Ode to Sara Bareilles

Posted on Posted in Short Stories

It all started where most stories begin, at an oak tree. Well, maybe most stories begin at birth or in some indoor location that has lots of people. This story starts with an oak tree. At least, I think it was an oak tree. It was definitely not a palm tree otherwise I would’ve grabbed a coconut or if it was the date kind, a date for the picnic. It surely was not an evergreen because there were no pine needles. Therefore, it was definitely an oak tree. I’m glad we settled that.

That was the day I met Sara Bareilles. The Sara Bareilles. Not that imposter I met in the city who told me her name was Sara B. Actually, I think she said her name was Cecily Bean. Either way, I met the one and only real life and not just a pretty face on a magazine or a pretty voice on my iPod, Sara B. It was a lovely sunny day with just the right amount of fluffy clouds passing overhead for gazing and pointing out that they all looked like cotton candy. If only we could eat the clouds. I love cotton candy.

It was my job to pack the food. I brought PB&J sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and she brought the milk for the milk mustaches. We had great a conversation. We talked about how we hated love songs. No, wait. We talked about how we hated to write love songs. We talked about the meaning of life, our childhood, and how yummy tutti fruitti jelly beans are. I suggested we sing one of her songs in harmony. She was hesitant at first, but after she heard me join in, she let me solo. I’m not sure why she covered her ears, but her expression must’ve meant how much she was enjoying our time together. It was such a wonderful day that before we left we carved our initials into the skin of the lovely oak tree. Neither of us had a knife, so we used a broken branch from the oak tree, which seemed a bit sadistic to me, but that tree had our backs and now our initials.

It’s my favorite memory. My therapist insists on telling me that scientists haven’t figured out how to make imagination into the tangible reality, even though they’re really close to figuring it out. She said it’s my favorite imaginary memory. Therapists are so keen on the technical.

I just want to say thank you to Sara Bareilles for such a beautiful day!

3 thoughts on “Ode to Sara Bareilles

  1. There once was a girl near some oak trees,
    Who saw Sara B and got weak knees
    They ate and talked life,
    Sung songs about strife
    Then the girl took her meds and got good Zzzzs

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