Love Songs & Other Lies(12)
“Happy Tuesday, Nonni! It’s VA Day!”
VA Day? Is this some sort of weird holiday? For veterans? How do I not know this?
Her voice is so bouncy and light. Is she just one of those people who gets peppy and loud around old people? The nursing home makes me whisper, like there’s a sleeping person around every corner. Which is sort of true.
The poster I found at school today is lying on the food-cart-turned-desk. MELON BALLERS is written across the top and a black-and-white picture of a band is stretched across the center. I don’t recognize anyone in the grainy photo, despite having paid extra-careful attention throughout the day. It was wishful thinking, really—it’s hard to tell if there’s even a girl in the picture. The poster says:
WE NEED YOU!
IN OUR BAND
GUITAR PLAYER NEEDED ASAP!
At the bottom there’s an email address, phone number, and a name: Anders.
The room is quiet, and then the squeal of a metal chair being dragged along the stone floor cuts through the silence. Something bumps into the dividing curtain, sending it fluttering toward my knees. My heart sinks in my chest. She’s going to find me. The fabric brushes against my legs.
Then nothing. Silence.
I think maybe she left, until I hear the unmistakable twang of fingertips on metal and chords begin to fill the room. Her guitar. My own guitar had been sitting in my closet—untouched for months—until last night. I pulled it out to learn the song she played. Then I just kept going, for hours. I actually have two guitars—an acoustic Fender Dad gave me for my tenth birthday and a red Gibson that I bought right after I moved to Riverton. With my blood money. The same money that pays for my apartment. For everything.
The sound filling the room is rich and comforting. Every note is precise as her voice joins in with the music. It’s nothing but a whisper at first, then grows louder and stronger as the song goes on. It’s beautiful. Strong but gentle; and somehow her voice conveys so much more emotion than the lyrics alone ever could.
Push me, pull me,
take me or leave me …
the way I am, can’t be like them.
Under the lens, out of the box,
waiting to explode
tick tick tock boom.
Push me, pull me,
it’s over once you hold me.
Tick tick tock boom.
Her voice trails off and the last note hangs in the air. It feels thick and heavy, like the words are still trapped in the small room with us. If I felt guilty before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel after hearing her sing. It’s so personal. I might as well have opened her diary and flipped through the damn pages. I didn’t deserve to hear that song and I feel more than a little guilty now. I’m a creep.
“You should play it,” Evelyn says.
I wonder if it’s one of her band’s songs. If she’ll play it at their bar gig next weekend.
“I just did.” She pauses. “For you.”
“Not for me. You should play it for someone else. Anyone else.”
“I can’t, Nonni. Someday … maybe.”
“Someday will be here before you know it, Ginny. Eventually we all run out of tomorrows.”
True story, Nonni.
“I know. I’m just not ready. It’s not ready, it needs more work.” Her voice is so soft, I wonder if she’s crying. “The second verse is still shaky.”
The second verse was tight.
“And there’s something off with the bridge.”
It was perfect.
The mood has changed drastically, her raucous, bouncing laughter from earlier gone now. The girl who was here yesterday was electric. Fierce. The girl I picture now is fragile and soft around the edges. I want the ringing laughter that cleared my head and made me forget.
Playing my guitar has always made me feel free. Playing hers seems to be making her crazy. That song was perfection—what could possibly stop her from playing it for someone? It can be fixed, whatever it is. People underestimate how many things are capable of being fixed. There are so few things in life that are actually final. Just death. And I’m pretty sure she isn’t dying.
Conflicts: Stage fright?
“It will never be perfect,” Nonni says. “You just need to get out there. Take some risks. It’s your senior year, Ginny. Have fun.”
“Nonni—”
“Shush. I know you think you’ll have time for everything later. And you will. But I want you to do things now. I want you to put yourself out there.” There’s a long moment of silence. I can hear everyone breathing and I swear they must be able to hear me, too. Every muscle in my body is tensed. I’m afraid to make the slightest movement.
“I want that too. I—I wish I could, but—”
Evelyn doesn’t let her finish. “I want you to do something for me.” Her voice is pleading. “Will you?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“I want you to promise me.” Evelyn’s voice is firm, determined.
“Sure. Yes, of course I will.” She sounds nervous, filled with anticipation.
“I want you to say yes.”
I have no idea what she means, and it seems that Ginny is just as confused, because the room is silent.
“Say yes to what exactly?” Ginny asks.