by Trudy Stiles
That’s when I hear it. The voice. A beautiful, powerful voice coming from a building at the end of the street. I wipe my face and start running toward it, but it only gets farther away. It’s like I’m running on a treadmill, going backward. “No!” I yell and pump my arms harder, trying to propel myself toward the sound of the voice.
I grab onto what looks like a tow rope and suddenly I’m climbing up the side of a building, like Spider-Man, or something like that. I look down and see I’m hundreds of feet in the air, clouds begin to cover the street that I was standing on just a few moments ago. My arms burn as I try to pull myself higher, toward an open window. The voice continues to sing, but the sound is muffled, desperate.
“Hold on!” I yell. “I’m coming!”
Hand-over-hand, I pull myself until my arms feel like jelly. The windowsill is within reach. Once I reach it, I drape my leg over it, propelling myself through the window, falling onto the floor. The room smells musty, dust all over the floor. I look up and see the figure run out of the room. “Wait!” I call out, but watch as it disappears down a long hall.
I hop to my feet and chase again, this time, I’m faster, with almost superhuman speed. The voice is once again getting louder, completely filling my senses. It’s beautiful and fueling my chase. I’m almost there. I turn another corner and light suddenly blinds me. Beautiful, vibrant, colorful lights. They’re reflecting all around me like a kaleidoscope. That’s when I notice thousands, no millions, of light catchers suspended in the air all around me. Beautiful glass reflecting the brightest light I’ve ever seen.
And her voice. Oh my God, it’s stunning. It fills up the room and I can feel the light catchers vibrate around me, carrying her voice to me.
It’s so bright I can’t see her features, only her silhouette, illuminated by the most brilliant colors I’ve ever seen.
“Mom?” I ask, waiting for her response.
Her singing gets louder, more urgent. I don’t understand the words, it’s like she’s singing in another language, but somehow I know what she’s singing.
“Mom, can you hear me?” I call out. A sense of urgency takes over as I reach out in front of me, trying to touch her, but all I feel is glass. I’m completely surrounded by light catchers.
“Mommy! Please!” I’m crying now, begging for her to acknowledge me. Needing to feel her hand, her touch.
The light begins to fade, the colors turn gray. “No! Don’t go! Stay!” Her figure backs away, almost disappearing into the now dark room.
And with her, the light is extinguished. I only hear the clinking sounds of glass all around my ears. I’m crying and flailing my hands around me, trying to find my way out. Trying to find my way toward her.
“Where are you?” I scream. “Please come back!”
“Noelle,” I hear in the distance. A familiar voice. “Noelle?”
“Noelle?” A masculine voice pulls me out of my dream. I’m trembling as he pulls me into his arms.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a hushed tone.
I open my eyes and look into Heath’s. His brow is furrowed, concern on his face. And he’s in my bed with me.
Relief floods me as I realize I was only dreaming. Chasing my mother through the streets, trying to reach her.
I nod against him and inhale sharply. “I had a–nightmare?” I’m not sure what it was.
“I could hear you screaming from my room next door. I thought something happened to you. You scared the shit out of me.” He pulls me closer, and I wrap my arms around him, nestling my head into his chest. “I can feel your heart pounding, Noelle. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” I admit. “Better now.”
Heath would stay with me almost every night when we were younger, waiting for me to fall asleep before he snuck out through my window and back to his own house. The way I’m nestled against him right now brings me back twelve years. Back to a time when us lying together in bed like this was completely normal. Completely expected. Completely amazing.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
I close my eyes and see the beautiful figure floating through the air, just out of reach. “It was my mom. She was there, but I couldn’t reach her.” I say, summing up the bizarre dream.
“I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing me tight. “I think we may have over-done it tonight.”
We didn’t get back to the hotel until almost four in the morning. And now it’s five-thirty. The sun is starting to peek through the blinds, and we haven’t even had two hours of sleep.
“You mean last night?” I correct him.
“And this morning.” He laughs and rests his head against the headboard.
“What time do we have to check out?” I ask, concerned we only have a few more hours here. We both need sleep before we drive another six or seven hours today.
“Not until three. They expect us to check out late.”
I relax against him. “Good.”
I close my eyes and feel sleep about to take me. “Can you stay with me?” I ask, afraid of his answer. I want to feel his protective arms around me.
“You don’t even have to ask. I wasn’t planning on getting up,” he responds and kisses my forehead. “Get some rest.”
I drift off to sleep, comforted to know he’s not going anywhere.
“WHAT EXIT ARE WE getting off?” I ask as I glance at the highway sign coming up.
We left St. Louis around four o’clock, and it’s almost eleven now. Heath and I have been switching up driving frequently since the sun set a few hours ago. Both of us are feeling the pain of this leg of our trip, and we vowed not to stay out as late as we did again.
“The next one, so stay in this lane.”
I turn my blinker on and ease off the highway. He helps me navigate the city streets of Tulsa, Oklahoma. It’s late and traffic is pretty light, considering we’re in the city now.
Twenty minutes later, we’re in our hotel sprawled out next to each other on the large bed in the main bedroom.
“I can’t even see straight,” I complain. “Is this what jet lag feels like?” I turn on my side and see that he has his arms stretched out above his head. He kicks his shoes off and inhales deeply.
“Jet lag sucks,” he states. “It’s way worse than this.”
“No more Cosmos and late nights,” I declare, stretching my hand out to shake his. “Deal?”
“Deal,” he says, grasping my hand.
He doesn’t let go and pulls my hand down onto his chest, linking his fingers through mine.
“We’re sleeping in tomorrow,” I state, and he nods.
“We have all the time in the world, right? We can take our time getting to Arizona.” A strange look blankets his face, turning into a frown.
“We do have time,” I answer. “What’s wrong?”
He turns on his side to face me, never letting go of my hand. It’s pressed against his chest–against his heart.
“I don’t want this to end,” he admits, a tinge of regret in his voice. “It’s selfish, I know, but I don’t think I can say goodbye to you again.”
I suck in a breath. He’s treading on ground I haven’t been ready to talk about since popping back into his life, surprising him.
“Why would we have to say goodbye?” I ask, curious. Is he just going on this trip with me to fulfill some sort of obligation?
“You have a new life now,” he states, matter-of-fact.
My heart sinks. Does he not hold onto hope that we’ll stay in touch when this trip is over? Do I?
“So do you,” I say. “You’re a world-traveling, world-famous rock star.”
“That doesn’t define me,” he says. “It’s what I do. It’s how I pay bills. But it’s not everything. I’m so much more than that.”
I nod my head. “I know. I’d like to hear how it all came about. Epic Fail.”
He pauses and closes his eyes. “If Garrett heard any of this coming out of my mouth, he’d punch me. But I’m a litt
le bit of an outsider amongst best friends.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. They’ve all been tight since they were in high school. Three of them growing up on the same block. They’ve all been through some really rough shit.”
“How did you become their singer?” I’ve always been curious as to why he replaced Alex Treadway. When I heard about it, I had to do a double-take. I couldn’t believe that Heath, my Heath, was the new lead singer for one of my favorite bands.
“Honestly, I did it on a dare,” he admits. “I never realized I had a voice, at least one that could put me where I am today. My mom says my voice is a gift, but I had no idea how to even use it. After I auditioned for them, I couldn’t believe it when they called me back. And the rest, they say, is history. They’ve become like brothers to me.”
“That’s so incredible. It’s also surreal.” I look into his eyes, and he looks pensive.
“It is surreal. It’s also a business. One that I’m not as invested in as the rest of the guys. I didn’t grow up with music in my blood like they did. Since they’ve all known each other for years, they totally gel. They fit perfectly together. I came in on a whim, and I think they initially saw me as a fresh face, someone who would continue to bring the heart and soul into their music that Alex had. His shoes were big to fill, but I was able to do it in my own way.”
He pauses and takes a deep breath. “Now they rely on my songs just as they do Alex’s. I’ve been able to fuel their music with my poetry, and it’s worked out great. I just don’t know how much longer I have it in me.”
“Why? Your songs are awesome.” I know many of his words are about me. Poetry that I recognize from when we were younger.
“Because my muse came back from the dead,” he says, and I suck in my breath.
His eyes lock onto mine, and I’m frozen in his stare. So much of what he’s accomplished is because of me. Because I ‘died.’
“You can’t stop. You’re amazing,” I say, feeling like a groupie. “And your live performances are–”
“What?” he interrupts me. “You’ve seen us live?”
I realize I’ve opened a huge can of worms with my admission. “Yes.”
His hand tenses around mine, his fingers not letting go. “When?” he demands.
“In Boston. During your Epic Days tour.” I’m sweating now, pulse racing. Why did I tell him this?
“Holy shit.” He closes his eyes and drops my hand. I feel the void immediately, almost as if a sheer wall went up between us on the bed.
“I’m sorry, I–”
“I saw you,” he says. “I fucking saw you, and I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.”
Dahlia and I were on the floor about twenty rows from the stage. I was in the middle of a sea of people dancing, bodies colliding. I had no idea he could see me.
“You were the only one standing still. Everyone was bouncing around, but not you. You stood there and stared at me–I thought you were a ghost.” He rolls over onto his back, covering his forehead with his arm.
“You were singing my song,” I state. The poem he wrote for me when I was fourteen. He sang it live that night, and I couldn’t move.
“I can’t believe you were fucking there.”
Is he angry? Confused? I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that concert. Dahlia had no idea why I was so out of it. I remember her asking if I was okay. I told her I felt faint and I left the floor, watching the rest of the show from concourse.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”
He turns back to me and places his hand on my cheek. “Don’t be sorry. Please. I just wish I knew it was really you and not a figment of my imagination.”
His warm hand calms me down, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone. “It’s like a light was shining directly on you, showing me that you were alive. And then you disappeared.”
“I couldn’t handle being that close to you and not touching you,” I admit. “I had no idea that you saw me.”
He pulls my face toward his and kisses the tip of my nose. “I dreamt about you for weeks after that. Each dream was the same, you were standing in the crowd, almost illuminated. Floating. I woke up every single time feeling your presence, I could swear it was you telling me everything was okay. I thought you were haunting me, in a good way.” He smiles, our noses touching. Our breaths mingle, and my heart races.
“It was an incredible performance,” I admit, trying to calm myself down. His hand is still on my face, and his lips are so close. So close.
“My muse was in the building. I guess that helped with my performance.” He smiles, and his eyes leave mine for a brief second as they travel lower to my lips then back up again.
“You had such raw emotion, it was spectacular.” I pause. “You can’t stop singing–performing. You have a gift.”
He nods against me. “Garrett would kill me if I left the band. As much as he hates to admit it, I think he actually likes me.” He chuckles, and I’m sure there’s a story or two behind his comments. Garrett strikes me as someone who’s a little rough around the edges. He’s also had his share of spotlight, not all positive. If anyone was considered a womanizer in the band, it would be him. I read somewhere that he settled down and has a wife and son and isn’t as controversial as he’d been in the past. I hope that’s true.
“Good,” I say, relieved that me resurfacing isn’t going to split up Epic Fail.
“I’m exhausted,” Heath says, his hand sliding off of my cheek and onto my shoulder. “We should sleep.”
I nod in agreement, as much as I want him to kiss me and hold me like he used to.
He closes his eyes and pulls me into his chest. We’re both fully clothed, lying on top of the blankets, and my heart starts to race again.
He’s going to stay with me tonight.
I WAKE UP with a start, staring at the ceiling. Heath is on his side, his leg draped over mine, pinning my lower body to the bed. He’s breathing deeply and evenly, his warm breath blanketing my neck. His arm is wrapped around my abdomen, holding me close as if I were a teddy bear.
I can’t believe we’re here together. So many years have passed, but yet, here we are, almost as if I’d never left.
I place my hand over his arm and feel the heat emanating from his body. It feels so good to have him with me, so comforting.
It’s almost dawn, and I’m wide awake. I don’t want to wake him; I don’t want to move. My father’s journal is on the nightstand on my side of the bed, so I reach for it, and open it up to the last page I read. My mother’s picture from St. Louis under the Arch is my current bookmark, and her smile warms my heart. To know she was this happy makes me feel hope that I can one day feel the joy that she did. Her eyes are full of promise of her future. Her look is infectious.
I turn the page and squint my eyes to try to read my father’s handwriting. It’s still pretty dark in the room, but I don’t want to turn on the light, afraid Heath will wake up. So I take my phone and turn on the flashlight. Then I prop it on my chest, just under my chin, so it shines on the pages of the journal. His words flow together as I begin to read.
August 24: We arrived in Tulsa early this morning, driving all night from St. Louis. Melanie slept for most of the trip, exhausted from the night before. We decided to stay an extra night in St. Louis so we could go back to the blues bar where she took the stage the night before. Her performance exhilarating once again. The manager asked if she’d be coming back again, hoping she was going to become a new regular. Sadly, she had to tell them ‘no,’ but I plan on bringing her back here one day, so she can sing her heart out.
After a very long nap, we went to visit the Philbrook Museum. She’d heard about it from her cousin who went to a wedding there a few years ago and had been dying to go. It was stunning. The art itself was breathtaking. All kinds of artwork from around the world, old and new. We spent hours going through the various rooms, taking in the history within the walls. And then we ventured into the gardens and Melani
e became a new person. The gardens were absolutely incredible, beautiful and vast. We enjoyed the beautiful serene landscape, even stopping to rest and reflect in the informally designated meditative areas. At one point Mel said, “I could stay here forever and still notice the simple beauty that these gardens give.” And in that second, I wanted to stay here forever with her, forgetting about work and the business. Losing ourselves in the timeless splendor that surrounded us in the grounds of that perfect place.
“Where are we going today?” Heath asks, stretching his arm over my belly but quickly tucking it back in place.
“Did I wake you?” I ask, turning off the flashlight on my phone. “Sorry.”
“Nope.”
“Oh good,” I say, relieved.
“So, what’s on the agenda? Or do you want to surprise me?”
“The Philbrook Museum. My parents absolutely loved it, especially the gardens.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he states and kisses my shoulder. His movements are so effortless and comfortable, it’s almost as if he’s forgotten how much time we’ve spent apart.
He slides away from me and out of bed. “I’ll take a shower first, if that’s okay.” He rushes to the bathroom as if he has to pee really bad.
I laugh and call out after him. “There’s another shower in the other bedroom. I’ll go in there.”
I slide out of bed and grab my suitcase, rolling it behind me through the suite.
There’s a spring in my step as I walk into the bathroom. I’m excited about spending the day at The Philbrook.
It’s going to be amazing.
And I feel like I’m getting one step closer to my parents.
Heath
Present
