I’d Rather Be With You

I do believe that this one catches me up! Yahooooooooooooooo!

So, a few years ago I was driving to work and I heard this incredible voice singing this song. It was Jess Glynne and Clean Bandit singing “Rather Be.” I don’t think this song will ever stop being something I want to listen to. Even today it still sounds so fresh and alive.

I’m not super fond of the video with its picturing of all of the dead fish. Maybe it’s because I’m pisces and vegetarian. 😉

A few years later when I fell in love with Queen and David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” I heard a group from Romania do an outstanding version and then after more youtubing heard them sing “Rather Be.” So nice. Both videos are below my fiction. Thanks for reading!

I’d Rather Be With You

“Hey, Friday,” you say.

I grin. I always do when you call me that nickname inspired by an old 1930’s movie.

“Ellen’s here. We need to chat so I hope you’ll hold down the fort.”

My smile slips away. Ellen. I nod at you. You nod back.

I watch when she appears. Her corn-colored hair is in a tight chignon. She’s wearing a stark white blouse and a black pencil skirt and black stilettos that look sharp enough to cut a Thanksgiving turkey. I guess she looks professional except for the perpetual sneer on her face.

You nearly sprint to her side and I wish that you had a little more tact, caution, pride. I wish you had a little more savvy when dealing with her. I wish you could see me, this American girl who’s fallen in love with you.

I begin to pack your equipment for the upcoming trip. It took you a long time to trust me with your cameras and other gear. Your babies. Now I think you know you can trust me even more than you to make sure they’re taken care of.

When I hear raised voices, I glance up to see her jabbing her blood red nail into your chest. Although I can’t hear her words, I can see by your eyes that she’s emasculating you with every syllable. For not the first time, I’ve wanted to interject myself into this discussion, defend you when you seem wary to do so. Why are you with her? Why do you care? Why don’t you care for me?

You glance at me through the window. Your eyes are wide. You give an almost indiscernible shake of your head as if to stop me from entering this conversation. God, David, I think. Why do you let her do this to you? That’s not love. That’s sadism.

I stick my tongue out at you. You raise an eyebrow and then you stick your tongue out but make it look suggestive. And then you grin your goofy David grin that I’ve loved almost as long as I’ve love your Scottish butt. You’ve forgotten somehow that Ellen is there. She turns and sees me. Fury writes her face. And then she’s marching my way slamming doors and I don’t care.

“What are you doing?” she asks in her snooty BBC accent.

“Packing David’s gear. What are you doing?”

“You’re an employee.”

“Not yours.”


“His girl Friday,” I say and grin at David as he stands there behind Ellen grinning at me when I say those words.

“What exactly is that?” Ellen asks.

“Mostly it means I’m the only woman he will ever really need.”


Sascha Darlington

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