Angie sang, and Jacob played guitar. Angie joked, and Jacob laughed. Angie teased, and Jacob smiled. Angie wrote, and Jacob sketched pictures to go along with the words.
It was always those two. Angie and Jacob. Jacob and Angie. They were quite the pair of friends.
Jacob cooked, and Angie ate. Jacob choreographed, and Angie danced. Jacob teased, and Angie smiled. Jacob asked questions, and Angie answered them.
Yes, Jacob always asked questions. And yes, Angie always answered them.
“What’s your favorite color?” he often asked.
“Crazy hot pink,” she would always respond.
“Oh. And why is that?” he would say.
“It’s the color of my life—when I’m with you,” would always be her reply.
But things were different now. Angie no longer joked. Angie no longer sang. She no longer teased; she no longer wrote.
It was always Jacob trying to rekindle their old friendship. He cooked, he choreographed, he teased, and he joked.
And yes, he asked questions.
But Angie never answered the way she did before. She never did anything anymore. She thought her twenty year old self was too grown-up to do any of those things. She never ate the food Jacob made. She never danced the steps Jacob choreographed. She no longer laughed or smiled at Jacob’s jokes.
And when Jacob asked her what her favorite color was, she would simply reply, “Gray. It’s the color of my life.”

When Angie began to drift, Jacob stopped visiting her. He stopped cooking for her; he stopped choreographing for her. He had more important things to do in his life, such as planting those tulips in the front yard in the springtime, or going through the old wooden shelf for an old classic to read.
Angie didn’t really mind. She liked the isolated little village she lived in. She liked the quiet of the day, the stillness of the night. She had forgotten about Jacob, she had forgotten about singing, she had forgotten about everything. The only thing that mattered to her was the pale moon in the inky sky.
On a chilly November night, she gathered up a coat and slipped out for a stroll.
The moon was veiled behind the rainclouds that night, but the usual chirping of the crickets was still audible. As she stepped across the rain-sodden pavement, she heard a familiar song playing in a nearby house. But the name that came to mind was not the song’s name, but a human’s name.
Jacob. Where did she know that name from?
And then she remembered.
The song she heard now was a song she and her old friend had once written together. Everything was coming into perspective. Jacob, Jacob, Jacob. Why didn’t they talk anymore? She didn’t want to know.
But deep inside, she did know. It was because of her.
And then her eyes welled up. Salty tears slid down her cheeks, and she buried her hands in her face. She had lost everything without even knowing it. Where was her singing voice? Where was her humor? Where was her eloquence?
An idea came to her, and she stood up. She opened her mouth, cleared her voice, and sang.

You ever seen the sky at dawn?
An etch of silver on the clouds
Portrays the hope hidden within
The second chances well-bestowed.

The music in the house stopped playing. The door swung open, and a face she recognized appeared in the opening.
A soft laugh escaped her mouth and she smiled genuinely for the first time in years.
“Hello,” she said, grinning. “Remember me?”