking off another year on the road, some press and meetings hinting at bigger things to come. For now though, touring and shows and writing songs were all that subsisted of life. Nights like these were rare and precious. And yet all he wanted to do was forget.

Beer in hand, he turned away from the bar, with those bluish lights that always vexed him, casting shadows that revealed too much. He liked that the place was underground, it felt protected. The band’s sound tonight was a little softer than the bar’s usual roster, more piano, reminding him of something.

He was on his own now, had said the requisite hellos to friends and shared some stories about life driving around the country. He leaned back against a wall and took a long swig, starting to feel the alcohol melt edges away. Maybe it was midnight. He was losing track of time – that was a good sign.

His cloudy mind cleared for a minute. Last year, he had met her at this same party. The band had finished its first set, and when he had stepped down from the stage, she introduced herself. She liked the music. She had come in from out of town for the party and usually the bands in bars like these were noisy and sorely under-produced – but not his. She was impressed. He was used to fans by this point, but her flattery was restrained and motives plain. She liked the music.

He had drawn her into a corner so they could talk a little more. He told her of their tour plans and their attempts at getting the sound right. She could talk music and asked more than one question that threw him. He went off to play another set but bumped into her again late in the evening, taking more time. It was easy between them; she was sweet, and as the party got a little more out of control, he felt a need to watch over her. He was strangely elated and couldn’t decide if it had simply been a great night or if it had more to do with meeting her. He decided to remember her in case it turned into something. They walked out together.

But that was a year ago. He could see the stairwell from his vantage – it was there that she had spun around on the stair before him and surprised him with a hug, small and intimate. It was the first time they touched. They went their separate ways that night. Now it seemed everywhere he looked was a memory of meeting her. He ordered a whiskey and returned to his spot on the wall.

Her white dress was always his favorite, hopeful somehow. In the right light, he could have glimpsed the outline of her legs through the gauzy fabric.

He saw the dress first, and it struck him like a bat to the head that she was the woman wearing it. He was in the same room as her. Everything about him felt heavy, he couldn’t grasp it all at once. He swallowed back whiskey to shock himself to attention.

She was standing there, talking and laughing and flitting about a group – friends, maybe. She had already seen him, her eyes darting over occasionally, to check if he was looking. Of course he was. How could she smile like that, so fully, knowing he was standing right here?

He wouldn’t have come if he had known she would be there. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. Just as the bar reminded him of their meeting, the sight of her reminded him of their end.

There hadn’t been much between them, and yet, it had the shape of everything, almost. A few days together and some months of calls while he was on the road. He had been holding back and had told her so from the beginning. She called him out of the blue one night, they hadn’t even talked in a week, she knew he didn’t have a gig. She wanted too much, too soon, and he couldn’t, so he explained it again. The band was his focus, and he couldn’t have a distraction like her. If he gave their relationship his all and it didn’t work out between them, it would destroy him and he wouldn’t have enough in him to keep the band moving forward. He didn’t tell her about the women before her, who had left him albums of songs and a shattered heart. He wouldn’t repeat that.

Over the phone, she ended it. There were no tears, but her voice was so unstable, he was braced for sobbing at any point. It never came. True to her word, he hadn’t heard from her since.

She was a smart one, she would have known he would be here tonight, and she had come with purpose. He was exhausted from the road, and she wanted a show to boast how she was happy without him? He wanted to think it unnecessary, but it was cruel, twisted. She knew he had wanted her, had wanted a life with her, but later. He had been trying to be strong by saying no to her. Why did he feel the opposite, broken again? He had been honest with her, why come here tonight?

Oh, God. She just looked at him again and started moving in his direction. He threw back the last of the whiskey and tried to think. His brain was foggy, he couldn’t let her affect him. But the room spun as he watched her white dress breeze about her thighs, getting closer to him.

He didn’t know what she said after hello, maybe nothing. With all the drink and her body inches from his, the scent of her perfume, he lost his focus on conversation. Their connection was still there. He didn’t dare touch her. She gazed up at him and the memories rushed forward.

He remembered how, a month after they met, his band played near her hometown. He spotted her early in the second set. She was standing still in a dancing crowd, watching him with a little smile. The connection sparked by their first meeting heightened quickly after a few more hours together.

He remembered the tangle of sheets between them that night, how she was so small next to him, her soft skin so gently pressed against his. They confessed their sharing of this connection early in the evening, and still, she couldn’t sleep for her nerves, she was making an exception to a very steadfast rule. She said she barely knew him, and yet, she was his. He felt that he knew that everything about her was good.

He remembered she fell asleep in his arms at one point, and he caught himself wondering how he could ever leave her. Breakfast, at noon, was a mess of emotion. He used the term knee-buckling for the first time.

He remembered that he kept getting lost in her eyes those couple days they had together. He trusted her completely. He always said different when she asked, but he could picture their future – though that was a memory he tried to block.

He remembered sitting down to write her a song, as he had done for women before. But instead of the usual anguished rock song, it came out a symphony. It was short, certainly, but the swell of strings did better to reflect her grace and strength. He never played it for her.

He remembered how they would talk most days, no matter the hour, the state. She was everything he thought she was, but more. He was silly with her, unbecoming of a rock star, which would remind him. He asked her to wait until the band was in a more stable place. Then he could be everything he wanted for her. Why couldn’t she have waited?

Squinting his eyes now, he could see she had left his side and was again across the bar. What had they said? He couldn’t hold on to the present for the alcohol. And yet he could clearly see her hand on another man’s chest. He was a head taller, standing close to hear her over the din of the bar, an arm around her body, his hand on the small of her back. He swore he saw her eyes sparkling as she whispered in his ear. She was always the one to make the first move, but this was too forward even for her. She was moving again, this time away from him and with this man wrapped all around her.

She turned her head and looked right at him, her eyes pushing him back into the wall and entreating him to watch and suffer. She glanced back to her man for the night and giggled, rushing him up the stairs. The bitch.

He felt the rage building as his face got hot. He stumbled toward the exit, scooping up someone’s drink and knew he was flailing. He tried to take a breath, drank and tried not to replay the image in his head. Her hands on someone else, leading him to do God knows what. A friend asked what was up, seeing his clenched fists and gritted teeth. There was pre-meditation to her plan, she came here to do this, to find a john and punish him. He had tried not to start anything, and she was the one who had ended it. He was infuriated, at her, at the situation, but there were no other options.

Finding another whiskey, a thought seared his mind, clear and painful. It just wasn’t like her. He thought about the statement again. It wasn’t like her to do this. How much of this plan of hers was substance versus show? She wouldn’t do this. He was wrong.

The admission broke something. He was wrong about the band, about her. She was everything to him, the band’s success would never suffice, and now she was off with some guy and he had made the mistake of his life. It couldn’t be too late. He had to tell her now, remind her of what they had, show her all that could be between them. She still knew, she wouldn’t have come tonight otherwise.

He pulled on the banisters to mount the stairs, fighting off memories of that first embrace, her breasts on his chest, how she had taken such a deep breath, in sync with his.

He couldn’t run, his body wasn’t cooperating. Where would she go? The streetlights stretched off into the distance, the lights dancing as he moved down the block. He saw flashes of their future as it had all been envisioned before. Nights with her watching a movie on the couch, he would fall asleep, she would tell him the end in the morning. Their home. Kissing their daughter goodnight. Endless nights of her in his bed. Being able to touch her every day.

The streetlights swirled above as he searched for her. He just had to see her. He just had to see her. He just had to see her. He just had to see her…

—

He awoke in his own bed. He recognized the brick walls and arched windows of his half-furnished loft. He was never home anymore with all this infernal touring.

His head pounded and his throat was dry. It didn’t help that notes of her symphony played in his head, just the thought of the sounds burned.

The windows were so bright, there were no blinds yet. The night’s events flooded back and then ebbed. What happened? He remembered the street, and then nothing. Were the feelings real? That was a quicker answer. He could tell the hangover was not all that pained him.

He rolled his head away from the window and saw the shape in his bed. A woman. He couldn’t recall who and hesitated. He was almost sick with the hope that it was her.

He reached out and touched her.

Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback is welcome: rate the story with one click in this poll, or get a discussion going in the comments.

Story 1 | Sometime Around Midnight

Late night in a bar, a man runs into a woman from his past. Based on the song by The Airborne Toxic Event.

Sometime Around Midnight

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