I ran my hands through my hair. “There’s something else I’d like to talk about.”
“Okay.” She flipped to a new page in her tablet.
“I’m feeling guilty for my growing relationship with Calon. It’s still bothering Jake. We actually had a big blow up about it this week.” I hoped this would take away the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“You still have no intentions with Calon?”
“No. I mean, he is intense and gorgeous and talented, but our connection has been simply a creative connection. Would I consider pursuing something with him if I wasn’t in love with Jake? Probably. I think there is the potential for an intimate connection between us. But, I don’t think he has any intentions either.”
“So, do you feel Jake’s insecurities are unfounded?”
“No, not at all. When the tables were turned this weekend, and I saw him talking to his ex, I was ridiculously jealous. I’ve just never seen any of his weaknesses. I guess with everything we’ve been through, I sort of pegged him as impervious to flaws. But, realistically, no one is flawless, right?”
Sylvia nodded.
“We actually came to the conclusion that we both carry insecurities about the other’s intentions with people of our past, mainly because of Noah. We agreed that we each need to work on making him less of a factor in how we view the other.”
“Wow, that’s a huge step, Gracie. I’m very proud of the progress you’re making.”
I beamed with an emotion I hadn’t felt in a long time.
****
I walked down the main street that runs through campus. It felt weird being at Sylvia’s on a weekend, but I needed to take her up on her suggestion to call her anytime. And after my dream, I really needed her. She happened to be free and met me at her office on a sunny Saturday to talk about gang rape. Ugh. She was a saint.
There were groups of people filing into the big circular building that Jake had most of his Business lectures in. My curiosity got the best of me, and I figured it was just one more way to temporarily get my mind off my session with Sylvia. I walked in with a few stragglers to see what was going on. POETRY SEMINAR with DANIEL WEST (Teacher Asst.) was scrawled in black across the white board at the front of the room. It seemed like perfect timing coming off a session with Sylvia.
The room had theater seating, and it was almost full. I hated venturing to the front of a room especially since finding out my most private moments with Noah weren’t so private. I usually tried to stay toward the back and out of sight but, my feet pulled me right out of my comfort zone and walked me straight down to the front row. My heart was beating out of my chest, I was so afraid of being recognized. But what were the chances someone in the seminar had seen the sex tapes?
I assumed the handsome guy who looked to be in his mid-twenties was Daniel West. His face was framed with thick black hair, unruly, but in an almost-stylish way. He was wearing a black Blink-182 t-shirt under his blazer. His faded jeans were a little wrinkled, like he’d folded them quickly and shoved them on a shelf while putting away his laundry. That made me assume he was a bachelor, and his Doc Martens were either brand new or he polished them regularly. Overall, he seemed cool. I wondered if he was just trying to be cool so he would appear relatable to his students or if his cool was for real.
He cleared his throat in an attempt to quiet the room. “I’m going to pass around this sign-in sheet. If you attend both seminars, the next one being July fourth, and take part in the Poetry Challenge, you can go to your advisor and petition for three liberal arts credits. I will need your name and email address, please.”
“July fourth?”
I jumped at the booming voice from the back.
“I know that seems odd.” Daniel rubbed his forehead and dug his other hand in his pocket. “I have petitioned the university to be able to run this seminar on my own, because it’s not offered in the catalog of electives, and I think it’s an important topic. The school couldn’t ask you to show up on a holiday, but I can. And I like to filter out those who really aren’t all that serious about the extra credits. So, yes, July fourth.”
He smiled and nodded in an almost apologetic way and handed me the sheet of paper since I was directly in front of him and the only person in the front row.
Of course, that meant that I would be the first on the list which made me feel kind of bare. I worried about someone recognizing my name from the video. I pretended to dig for a pencil in my bag while I looked over my shoulder to see if there were any poetic Sigma Chi’s. I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself than necessary. I didn’t see any guys I knew, so I proudly became the first person listed on Daniel’s sign-in sheet.
I sat and listened to Daniel talking about twisting emotions into words. I doodled around the edges of a blank page of my sketchbook I was never without. He described how the talent of a songwriter lies in their ability to find similes and synonyms and illustrative descriptions that evoke from the listener the specific emotion they are writing about.
“What song is your story?” He air-quoted the “your” and his hand jutted out and squeezed the air like it was one of those stress balls when he said story. “Jot down the title of a song that touches you so deeply on a personal level that it moves you to tears. And not the “Christmas Shoes” song. That song makes everyone cry. I mean a song that holds onto you with some sort of connection specific to something that’s happened in your life.”
Everyone just stared at him. I understood what he was asking for, but, like my classmates, I sat frozen in thought. Flashes of album covers from the music library on my phone flipped through my mind.
I looked down at the doodle-bordered blank page in my sketchbook. Damn, I connect music to everything. I could scroll through my songs and pick out titles that make me think of my first crush, my first kiss, the last song at the school dance in seventh grade, you name it. But Daniel seemed like the hardball type, and if I let my heart go where I thought he was asking us to go, it could really knock the wind out of me right here in the lecture hall.
“You are all staring at me like deer in headlights. Let me help you out a little.” He scratched his head and a faint wince crossed his face. He pulled his iPod from the inside pocket of his dark gray tweed blazer and started scrolling through songs. As I tapped my pencil on my sketchbook I began to notice details about our Poetry TA. I looked at him as if he’d walked into a coffee shop and I wasn’t sure I would have categorized him as a professional.
I watched him scroll through songs like he was in a daze. You don’t often get a chance to inspect someone without them noticing, but I think that’s what everyone in the class was doing. I used to watch Jake with Jessica in the same way.
He sat back on the edge of his desk and crossed his ankles. He ran one hand through his hair as he set his phone on the dock then rubbed over the creased lines on his forehead nervously.
A drum beat and the sting of a cymbal echoed through the room. He adjusted the volume a bit higher just as the lead guitar came in with repeated chords that played out in a fashion that told me this song was going to get to me. I had played enough guitars to know that you could play the same three chords in different order and your song would have a different mood or tone with each. This one was spilling ‘sad’ and ‘wrecked’ out onto the pale tiled floor.
A quieter voice than I’d expected came in over the instruments and brought us the words as though the singer was pleading with the listener. His voice was serene, but passionate, and gave me goosebumps. Most music did, but you could sense from the strain that this song was written by someone who was dealing with a pain no one could ease. I wasn’t catching the words because the sound of his voice alone captivated me. Just then, Daniel hit pause.
“Now, the drums and the guitar grab you right away. Then Dexter Holland’s voice pulls you in further, but it’s his lyrics that keep you there. I’m going to start it again, and this time, I want you to listen to the words like someone is te
lling you a story, and you don’t want to miss one detail.”
Drums. Cymbal. Guitar. Voice. Tears poured from my eyes before the first verse was over. By the chorus, I heard sniffling in the room around me. The pain in the lead singer’s voice was unmistakable. He felt every word he sang, like a knife slashing across his bare skin. Daniel still leaned back against his desk, but was now looking at his feet. His hands gripped the edge, and his knuckles went white. His head moved in tiny beats from left to right, movements so small, I had to keep looking to convince myself he was keeping time with the slam of each drum beat. It was then his hand left the desk and he splayed his fingers across his eyes, thumb touching one temple and forefinger poking into the other. The song ended, and he pressed pause before using both hands to wipe the tears away.
“That...” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “For those of you who don’t know that song, it is called “Gone Away” by The Offspring. It’s about someone dying before their time.” He squeezed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. With one eye open and the other still wrenched shut for a couple seconds, he continued. “The lyrics tell the story of a man kneeling on someone’s grave saying that Heaven feels so far away and calling up to the sky that he would trade places with...her.” He sucked in a staggered breath.
I looked around at the other people in the class. Some girls and a couple guys were wiping away tears. A couple people had their elbows on their desks and their faces in their hands. I wiped the tears dripping from my chin and looked back up at Daniel just as he turned his back to us and bent to reach for something. When he turned back around, he held up a five-by-seven photo of a beautiful blonde. She wore a bright teal sweater, and her hair flowed down past her shoulders. She was laughing, but her light eyes weren’t squinted far enough to keep the sparkle from showing. She was in love with whoever was making her laugh.
“This is Lynn. My fiancée. A drunk driver killed her last semester as we crossed the street after a picnic in the park. I snapped this picture just ten minutes earlier.”
There was a collective gasp.
“This song speaks to me personally on a level it may not hit you. Sure, it’s a sad song about a lost love, so it will hit you...” His breath caught, and he turned his head for a second to gather strength. “...but I’m betting not as deeply as it hits me.” He poked his thumb into his chest where his heart was and choked out, “This song is my story. What is yours?”
In that moment, I knew a couple songs that held my story. And I’d written them. The poems I’d been writing were my story and set to music. They were my soundtrack. How fucking cool was that?
Daniel piped up again. “I’m going to let you guys go early today, I think I need a mental health break.” He smiled. “But I’m trusting you will spend the next week and a half choosing the right song.”
So this was something that happened on a regular basis. I believed I could garner a ton of tips and inspiration from Daniel and his poetry seminars.
“I will see you all on July fourth for our next seminar. Now get out of here.”
I threw my stuff in my bag and headed for the door at the bottom of the room. It was in the direction of my apartment, and I was in a daze. I breezed past Daniel and peeked at him out of the corner of my eye. I was worried he was embarrassed that he’d cried in front of us. He looked up and smiled when I walked past his desk. I stopped and blurted out a question that came out of nowhere.
“Do you wish you could forget what happened?”
Daniel looked up with sad eyes and a gentle smile. “The accident?”
I nodded.
“That’s a tough question...” He looked at the sign-in sheet in his hand and addressed me personally, “Gracie. Sure, the accident was horrific, and when I think about that day, I still see every painful thing frame-by-frame.” He winced and pressed his fists together like the pressure would ease his pain. “But forgetting that day would take a piece of me away. Sometimes, the way you process something devastating brings you closer to knowing who you really are. That brings true peace.”
“Peace.” I whispered. That’s what I needed. Maybe music, my own music, could create that for me.
Twenty-six
Jake
I walked down to Gracie’s apartment to see if she was ready. I couldn’t wait for my mom to meet her. I couldn’t believe it was the end of June. It felt like she’d told me she was coming twelve minutes ago, but it had been weeks since she’d mentioned it.
I knocked on Gracie’s door and waited. I knocked again. I put my ear to the door and could hear her singing. She belted out some lyrics then whispered a few more then belted more out again. It was a beautiful melody and very different from anything I’d ever heard. I knocked. I could hear the shower running, so I used my key to let myself in and knocked on the bathroom door. Of course, she screamed.
“Gracie, it’s Jake. Are you almost ready?”
“You really need to stop stalking me.” I heard a quiet giggle.
She turned the water off, and I heard the shower door slide open. I tried not to picture what she would look like stepping out, glistening with hot water. Stop it. Stop it.
“Shit. Jake!” She yelled really loud and startled me out of my R-rated daydream.
“I’m right here. Man, you’re loud.”
She giggled. “Can you grab my towel out of the bedroom?”
“Yep.” I wanted so badly to walk right into her bathroom and wrap her up in her towel then take her into her bedroom and make love to her.
“Any day now, slowpoke. I’m freezing!”
“I’m sorry; it’s just taking me a long time to find it.” I lied. “What color is it?”
“Jake!”
“I got it, keep your shirt on...oh, wait you don’t have a shirt on.”
She started to open the door, and I prayed for divine intervention to bring her out stark naked. But her arm shot out of the barely opened door instead. I glanced up into the space above her, and, because of the placement and tilt of the mirror; I got a clear view of her beautiful ass. It was wet and...she slammed the door.
Within seconds, she hurried out, wrapped in the towel. Her hair was dripping, and little water droplets trailed in between her breasts and down her back, all of them sneaking under the towel. She shut her bedroom door behind her. I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jeans and leaned against the wall. I tilted my head against the door.
“So, you didn’t mention how counseling went on Saturday.” I waited at least a full minute. She didn’t respond. “Gracie, did you hear me? How was counseling?”
“It was fine, Jake.” Her voice was raspy and her words were quick. Then she changed the subject. “I’m so nervous to meet your mom!”
“Why? She’s just a mom.”
“No, Jake, she’s not just a mom. She’s your mom and she made you. She probably compares all the people our age to the wonderful, genuine, kind, loving, smart...blah, blah, blah...kid she raised. That’s a lot of pressure.”
“She’ll love you. I promise.” I turned my back against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest.
“I forget what you told me she does. Where does she work again?”
“She’s a guidance counselor at the high school in Jackson.”
“Oh, so she’s used to dealing with students. Great, so she’ll be able to read me right away.”
“Will you please stop worrying? I know my mom; I promise I’ll bring you home unscathed.” I shook my head and smiled then walked over to the couch and flipped through the channels on the TV while I waited for her to get ready.
Her bedroom door opened and Gracie Jordan took my breath away. She was in a sleeveless little black dress that came right to her knees. All of her jewelry was silver, and her hair was up. She had just a touch of make-up, on and even her fingernails were painted.
“Gracie—”
“Shut up, Jake.” She blew by me toward the kitchen.
“Hey, just a minute.” I hopped up and took h
er gently by the arm. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on being able to take a compliment?”
“Yes.” She hung her head then lifted it just enough to look up at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Let’s try this again. Gracie, you look stunning.”
She closed her eyes for a brief second and took a deep breath. Then her eyes opened, locked onto mine. “Thank you, Jake. You look very handsome this evening, too.”
She held her eyes steady and smiled. She didn’t look away, and that stole my breath away.
“Come on, I want to show my mom how amazing you are.”
“Yes, let’s show her.” She spoke in some accent I’d never heard before and took exaggerated steps as she swayed her hips from left to right like a big dork. But she was a beautiful dork. And I was proud to introduce her to my mom.
****
“Gracie, Jake tells me you play guitar.”
We’d been through the introductions and small talk on the drive to the restaurant, a fancy place on the outskirts of town. There was a reservation desk and linen napkins. It had been a couple years since I had been someplace fancier than Mitchell’s or the dining hall.
“Yes, I do. I took lessons for a while then stopped when I transferred here, but Jake talked me into starting up again.” She twisted her napkin in her lap, so I reached over and gently laid my hand on her bare knee. She looked up at me and smiled.
“So, what kind of music do you like to play? Or sing? Do you sing, too?”
“I do sing, yes. And I have pretty eclectic taste in music. I listen to anything with lyrics that hold a story so powerful it can stop you in your tracks or fill you with emotion just from the instrumentals at the beginning.”
“Have you listened to any Brandon Boyd?”
“Yes! ‘Courage and Control’ is one of the most played tracks of all the songs on my phone.”
“I can attest to that. She listens to him all the time.” I didn’t always know the music Gracie listened to. She didn’t exaggerate when she said she had eclectic taste. But Brandon Boyd I knew from his days with Incubus. And “Courage and Control” was a beautiful song about giving yourself permission to let go of things that drag you down. It was ironic that my mom pulled that specific artist out of the air.
On Solid Ground: Sequel to in Too Deep Page 16
