Chapter 9 #4
“Mirror mirror, what do you see, when you look at me
Mirror mirror, what are you thinking, I see those eyes staring
Mirror mirror, what are you saying, it’s always something I believe
Mirror mirror, you’re a liar, so why do you own m e
Hello hello greetings from the inside
Hello hello framed in all your lies
Hello hello how you love to see me cry
Hello hello always so unkind
Mirror mirror, why the tears, you made me
Mirror mirror, who do you think you are
I made you!
Hello hello greetings from the inside
Hello hello framed in all your lies
Hello hello how you love to see me cry
Hello hello it’s time to say goodbye”
She had to have been where Luke is to write this, but she’s clearly not there anymore. She fought the mirror and won, which means there’s hope. It also means she speaks his language in a way I never could.
This is why art is so important. It speaks in emotion. In connection. It reveals pieces of ourselves to each other in ways conversation can’t.
“What else do you have?” I ask as I review the next page. And the next. There’s a sense of desperation leaking in. If she’s been there, then maybe…
“What? Nothing,” she says.
No, that can’t be true. I turn to another page.
“What else? I want to see the rest.”
I’m crushed when she plucks the notebook from my hands.
“There is no more,” she says definitively. “I mean, not here, not finished.”
I shake my head and lean toward her, almost pleading. “It doesn’t have to be finished. Please, Callie?”
I need to see it. I have to know more about that side of her. The distorted mirror. I have to know if there’s a roadmap to drag Luke back to the light.
“What’s the last thing you wrote?” I ask.
A shadow passes over her face. She averts her gaze. “I don’t really write much anymore.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs, still not looking at me. “I don’t know. I guess… Maybe there’s no point? Like I said, I’m not really a writer. Well, not a real one.”
No! I’m so sick of this.
“Will you stop with that?” I snap. “That’s bull.”
I feel Luke’s surprised warning look. But he doesn’t get it. Of course he doesn’t because he has the luxury of not caring about anything anymore. I do. And so does Callie.
“It’s not!” she fires back. Her defensive reaction fades back into the insecurity that’s becoming a theme with her. “I just… I don’t know.”
I curb the urgency and try to be as understanding as I can. “Look, I don’t want to pressure you, I just really want to see it.”
“But it’s not even finished!”
“So what? I know how the process works.”
“Dude, she says she doesn’t want to show you. Let it go.” Luke cuts a hard look at me.
I flinch and sink back as the budding hope wilts around me. I just want them to see. I need someone on this journey with me. I’m so tired and alone and?—
“No, it’s fine. Sorry. Here,” Callie says suddenly, handing me the book. “But like I said, don’t expect too much.”
Her gaze brushes mine, and I see the apology there. As usual, somehow she knows this is about more than poetry to me. Somehow she understands the secrets I may never be able to share.
I turn back to the notebook and voraciously skim the words.
“I think he likes it,” Luke jokes .
“Hell yeah, I like it.”
I read through a few more poems before circling back to the mirror one.
Melodies are already forming with urgent clarity I haven’t had in a long time. I need to get them out. I have to.
“Dude, where’s your guitar?” I shoot at Luke. His scowl returns, but I don’t have time for that. “Come on, man, not now.”
He gives me a hard look. “You know I don’t play anymore.”
“Yeah, and I also know you don’t go anywhere without that piece of junk. Just get it for me and then you can sulk all you want.”
Even the Sultan of Sulk cracks a smile. “It needs new strings. I haven’t touched it in forever.”
“You think I care about that right now? I’m not gonna play a show in the lobby, I just want to try something. Come on! Don’t be a dick for once. Please. ”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second before accepting the inevitable. He knows what’s happening right now and doesn’t have the energy to fight me on it. The infection has taken hold. Better he just gets me the damn guitar and leaves me to my illness.
While Luke heads back to his room, I return to the poem.
It’s the chorus that’s gnawing at my head. It will continue to torture me until I can form it into something tangible. A verse melody worms its way in. Another line of the chorus.
Where’s Luke? What’s taking him so long?
He finally returns with Percy, his guitar, and I grab it from him as soon as he’s within range.
I already know it will have to be tuned, so I impatiently take care of that beneath Luke’s silent humor. He’s seen this a thousand times. He knows the manic artist I become when the music strikes .
Luke is mumbling something as he shuffles back out of the room, but I’m not listening.
Once I get the tuning as good as it can be under the circumstances, I work out the tempo in my head. I try a few keys with single strum progressions, humming the tentative melody until it finally feels right. Focusing back on the notebook beside me, I test out some melodies to solidify the line.
After a few more experiments, I finally feel ready to make a real pass at a full chorus.
I have no idea what’s going to happen, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this kind of excitement.
The buzz that comes with being on the verge of something.
It’s almost more addictive than when you find it.
I play and sing for a while. Stopping, starting, testing and adjusting. The chorus, especially, is turning into something worth pursuing. The verse, not quite yet, but I get completely lost in the adventure.
Movement in my periphery grabs my attention, and I remember Callie.
Right.
Callie.
I scratch at my cheek as embarrassment chips at the previous enthusiasm.
Unlike Luke, she’d have no idea what’s happening.
There’s a vulnerability to the challenge of transforming an idea into something tangible.
It’s hard enough on your own, let alone in front of a virtual stranger who doesn’t understand the metamorphosis.
I feel almost nervous as I grip the neck of the guitar and build the courage to face her. What if she just lost all faith in me? I’m used to facing criticism and disdain, but I don’t think I could handle it now. Not from her. For this.
She shifts on the couch, as if trying to get my attention, and I finally find the strength to meet her gaze.
A look of gentle wonder blasts away the fear. “That was amazing,” she says, her gaze running over my face, the guitar, back to my face like she can’t believe what she just saw. “I never thought my words could sound like that,” she whispers.
The rest of the wall crumbles. There’s nothing she could have said that would’ve brought greater joy. That’s exactly what music is supposed to do and exactly what a moment like this is supposed to be.
A smile breaks on my lips as I return my focus to the guitar. Reassured, I let the music consume me fully and completely. If she wants her words to transcend, then lets shoot them into the fucking stars.