“Today, is gonna be the day, that they’re gonna give it back to you,
By now, you should somehow have realised what you’ve got to do.”
-Oasis, Wonderwall.
I put down my guitar.
On a good day, I might write an airy sonnet, whereas bad days I’m writing in harsh chords, or echoing the words of an artist I admire. Today, I am going to explain things properly to him, though. Pick up the phone.
“Hey, Di. S’up?”
“Fine.”
(Resist the urge to put down the phone). I fiddle with the bass string of my guitar.
“Look, I’ve got some stuff I need to tell you.”There’s silence and the humming of the phone - I want to fill it with casual nonsense. I could ask about the weather or something.
“I – don’t know how to tell you this. I…”There’s no easy way to say this. I’ve imagined the situation so many times that I can’t stop the different versions panning out before me.
“Look, Danny, I think I’m pregnant. I’m going down to the clinic to find out, in fifteen minutes...”
That was the first time I ever heard Danny swear.
“Are you going alone?””Yeah.”
“Want me to come with? If you want me there.”
Stroked the side of my guitar, its smooth varnish warm and familiar.
“Yeah, I would.”
“Alright. I’ll be down in fifteen, yeah? And remember,” I could hear his voice go a little higher, “I love you.”
I nodded. Don’t think I could sing right now, even a minor ballad.
“Yeah.”
I put down the phone.

“Maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me,
cos after all, you’re my wonderwall.”