Broken Melody (Graffiti On Tour Series)
Page 15
When I finally made it to bed, I was exhausted, but I spent most of the night tossing and turning. Thoughts of Sailor, about the position the band is in because of me, about memories I can’t shake no matter how hard I try wouldn’t quiet. When I finally managed to succumb to sleep, I had an unsettling dream that woke me back up. I was running in a forest. Someone was calling me, begging for me to help them, save them. No matter how fast I ran, how hard I searched, I would get a glimpse of them and they would disappear again. I ran for what seemed like hours – branches scraping my exposed skin, my feet protesting from running for so long, my chest tight from exertion. Finally, I thought I found her. I could see her long hair, the curves of her body, her white skin standing out like the moon in a black sky. I’d reach for her, and she’d disappear like wisps of smoke in the wind. Eventually, I woke up sweating and panting and instead of falling back asleep I threw myself in the shower and tried to wash away the remnants of the dream clinging to my mind.
“Hi, guys, good morning,” Sailor says as she breezes into the room. She’s dressed in jeans that have a few holes in them, an off the shoulder top, and sandals. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and she’s barely wearing any makeup as far as I can tell. She looks…amazing. She looks real. I have an impulse to reach out and touch her, to verify my inclination.
“Hi,” I tell her and the guys echo my greetings with ones of their own.
She smiles, but never really makes eye contact with anyone. She has a cup from a gourmet coffee shop in her hand and I find I want to know what’s in it – coffee or tea? I want to know everything about her. What the hell is happening to me?
Shaking myself from my thoughts wanting to punch myself in the face for them, not sure what’s come over me, I gesture toward her seat and microphone. “If it’s not already obvious, that’s you.”
She looks at me, no expression in her eyes, and nods. “I figured.” Out of her large bag she pulls a notebook and pencil, places the pencil between her teeth as she moves to her seat and gets settled. “Okay. I’m ready! Where are we starting?”
Rocco smiles at her enthusiasm. “I think we should run through some of our old music first. Hopefully you’re familiar with them. We’ve added a harmony for you to the songs ‘Nothing but You’, ‘Smoke and Rain’, and ‘Just Breathe’.”
“I know all of them,” she says matter-of-factly surprising me.
“All of them?” I ask curiously.
“Yep,” she says nodding her head, not looking at me.
“Are you comfortable taking it from the top?” Rocco asks.
“Absolutely. Let’s start with ‘Smoke and Rain’.”
We all nod, “Sounds good,” Rocco says.
“For now, just look at this as a jam session. We aren’t recording anything and we asked for privacy, so it’s just us,” I say referencing to the empty soundboard room. “Let’s run through all the old songs, make some adjustments if we need to before we break for lunch. After, we can run through some new stuff. We have more rehearsals this week before we record anything. Alright?” I say hoping to relieve any fears or nerves she may have, but as she looks at me, she appears calm and comfortable.
“Okay,” she says and gives me a small smile before turning to her music stand and organizing her sheet music, places her notebook and pencil on the stand and positioning herself in front of the microphone. “I’m ready,” she says and at that, I start strumming the intro.
For this song, Henley is at keyboard and Rocco the drums like always. I begin singing the first verse and at the chorus everyone else joins. Sailor takes the second verse now where as before it was just me again. We’ve changed the wording around where needed so Sailor doesn’t sound like she’s singing about a woman and instead it’s like we are each singing about the other. It goes off without a hitch, it’s perfect, she’s perfect.
“That was fucking amazing,” Henley says sincerely.
“The song has never sounded better,” Nixon adds.
“You guys are being way too nice. Should I be worried?” Sailor asks.
“Seriously, though,” I begin, “what music theory or instrumental experience do you have? Were you in choir at some point? Band maybe?”
“Choir all through high school, mandatory band class in junior high. Why?”
“I guess I just assumed you could read music…but now realize I didn’t ask. But it obviously was a moot concern – it’s obvious you do know how. So, I’m just wondering what your background is since we never really discussed it at length,” I tell her.
“Yeah, don’t worry. I can read it fine,” Sailor says to me shortly, disregarding the rest of my inquiry and possessing a look that I was stupid for even wondering. “Which song did you want to sing next?”
“How about ‘Just Breathe’?” Nixon suggests.
Sailor nods and without a word, because clearly speaking isn’t going over well with her right now, I begin. We get through this song and the next with no issues. The songs are flawless. I mean how is that possible? It sounded…fine…like we’ve been doing this for some time. We just had to restart at one point because we got so caught up in listening to Sailor we got a little off beat. She really is phenomenal. I know the guys agree because we all keep looking at each other with looks clearly stating that we can’t believe this girl and our luck at finding her, of making music with her. Our sounds blend perfectly together.
We decide to start work on a new song since we made it through the others so quickly. The song, ‘Fire’, is a song about how a new love feels – like your heart and blood is a raging fire of love. It’s an upbeat tempo, but there are a few places where the harmony sounds off. We try new things, work to make it cohesive, and after some trials and errors we have a good song. What impresses me most are Sailor’s suggestions throughout. Trying different notes to invoke a slightly different harmony, incorporating tempo changes where needed, and adding a strong bass where there had been none. It’s the first rehearsal and she’s already proven how wrong my preconceived notions were about her.
“Alright, let’s take a break for lunch. Where do you guys want to place an order? We can have it delivered or get someone to run out for us,” Rocco suggests.
“I can fly,” Sailor offers. “There’s a sub shop right down the street. Sound good to you guys?”
“Sounds good to me, I’m starving,” Henley says.
“Me too,” Nixon adds. “And I still have a headache from hell,” he begins rubbing his temples.
Sailor grabs something out of her purse and hands it to Nixon, “Here, take some ibuprofen,” she instructs, then grabs her notebook and pencil. “Tell me what you guys want to eat,” she says and begins nibbling on her pencil while she looks at each of us waiting for us to respond. I’ve never wanted to be a pencil so bad in my life.
Rocco, Nixon and Henley give her their orders and when she turns to me and her eyes meet mine, I blurt, “I’ll drive you.”
“No, that’s okay. I can go.”
“I insist. You’ll need some help carrying everything anyway.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly. “We’ll be back,” she tells the guys and picks up her purse then looks at me expectantly.
I open the door for her and place my hand on her lower back guiding her through. I swear she stiffens at the contact and that makes me frown deeply. Leading her to my car, I hold the passenger door open for her and when she’s in run to my side. She’s quiet as I start the car and my mind is turning wondering how the hell I bring up last night, if I should bring it up, and trying to decide what I want to say and how I want to say it.
“Practice is going well so far,” she says and I nod, feeling irritated at her obviously lame attempt at conversation.
I put the car in drive ready to go, but then sigh and place it back in park once more. She looks at me curiously as I turn to her. “About last night,” I begin. Before I can get further she holds up a hand.
“No, please. Nothing needs to be said.”
“Myself? You don’t even know me,” Sailor scoffs and the comment takes me back. She’s right, I don’t know her well, but I do know a tense woman when I see one.
“I don’t have to know everything about you to know that you have barely maintained eye contact with me today, that any time you have to talk to me that your answers are short. Come on, let’s talk about this.”
“Really, there’s nothing to say.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Sailor,” I state angrily wishing she would yell at me, be sarcastic with me, something. This passive shit is pissing me off.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me why you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m not anything.”
And maybe that’s worse. I don’t want her to feel nothing. I finally say it, because one of us has to, “I can’t help the fact that those girls showed up.”
“Don’t worry about it, Maddy,” she mocks, “I’m a big girl. Yeah, we had just been going at it right before that. And yeah, maybe I had visions of getting out of there and letting you rip my clothes off and fuck the hell out of me,” she says and my mind totally stalls for a moment at her words. I see us again in that closet and my fingers twitch at wanting to touch her again, “But I was drunk, and clearly out of my mind, so there’s really nothing to discuss. Let it go. I certainly did. I was a bit concerned about my poor judgement last night and felt a bit awkward, maybe even embarrassed, so I’m sure that’s what you were sensing earlier.”
Her words make me freeze, “Wait, let’s go back to the visions of us naked that you had,” I say with a smile, but it quickly turns into a frown when it isn’t returned. There is no humor to be found on her face.
“Like I said, I was drunk, and it was stupid. You and I just met, but more than that, we are now in business together. Anything between us would be an interruption – senseless, ridiculous, and unprofessional. I don’t even know what I was thinking,” she says.
“This has everything to do with those girls coming into the room. I can’t help my past, Sailor. I can’t change it. Believe me, if I could, I would.”
“Trust me, I understand that better than you might believe. Wishing you could change your past,” she says softly. “All I know is that I don’t want to get involved in something that’s going to create drama. In something that is doomed before it even begins. I’m really sorry if I led you on, but I want to be friends, and just get used to working together. I’m not in a place where I can even think about anything else. I’m not sure either of us are.”
There are a million things I want to say. Things that run through my mind so fast I can’t even grasp them all, but instead I nod. I nod and I start the car and take us to get food. Because it’s clear I’m not going to change her mind. It’s clear that my stupid mistakes have once again fucked up something that could have been great. Another thing I’m going to have to apologize and make amends for.
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say. Thanks for giving me a choice in this and letting me explain,” I state sarcastically. She tries to say something else to me but this time, I hold up my hand and stop her from speaking. The only time we speak again is as we order lunch for everyone.
The last couple weeks have been busy and are starting to take their toll. Not only do we rehearse every day, aside from the weekend, but I’m also still working at The Hook in the evening. My days have been long, my exhaustion vast. Each night I collapse into bed at the end of the day, usually somewhat cranky. Brittney’s been watching it all with a shake of her head while insisting it’s time for me to quit working at the bar. She keeps reminding me how much I’m getting paid to be part of Graffiti, but my continuing to work there has nothing to do with money. I didn’t want to leave Dusty high and dry.
I was nervous as hell to talk to him about the new path my life has taken. Given everything he’s done for me, I was emotional just thinking about talking to him and built up scenarios in my head of it not going well. I had miscalculated and wasted a lot of emotional energy, because Dusty was great when I told him the news. Great is actually an understatement - he was ecstatic. After he stared at me shocked for a while, he cheered out loud, hugged me and told the whole bar about my new opportunity. He was genuinely happy for me, proud even, and it brought tears to my eyes. Made me miss my parents desperately. I remember coming home with A’s from tough tests at school, or showing my parents my report cards, or when they would come to my school to watch me sing in a choir concert – I would watch their faces closely for a reaction. The smile at the corner of their mouths, the twinkle in their eyes, the way they would look at me when they were proud of me, I coveted it. I miss it. I’d do anything to get it back.
After Dusty’s announcement to the bar, people were congratulating me all night. It was a neat moment, one I’ll never forget. I told him I’d work until I had to leave for tour, and he was happy about that, mostly he said because he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Truth is, I’m not either. Even though he told me I can come back any time, to visit, sing, even to work worst-case scenario, whatever I need or want. He doesn’t know how much comfort he gifted me with that offer. I think I shocked the hell out of him when I gave him a hug and wouldn’t let go for a few minutes. He’s not used to seeing that kind of emotion from me. I don’t regret my choice to continue working, but I do think I underestimated how tired this new routine would make me.
Turning my focus to today’s practice, I feel excited and nervous. Today is the first day we’re actually laying down tracks for the new album. It feels monumental – I’ll actually be recorded on an album – professionally. It will be tangible proof that this has really happened. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this feeling? I keep pinching myself just to make sure it’s real.
I’ve got nothing to worry about, I’ve got all the songs done perfectly, but my nerves are riled up regardless. Something about my mood feels off today.
Sitting in my room at my desk, I tap the pencil against the wood repeatedly. I was up early and have been ready to go for a bit, but while I’m tired, I had trouble sleeping last night. For days now, words have been bouncing around in my head repeatedly. I’ve tried to shake them, but they keep repeating themselves like a mantra. I finally decided to write them down knowing instinctively they’re lyrics for a song. Which is funny because I have no clue how to write a song. But, I figure before they leave me all together, I’ll get them down on paper.
I’ll never forget the day,
I saw your face.
Heart exploded, senses overloaded,
It was love at first sight.
Color me surprised,
Never imagined, a reaction like this.
I’ve never felt so alive, as I did holding you close, oh so close,
Since then all I want to do is cry,
When I think about the look in your eyes.
It wasn’t our time - wish it could have been,
I’m hoping and praying you can forgive,
Did I perform the ultimate sin?
Because I wouldn’t let you in, oh I couldn’t let you in?
I hope you understand, but ever since that day,
Things haven’t been the same.
Hoping and praying that will change,
Because every day, I’m wasting away.
Tell me what I should do,
There’s so much I wish I could say, that I could say,
Are you in love with life? Are you a dreamer too?
Tell me it was okay, leavin’ you that way,
It wasn’t our time - wish it could have been,
I’m hoping and praying you can forgive,
Did I perform the ultimate sin?
Because I wouldn’t let you in, oh I couldn’t let you in?
I put my pencil down and read over the words several times. It isn
’t until a few drops fall on the page that I even realize I’m crying. Swiping them off my face, I sniffle and run my hands over the words, not seeing them at all. Instead I see another time, another day. Why are memories assaulting me now? Today? Shaking myself out of it, I close my notebook, tuck it into my purse and head out so I can get to the studio. I feel better just having the words down. Something inside my chest loosened with the act.
Thirty minutes later, I finally arrive at the studio. Such a small unassuming building on the outside considering the magic that has happened over the years and even now, by various artists on the inside. In the lobby there are an untold number of photographs on the walls of staff with various recording artists. One time, I actually stopped and took a moment to consider all the people that had been here in this building before me, and it blew my mind. I don’t know what I’ve done in my life to deserve this chance, but hell, I hope I never do anything to screw it up. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall and experienced such greatness and art in person.
“Hi, Ginger,” I greet the receptionist behind the desk. She checks artists into their studios during their scheduled time. She’s one of a few that work here, all of them kind and professional.
“Hey, Sailor, good morning,” she smiles widely. “Studio nine today.”
“Thanks, I know I’m early, but I bet I’m still the last one to make it in, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re the first today.”
“Oh, wow, great! Thanks.”
When I close the door behind me I lean against it for a moment staring at the piano in the corner – one is inside each studio. My steps echo on the floor as I make my way to it, sit on the bench, and slide the cover up and over the black and white keys. Reaching into my purse, I take out my notebook and sit it on the book rest. It’s been years since I’ve sat on a piano bench, and I’ve been yearning to do so since we started practicing, but didn’t want to do so in front of the guys. Closing my eyes, I place my hands over the keys and play a chord, almost jumping as the sound reverberates around the room. I can almost imagine my mother’s hands under mine, so soft and smooth as they moved over the keys and she played me a song. It was one of my favorite things to do when I was little. It felt magical, like I was actually playing the song and not her. But my favorite, my absolute favorite, was when she would put her hands over the top of mine, tickling me as she showed me how to place my hands on the keys and taught me different notes, chords, and how to play songs. Lessons with her never garnered a complaint from me. It feels like a lifetime ago – it was a lifetime ago. It takes everything within me not to turn my head and look over my shoulder, because I know even though I want to see her there - smiling at me, love and adoration for me shining in her eyes - that she won’t be. It never seems to be something I’ll get over – the loss of her. The loss of both of them. The pain from their loss never fades; it changes, morphs into less or more depending on the situation, but it never ever goes away.