20. Callum
20
CALLUM
“ O kay, so show me.”
I stared back at Darcy. We had just walked through the door of the hardware store and now we stood, looking out into the room. My guitar sat on the floor next to me.
“Show you what?” I asked.
“What you want to do with the place,” she said. “Describe it to me.”
I blinked at her. Did this mean she was willing to sell the place to me? I felt a surge of nerves to be put on the spot like that. What sort of detail was she looking for? But then I remembered how much I had dreamed about this place. I remembered that I did know what I wanted to do. It was time to sell Darcy on the idea.
“Alright,” I said, starting slowly. “Well, this door will stay right where it is,” I said, gesturing to the front door.
“Very funny,” she said, her voice dry and sarcastic. I smiled at her.
“I mean the actual door itself,” I explained. “I won’t switch it out or anything.” We both glanced back at the door with its embossed writing: Stevens Hardware.
“You’ll keep the ‘Stevens Hardware’?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I want people to know what the place was. And if we keep it, then the first thing they see will tell them this place is different.”
I saw her smile and knew my first detail had passed the test. Now to the more difficult parts ...
“This area will be the lobby,” I said, opening my arms to the front part of the store. “These windows are too nice to cover over, so we’ll leave them. Imagine some couches and seating areas. A spot where people can work on some lyrics or just wait for their sessions.”
I crossed to a corner, where some low shelves were built into the wall.
“We can leave these built-ins,” I told her. “I’d turn this into a coffee bar and we can keep books on the shelves. And then there’s the counter.” I crossed back to the center of the room where we both looked back toward the checkout counter.
“What about the counter?” she asked, her voice full of skepticism. I knew that space meant a lot to her. She probably had memories of her dad checking people out behind it. Or even her grandfather.
“We’ll keep it,” I said, starting with the easy part. “But I’ll have to move it.”
“It’s built into the wall!” she protested. The counter was probably as old as the building itself. It was true that it was practically an extension of the wall next to it, curving around to make an L-shape that someone could stand behind.
“I know,” I said. “But they’ll be careful with it. I need to move it up front to this lobby area because the back half of the room has to be used for the recording booths.”
She didn’t respond to this, but simply regarded me carefully. I saw her eyes move from the counter to the front of the room, imagining it moving there. We walked through the center of the room, passing through aisles of hardware goods.
“Imagine this as a hallway,” I proposed. “With walls on either side. There would be a door that leads into the control room for the technicians to mix and record. And then the main studio for the musicians and their gear. We’ll have drums set up over here and hook-ups for all their instruments. And only the best microphones and mixing equipment.”
I felt my words coming faster, overcome with excitement about what the place would look like. I could see it so clearly in my mind’s eye. When I looked back at Darcy she was smiling at me.
“You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”
“I think we can fit two of them—one on either side of the hallway. And then two smaller rooms for voice-over work or small recording projects.”
I saw her looking around, trying to imagine what I was envisioning.
“I want to keep some of these old signs on the walls. I don’t want to erase what this place was. That’s the fun of it! A converted hardware store. Like I said, I want this place to be unique and unlike any other studio. It’s what will draw people here.”
I waited, wondering what she would say about it. At least she hadn’t stormed out of the building yet. It seemed like a positive sign, so I gave her a moment to process it all. I didn’t want to push too much or move too quickly.
“And you think people will like that?” she asked. “They won’t mind that you’re keeping some of the historic touches? What if you decide to change it all after a year or something?”
“They’ll love it!” I assured her. “Some of the most famous recording studios were converted from garages or non-traditional spaces. The history is what gives it character! It’s what lets creativity thrive.”
“And what sort of people will you bring here?” Darcy asked. “What sort of music?”
“Any music that speaks to an audience and makes them feel less alone,” I said. It had always been why I made music. “I want to produce music that people connect to. Whatever genre that is.”
“So you’re a producer now?” Darcy asked. I hadn’t realized the word had slipped out of my mouth—but when I heard it echoed back to me, I realized that it might be exactly what I was interested in.
“That sort of thing would be a long way off,” I told her. “After we get the recording studio up and running maybe we could transition into a label of our own. It would let me find new talent that wouldn’t otherwise be discovered. I might even find musicians right here in Maplewood!”
“What else?” she asked. She seemed to understand the vision, and I watched her relax into the idea. I saw her looking around, imagining the people who would walk through the door and breathe new life into the space.
“We could do open mic nights,” I said. “It’s why I want the lobby to be so big. And we’ll offer classes for kids who want to learn about recording studios and mixing music or audio engineering. Of course, I’ll have to hire some professionals.” I laughed as I thought about watching YouTube videos to set up Liz’s sound system. If I had professionals working here, then Liz would never have to worry about speakers and microphones again.
“And what about you?” Darcy asked. “Will you still make music?”
With all my plans to make this a thriving cultural center and artists’ hub it was easy to forget about my own work. I felt warmth flow through me as Darcy questioned this, as if she wanted to gently remind me why I started thinking about this recording studio in the first place.
“I want a solo career,” I told her. I had spent so long denying this, trying to assure the world that I wasn’t leaving the Horizon, that it felt strange to say these words out loud. But then I felt relief wash over me. I knew all at once that I couldn’t deny this truth anymore.
“I want to record an acoustic album of my new songs. It’ll be a test drive for the new studio. My first album.”
“Show me,” she said. I looked around the room, thinking she wanted even more details about what the space was going to look like.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “There’s nothing else to show. Just the lobby space, the hallway, and the studio spaces.”
“No,” she said, smiling at me. She crossed back to the front door, and I saw my guitar case sitting on the ground. She picked it up and held it out to me. “Show me.”
So, this was what she had in mind. I suddenly understood why she had asked me to bring my guitar along. The request felt intimate, and I had an initial instinct to say no. I had performed in front of hundreds and thousands of people, but an audience of one was much more intimidating. Especially in front of Darcy. But I pushed down those feelings and took the case from her.
I placed it on the ground and took out my guitar.
“Well, the studio will be about here,” I said. I crossed to an aisle that held dog food and other pet supplies. Darcy smirked, and I wondered if she would laugh about my surroundings, but she composed herself and stood a bit away, leaning against the shelf as she watched me.
I couldn’t think of what to play. I didn’t know what she was expecting from me. Should I choose one of the Horizon’s hit songs? They would sound very different on an acoustic guitar. I had a feeling it wasn’t what she was expecting after all this talk about my solo career.
And then, all at once I knew what I would play.
“This one’s not even finished yet. But it’s something I’ve been working on.”
“Great,” Darcy said. She was watching me with a straight face as if she were a music producer putting me through my paces at an audition. “And does it have a title?”
“A working title,” I said. “It’s called ‘Coming Home’.”
I saw the slight surprise on her face as I strummed the first chord on my guitar. These lyrics had been floating around in my head for days, though I hadn’t put them down on paper yet. But somehow I knew the song was almost finished, even though I had only composed it in brief moments of quiet when my mind was allowed to wander.
I closed my eyes, feeling too exposed with Darcy looking at me, and let myself disappear into the music. The chords that had only existed in my head sounded even better than I imagined, and suddenly I opened my mouth and allowed the lyrics to flow. I sang about long-lost memories in my hometown and seeing things differently through adult eyes. I sang about learning what mattered to me and the cost of fame. And then I sang about the “girl next door” who opened my eyes to what home really meant.
“It’s not finished,” I said, as I opened my eyes and looked back to her. I had worked out the chorus and the first few verses, but I hadn’t found the resolution yet. “I don’t know how the story ends.”
Her face was soft, and full of surprise. I could tell I had touched her, and I was glad she understood that this song was all about her and what she had done to me.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, as if she were fighting back tears.
“It’s about you, you know,” I confirmed. I wouldn’t let her think otherwise. I wanted her to know how much she meant to me, and I wouldn’t let her question that.
“I kind of got that,” she laughed. She moved closer to me and then her hand was on my face, forcing me to look into her eyes. She kissed me, my guitar pressed between us, and there was something celebratory and exciting in that kiss. I could see us here months from now, after the renovations were complete. I could see us locking up the studio late at night and making out in the hallways after everyone went home.
“What do you think?” I asked, pulling back from her. “Did I convince you?”
Her expression changed then, and I realized I had pushed too hard. I couldn’t rush her. I needed her to come to this decision all on her own. Darcy crossed away from me and went back to the front of the hardware store. She stared out of the floor-to-ceiling windows and took in the people walking down Main Street. The day was passing from afternoon to evening, and we stood and watched as people left work and locked up their shops to go home for dinner.
I stood next to her and stayed silent. I could be patient. I was starting to realize that I would wait for Darcy for as long as it took. I was starting to think that I had always been waiting for her.