Twenty-six
TWENTY-SIX
Bea
I called through the curtain. “Did you get a video of American Pie’s ride tonight?”
“I’m watchin’ it right now.”
“Oh! I want to see, too!” I shimmied into my pajamas, cursing the fact that this particular rodeo had no bath house, and I’d be going to bed sticky from a day in the sun. I ripped the curtain back and knelt beside Tag’s spot in the passenger’s seat.
He started the video again as I leaned over the arm of his chair, taking note of how close Tag’s face was to mine. The last three days, I’d existed with a painful moment-by-moment awareness of him. If I thought he was handsome the night I arrived at Meadowbrook, getting reacquainted had done nothing but dump fuel on that opinion.
And last night was a match to soaked kindling. Over dinner, he had talked to me. Really talked to me. Now, I felt tingly, breathless, and confused as feelings ravaged my heart. I found myself seeking out his eyes, craving his shy smile, and hoping he was watching me.
The rodeo tonight was short-go broncs only and the competition was fierce. Scores all around were high. There were a few wrecks. The cowboys were top notch. Prizes were doled out. The experience was euphoric, especially after three of Meadowbrook’s horses came out with champion scores. Of course, American Pie scored a ninety-one. Tag was ecstatic.
We watched her video on repeat, Tag commentating the entire time. Eventually, I stood and rubbed the dust off my knees. When I straightened, Tag’s gaze slid down the front of me, lingered on a few places, then snapped back to my face. My pajamas were blush pink silky shorts and a tank top.
He looked away, out the front window, as his fingers restlessly fiddled with his phone. His throat pulled with a visible swallow.
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Tag thought I looked good in these, didn’t he?
I said, “I guess I’m going to head to bed.”
“Sounds good.”
“I brought Glory.”
He nodded once. “I saw that.”
“You mind if I try and play her?”
His eyebrows lifted as he looked back to my face. “Go right ahead.”
A few minutes later, I stretched out on top of the quilt. The curtain was drawn. I propped Glory across my lap in the darkness. A soft tick-tick-tick sounded as Tag moved his seat into recline position.
I took a deep breath and let my fingers find her strings. The light metallic squeak sent a chill down my spine. I loved the sounds a guitar made when no one was playing it. I strummed my thumb down one string at a time, tuning her.
“Any requests?”
A long silence. Then, “Play what you hear.”
I huffed as emotions immediately grabbed my throat. I’d only told a couple people in my entire life that I sometimes hear music where there is none. Like a pulsing in the atmosphere. The inaudible music would crush me until I played and sang along. And when I sat down to write a song, that pulsing music was what poured onto the page. People and their stories brought that out in me. Sometimes, I felt like I heard their personal heart’s song. When I was young, I’d called it “the music of souls” and joked that my special power was to hear and “play people.”
The memory brought tears to my eyes. It was a very intimate thing for Tag to bring up. I tried to make it light. “Funny you remembered that.”
“I believe it.”
I huffed loud enough for him to hear.
“You don’t?”
“It was silly. I was a kid who was overly inspired ninety percent of the time. The truth is, I’m not sure people have inner songs.”
“Maybe you only stopped hearin’ them.”
“Yes.” I whispered. “I did.”
He waited a few moments. “Why?”
“I wish I knew. Maybe I…nevermind. I don’t really know.”
“Bea.”
“What?”
“Finish your thought. I wanna listen.”
I took a deep breath and sighed, mentally processing as I talked. “I think music becoming my livelihood changed my relationship with it. It’s hard not to think about money and fans and wonder what people will think of a song instead of just playing the ones stirring in my chest. Sometimes the ones inside me feel too…raw. So I dumb them down or don’t play them at all…and I don’t know. Maybe ignoring that music made me deaf to it.”
“That sucks.”
“It really does.” I swiped a silent tear off my cheek. “But I did it to myself.”
“I get it though. Passion versus income. Makin’ what you love how you live changes the game.”
“Yeah.” My voice was barely audible.
A few long beats of silence passed as I sat there, dumbly and silently wracking my brain for a song to play.
“It’s in you. Don’t doubt that.” He took a deep inhale like he was going to speak, but didn’t for a few long moments. When his voice finally eked out, it fell like a snowflake, soft and quiet, on my heart. “When we met, you played me.”
The ceiling blurred in my vision, and I squeezed Glory to my chest, pushing words around the lump in my throat. “Did I?”
“I needed to remember there was good in the world. I needed hope, Bea. And every single thing you played sounded like hope to me.”
A tear leaked down my cheek and into my hair.
“Did you—hear a song that night?”
“Yes.” I mindlessly strummed the pad of my thumb down on open strings.
“Tonight’s not about money or impressin’ anyone. Just enjoy it.”
I sniffed and lifted the edge of the quilt to wipe the moisture off my face. When my hands found Glory’s strings, I didn’t feel it. I didn’t hear anything special. I didn’t even particularly enjoy myself. I didn’t get swept away into the emotions of the moment. I just ran through songs until my palms ached and my callouses burned.
Song after song after song.
My hand, heavy with sleep, slipped off the frets and hit the bed. I readjusted, powering through one or two more bars until my breathing deepened and my closing eyes sealed me in darkness.
A few minutes later, shuffling pulled me up from the deep. Glory lifted from my chest. The snap latches on her case sounded submerged—like someone pressed a hand against them to mute their metallic click . A quilt wrapped around me. Gentle fingers skimmed down my hair.
Then Tag’s seat squeaked as he settled back into it.
Even as sleep dragged me back into oblivion, my chest filled to bursting.
He didn’t request a song. Everyone requested a song.