A Duet for Two
The bus rides
“I did not want it to exist only as exchanges of soft or invasive touches that would be forgotten after catching that plane back to reality.”
Vanessa, “My Love at First Sight”
The bus ride back from UNISA SBL had become one of my favourite parts of the day. The sun was going down, the lectures were behind me, and I had my headphones on. That was enough. I had learned early in the programme that music was the best way to decompress to let the ideas from class settle without forcing them. So I sat, leaned against the window, and let the songs carry me.
Then she sat beside me. Vanessa. I pulled out one earbud without thinking it was just the natural thing to do, an unspoken offer to share the space. She smiled, and reached into her bag for her EarPods, holding one out to me. We said nothing. We didn’t need to. The bus moved, the music played, and somehow the distance between us felt shorter than it ever had in a lecture room.
It was in this moment that I recognized the true value of earbuds; unlike my headphones, they allowed for a shared experience. A piece of advice to my fellow gentlemen: carry earbuds with you, for music has the power to unite without the need for words. Now afterwards the plan was simple – ensure that we shared a seat on every journey to and from class. By sharing a seat, and consequently her earphones, music could become the catalyst for deeper conversation.
The earbuds had a logic to them that my big headphones never could. Sharing one meant staying close any movement and the connection broke. So I stayed close. That was the arrangement, unspoken and mutual. Sometimes she would pass me her EarPods without a word, and we would just listen. Some songs were in Portuguese. I would note them down in my head and look up the lyrics later, alone. You never know which song is trying to tell you something.
There was a day when we boarded the first bus, affording me the opportunity to sit with her. As had become our custom, we shared the earpod until we reached UNISA SBL. The morning was brisk, and since it was the first bus, it needed to return for the remaining young leaders, granting us additional time to bask in the sun while listening to music. A group of us settled at a desk outside the lecture rooms, where the sun’s warmth was generous, and the music continued. I’m fairly certain no one noticed our shared earpods, though we seemed to nod in unison to the rhythm. The music, streaming from YouTube using UNISA’s Wi-Fi, was more than just sound – it was communication. She took the time to select songs that conveyed meaning, and at one point, she passed me her phone, entrusting me with the role of DJ. Given such an opportunity, I chose songs with a message, songs that spoke of affection, songs that might pave the way for more moments like these. Jose, aware of my interest in Vanessa, probably noticed our shared earpods, and Vanessa made sure to show him. I’m quite sure he appreciated the gesture. He knew of my fondness for Vanessa, and since he spoke Portuguese, they would converse, and my name would inevitably come up.
I remember a day when we arrived at class, and as usual, I was engrossed in my laptop while the rest of the class danced to some music, likely celebrating a birthday. To avoid distraction, I donned my headphones and immersed myself in my own musical world. Then, unexpectedly, Vanessa came to sit beside me, an unprecedented move. She inquired about my activities and why I wasn’t joining the others in dance. Curiously, she didn’t join them either, instead choosing to check on my well-being, a gesture I found genuinely endearing. Later, I shared this encounter with Jose, who suggested that perhaps Vanessa had been encouraged to spend more time with me.
Music listening became our norm; whenever we sat together or were in close proximity, we would pull out the earpods and let the music flow. Sometimes, I would borrow her earpods to edit videos on my laptop during class. Having previously asked her to recommend background music for a video project, our conversation continued on WhatsApp, where she sent a selection of songs she thought would be fitting. Her choices were impeccable, showcasing her refined taste in music, which I had come to appreciate over the past few days. She had playfully critiqued my initial choice of background music, which she felt resembled an advertisement jingle.
This led to a discussion about our musical preferences, and over WhatsApp, I asked, “What kind of music do you listen to? Could you recommend at least three songs you enjoy?” The intent behind this request was to gauge her intentions towards me. Not everyone is fond of love songs or romantic tunes, so if all three of her choices fell into these categories, it would signify something more profound. She couldn’t have selected those songs without reason; there must have been a motive behind her choices. She sent me three songs: “The Perfect Life” by Moby feat. Wayne Coyne, “Lana Del Rey – Summertime Sadness,” and “Stewart Sukuma – Caranguejo,” the latter being in Portuguese. I was familiar with “Summertime Sadness,” as I enjoy Lana Del Rey’s music, which spans multiple genres and is often described as “Hollywood Sadcore,” reflecting its cinematic quality and themes of tragic romance, glamour, and melancholia. The three songs she chose all delved into life’s complexities and emotional experiences, evoking a strong emotional response.
Upon returning her compliment with an affirmation of her exquisite musical taste, which I found deeply personal, the natural progression of our conversation led to her request for a glimpse into my own melodic preferences. Thus, I shared my recently curated Spotify playlist, aptly titled “I am folky,” a collection that boasts a rich tapestry of diverse tunes. To be more specific, I dispatched to her the tracks “I Found” by Amber Run, “Rocketship” by llunr, and “All I Want” by Kodaline, followed by a candid admission that my colleagues often label my music as melancholic. Her retort, albeit delayed, was a spirited defence of our shared auditory inclinations, asserting that the finest music is often tinged with sorrow a sentiment with which I wholeheartedly concurred.
The trio of songs I selected “I Found,” “Rocketship,” and “All I Want” are bound by a common thread of love and yearning. “I Found” by Amber Run delves into the serendipitous discovery of love, underscoring the significance of introspection within the realm of romance. “Rocketship” by llunr employs celestial metaphors to depict an intense magnetic attraction, akin to the cosmic pull exerted by a celestial body. “All I Want” by Kodaline is a poignant anthem that articulates the profound ache of separation and the fervent longing to reunite with a beloved.
These melodies, with their evocative lyrics and stirring vocals, possess the innate power to elicit profound emotional responses, encapsulating the multifaceted nature of love its serendipitous emergence, its irresistible allure, and its deep-seated desires.
Sharing songs with someone you like is a particular kind of bravery. You are handing over evidence of what moves you, what you return to when you are alone, what you hope someone might one day feel about you. I sent her those three songs knowing exactly what I was doing. I just didn’t know if she did too.
When I played DJ, I played the songs I had sent her. The ones about longing. About finding someone and not wanting to let go. We never discussed the selections that was not how we listened. We just sat with them. One Friday, the first bus left full and we were stuck behind with Julia and Denis, waiting on a bench outside the lecture halls. I took the opportunity. I opened my phone and put on “Ending” by Isak Danielson a song I had been saving for a moment exactly like this one.
We shared the earbud. The song played. I sat still and let it speak. There are lines in that song that I had listened to a dozen times alone, imagining exactly this someone beside me, close enough to hear them too.
“We’re at the end of the line, she keeps me from closing
my eyes, keeps me from sleeping at night, don’t let me go,”
articulating a yearning that resonated deeply. The song’s gentle entreaty,
“Maybe I could be your only prize, and maybe you
would light it white,”
That was the line I wanted her to hear. Not because I was being subtle I had long given up on subtle but because I didn’t know how else to say it. The song said it better than I could.
Then Julia leaned over and asked Vanessa if she was alright. She had taken off her glasses. Her eyes looked watery. My heart moved slightly. I thought just for a second that the song had reached her. That she felt something. It would have been the perfect ending to a chapter I had been writing in my head for weeks. But no. It was her eyes. We were sitting near flowers, and either the pollen or the heat of the sun was the culprit. We moved benches. And then the bus came. The music kept playing all the way back to the hotel.
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