The Right Song

by Shane Morgan

  Me: Hey back.

  Milo: Thanks for hanging out with me at Denny’s and at the playground. It was nice.

  Me: It was. Thanks for asking.

  Milo: So what r u doing now?

  Oh, this is good. This is so good. Texting I can do.

  Me: Nothing much. Tryna write.

  Milo: Write what?

  Me: Songs.

  Milo: Cool. Will u sing them for me some time?

  Me: Maybe.

  Milo: Maybe? I guess I’m not worthy of hearing them.

  Me: Don’t be silly. It’s not like that. But u know how I feel about singing.

  Milo: Yeah I know. Little miss shy girl.

  Me: What r u doing?

  It’s so much easier texting because I know for sure I’d be too nervous talking to him on the phone. I could barely contain my emotions seeing him today.

  It’s as if he’s heard my thoughts because then he says:

  Milo: Can I call u? I want to ask u something.

  What could he possibly want to ask me? My emotions go wild. I can’t control the eruption in my stomach. With shaky fingers, I text him back.

  Me: Ok.

  Milo calls right after. Stupid me, I let it ring three times before answering.

  “Hey,” he says, sounding as if he’s stifling a laugh. He clears his throat before he begins. “So listen, the senior prom’s coming up.”

  “Yeah, and?”

  Oh. My. Gosh. Is this what I think it is?

  “And, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

  Frick!

  “Really?” I blurt out. “I mean, you don’t want to ask one of the popular girls? Like, Latoya McCrea or Heather Smith.”

  He snorts, amazed by my response. “Aurora, I’m asking you.”

  “Why?”

  Idiot. Just say yes.

  “Because,” he trails in his confusion, “I want to go with you. Is that not a good enough reason?”

  “I just don’t understand.”

  Oh gosh. That comment on YouTube is right. I am a loser.

  “What don’t you understand?” he asks. I hear him muffle around, as if he’s pacing his room.

  “Why you want to go with me.” I explain, “You’ve only started talking to me since a few days ago; now you want me to be your prom date after pretending you didn’t even know me.”

  No! What am I doing?

  I cringe and bite down on the corner of my bottom lip, realizing I’m sabotaging myself. There’s no explanation for this other than the fact that I really am an idiot.

  Milo takes a breath before saying, “Aurora Lawrence. I’ve apologized. I told you I’ve missed you and I want us to be close again. And you know what else? Senior prom is supposedly one of the best nights of the final year in high school, and there’s no other girl I’d rather take.”

  My heart flutters. That’s so sweet of him to say.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think. Did someone else already ask you?” His voice is peppered with worry.

  “No,” I reply fast. “And I’ll go with you,” I finally accept, but not without joking. “I guess I could help you save face since all the other girls you’ve asked turned you down.”

  He breaks out with a deep, throaty laugh. For a second, I flash back to Daegan’s laugh and actually compare the two. Daegan has a nicer laugh. It’s contagious.

  What the hell?

  “Is that so?” he continues chuckling, “You’re silly. I’ve missed that about you, too.”

  “Hmm? Wha—oh, yeah, I’ve missed you, too,” I hurry to say, snapping back to my senses.

  “Well, wish I could talk to you all night, but I have some homework to finish up.”

  “Yeah, no worries, I have to check my email for what I’ve missed today, too. I’ll see you on Saturday then, for our movie date?”

  Wait, did he say it was a date?

  “I mean, to meet up at the movies,” I retract to be on the safe side.

  He doesn’t comment on my mishap, saying instead, “How about I pick you up, that way we’ll spend less time on parking and we can hang out after the movie?”

  “Cool. Sounds good to me.”

  “All right, Aurora. I’ll call you. Sleep tight.”

  “Thanks, you too.”

  I release a long exasperated breath the moment I get off the phone—too excited to want to bother writing anything again. I shower and crawl into bed, happiness filling me until I drift into a deep sleep.

  14.

  Friday went by uneventful. I’m kind of happy that the party Days End is supposed to play at tonight got canceled so I don’t have to show myself in front of a crowd for a while.

  I can’t hang out with Emma. She’s out of town with her mom at a photo expo in Akron. And since I already told Milo we couldn’t go to the movies tonight, I decide to drive to the cemetery again. It’s my second time in one week—uncommon for me. But it’s the one place I go whenever I want to be alone for a while.

  I pull over Hubbard Creek and turn onto Main Street, slowing to a stop outside Mound Hill Cemetery. I grab my guitar and backpack as I slip out of the car and enter the gothic-esque wrought iron gates.

  The sun is giving way to the evening, but it isn’t dark enough where I can’t find their gravesite. I walk for two more minutes before locating the slanted, polished gravestones with rock pitch edges, marking where my parents are laid to rest.

  There are fresh flowers on their graves—A mixture of white lilies, blue delphinium, and yellow roses.

  That’s weird. It couldn’t have been Aunt Leah who left them. The only time she’d get to stop by is in the morning and they wouldn’t look this fresh from lying here all day.

  “Hey you two,” I whisper, sitting down on the grass between both graves. I lean forward and trace my thumb across my dad’s name, and then I do the same for Mom’s.

  “I miss you both so much.”

  I straighten and blink back tears, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Collecting myself, I stick my earplugs into my ears and press play. I’d been listening to Florence & the Machine’s ‘Never Let Me Go’ on repeat today. I feel it’s fitting for the occasion.

  I’ve never sung any of my original songs for them. It’s like there are none deserving, as if I need one that’s perfect; just right for them. It’s silly, I know, because they’re dead. Still, it matters to me.

  Strumming on my guitar, I close my eyes and finish up the song, singing softly.

  Though the pressure's hard to take

  It's the only way I can escape

  It seems a heavy choice to make

  And now I am under all

  And it's breaking over me

  A thousand miles down to the sea bed

  Found the place to rest my head

  Never let me go

  Never let me go…

  Never let me go

  Never let me go…

  And the arms of the ocean are carrying me

  And all this devotion was rushing out of me

  In the crushes of heaven for a sinner like me

  But the arms of the ocean delivered me

  I pretend as if I’m on stage, and that it’s only the two of them in the audience, listening to me pour my heart out in these words; the utmost pride engraved on their loving faces. I keep this in my head as I get to the bridge.

  And it's over

  And I'm going under

  But I'm not giving up

  I'm just giving in

  Slowly, I open my eyes, having the sense of being watched, or rather like someone’s listening to me, swept up in my voice.

  I stop singing, turn the music off, and twist around. My eyes expand when I see Daegan standing in between the two graves across from me. His brown eyes are widened with amazement.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” I yell, shooting to my feet.

  “You’re incredible,” he mumbles, stepping forward.

  “Shut up! You’re seriously borderline stalker. Why are
you following me?”

  He creases his forehead, appearing upset now as he waves his hand. “Take a look around. We’re in a cemetery. You’re not the only one who has someone buried here.”

  I clamp my mouth shut. He’s right. I feel silly for what I said.

  Reaching down for my backpack, I drape the strap over my shoulder and clutch my guitar under my arm. “Still, your mom’s buried all the way over there. What are you doing standing here?”

  “Cause I heard really good singing and wanted to find—” he stops, considering my words. “Wait… how’d you know where my mom’s buried?”

  I shrug. “It’s a small place. A lot of people know about…” I trail as I see the dejected look forming on his face.

  “Sorry,” I say, and start to leave.

  “I don’t get it,” he says as I’m about to walk past him.

  “Get what?” I look at him sideways.

  His piercing gaze sends electricity through my veins. This feeling… I just don’t understand it.

  Facing me fully, he explains, “I don’t get why Alex is the one singing lead when you’re this great.”

  “It’s none of your business,” I counter, starting to leave again.

  Daegan follows behind. “It is my business,” he says.

  I stop in my tracks and glance back at him. “Excuse me? Please explain.”

  “I’m an artist, so I feel a sense of duty to a fellow artist who’s clearly not realizing her talent, and she’s doing the world a disservice by hiding it.”

  A smart grin plays on his lips.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

  He nods. “Come to the Heat Room with me.”

  I wrinkle a brow. “The what?”

  Inching closer to me, he lifts his hand and reaches for my arm. I wince and step back, nervous and unsure about his intentions.

  “Relax,” he snorts. “You have grass on your clothes.”

  I brush it off and back up some more. “Anyways, what’s this Heat Room and why should I go there?”

  “It’s a live bar a little out of town. You should drop by and see some performances. Maybe it’ll motivate you, help you get over your fear of singing in front of a live audience.” He stretches the word as if he’s insinuating something.

  Pursing my lips, I clutch my guitar tighter and rest my weight on one foot. “What makes you think I have a fear of singing in front of a live audience?”

  He crosses his arms at his chest, sure of himself. “You don’t?”

  “I don’t,” I say boldly.

  Daegan laughs—It’s heart melting, butterfly inducing, and oh so wrong of me to admire.

  Glancing over his shoulder for a fraction of a second, he turns back to me and smirks. “You were singing for the dead, yet you have a hard time doing it for the living. Clearly you have a problem.”

  I scoff. “You think you’re so funny.”

  “I know I am. Anyways, let’s go.” He nudges me. “I don’t have my car today, so I’ll ride with you over to the place.”

  He treads off before I can protest, walking out the gates of the cemetery, heading for my car.

  I walk up to the Volvo and settle my guitar and bag on the backseat then hop in and start the engine. He gets in the passenger side and buckles his seatbelt.

  “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re quite presumptuous.”

  He smiles. “This is going to help. I promise.”

  “I’m only going because I’ve never heard about this place before, and I might meet an artist I could write for,” I tell him.

  He glances at me for a beat and rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

  I take off from the cemetery and head back on the main road. After Daegan gives me directions, we stay quiet for most of the ride until we arrive at the Heat Room. It looks like an old saloon, with a horse and carriage design on the top part.

  As we slip out of the car, I look at Daegan and glance back at the place. He doesn’t seem like the type to frequent such a country western looking spot.

  “How often do you come here?” I ask, walking to the entrance with him.

  He flashes a snarky grin before opening the door for me. “I found this place for you, actually.”

  I widen my eyes in astonishment. “For me?”

  “Yep. I told you, I have to look out for my fellow artists.”

  I can’t help but smile at him as we slip inside the door.

  “All sorts of singers come here,” he tells me, finding us a vacant table in the back. “From country to rock and roll and other genres I have no idea about.”

  I nod at his words. Shifting on the wooden chair, I look around the place. The design is straight out of a Clint Eastwood cowboy movie. The waitresses are dressed in jeans, plaid tops, and boots. The energy is indescribable.

  Leaning forward, I say, “I like this spot.”

  A satisfied grin morphs his face. “Do you like it enough to perform here tonight?”

  I fall back in the chair, suddenly nervous. “You didn’t sign me up for anything, did you?”

  He grins. “No. But I will if you want me to.”

  “Daegan, don’t—”

  “It’s cool, no one knows you here. The lighting’s different from my dad’s lounge, too. You’ll barely see their faces when you’re up on that stage.”

  “How do you know so much?” I ask.

  “I told you, I checked it out.”

  I turn my head in wonder, surprised he’d gone through so much trouble just to get me to sing on stage.

  He goes to say something again but is interrupted when they announce the next artist to perform.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Britney Daniels.”

  The entire room breaks out in loud cheers for the tall, leggy brunette. She’s a knockout, wearing a body-hugging red dress that’s above her knees; black pumps, and glistening jewelry from neck to wrists. I’m impressed when she croons Donna Summer’s sensually hip number ‘Hot Stuff’.

  Britney traces her hands along the microphone stand as if it were her lover. That sends the men on frenzy. They whistle and howl like dogs. Geez. I almost want to stand up and scream “down boys”.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I peek at Daegan, wondering if he’s just as affected by this seductress. He doesn’t look at all moved, though. If anything, he appears to be anticipating the end of her performance.

  I don’t know why, but that makes me happy.

  We check out two more performances—an indie folk band and a blues singer—before he braces over the table so that I can hear what he has to say amidst the roars.

  “I’m going to put your name down to perform after the next act.”

  “What! No. Don’t.”

  “Come on, if you say you’re not afraid then prove it. Show them what you got.”

  I cut over to the stage. There’s a blonde with a pixie-cut coming on now. She seems like she’s around our age.

  “Aurora,” Daegan pulls back my attention. “Prove it. Show me that you’re not afraid of performing for the living.”

  I consider what he’s asking me to do. Sing live, in front of all these people. Is he serious? But to be honest, I am feeling brave, like I can actually do this.

  Where did that come from?

  Everything disappears as my parents’ faces flash before my eyes. I can hear their laughs, too. I miss them so much. They were so proud of me, wanting to be as great as Joan Jett. They’d want me to go for it.

  Dad would push me to be my best. They’d be disappointed if I continued to live like a coward.

  So why not? What do I have to lose?

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, then open them and let out a long breath. I slide off the chair. “Put my name down. I’m going to grab my guitar. Be right back.”

  Daegan reaches for my hand before I walk away. His touch sends a heat wave all over my body.

  That’s not normal. I can’t recall ever feeling
this way. It’s not the same as when Milo brushes me.

  “You’re not going to take off, are you?” he asks.

  I laugh and slip out of his grasp. “Of course not. I’ll be right back.”

  Scurrying out to the car, I unlock it and grab my guitar off the backseat. I hurry back inside. The pixie-cut blonde is finishing up her Katy Perry number.

  Daegan mouths to me that I’m next. An onset of nervousness engulfs me. I say a silent prayer that I don’t screw this up and embarrass myself out here as well.

  Walking over to the side of the stage, I smile at the girl as she makes her way off. She doesn’t look too pleased by her performance. She sounded okay to me.

  The MC hops up to the microphone in a jolly manner. He asks everyone how they’re doing so far and then after a little chit-chat and some failed jokes, he finally looks at his cue card.

  “All right, put your hands together for Aurora Law!”

  Huh? He chopped off the rest of my last name.

  I swallow back the stiffness in my throat, clutch my guitar, and head up the steps.

  Everyone claps as I make my way to centerstage. Daegan’s right—you can’t really see the faces of the audience with all the light focusing on the stage.

  I glance behind at the band and ask if they know Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Walk Away’. The drummer is the only one familiar with the song, so I tell the others to let me lead with my guitar and just fall in with the beat.

  It’s an up-tempo song. I figure it’ll give the energetic crowd something to rock to. Hopefully, I can pull this off.

  Edging back to the microphone stand, I inhale a soft breath and try to spot his face for motivation. I didn’t think I’d be able to make him out in this dark room, but somehow I do. Daegan’s on his feet behind the audience. His eyes are locked with mine, eagerly waiting for me to deliver something great.

  I don’t want to let him down. I don’t want to disappoint myself.

  My chest relaxes. Melodies float around in my head. I hear the harmonies. I can do this. I glide my fingers over the G chord and kick things off with the down strum.