RUSH (City Lights, #3)(53)

“It’s better this way,” I muttered to myself. “I can’t take another hit.”

I should have been comforted by that fact. Instead, I just thought of his kiss, of his hands on my face, his words… To have the love of someone like you. I put my hand to my heart as if I could massage away the little ache that lived there.

I wandered to the second floor. I heard Noah above, in the office/gym room, lifting weights and then running on the treadmill at a speed I was sure wasn’t safe even for people who could see. That was part of his normal routine. Not so normal was what came after.

I was in the kitchen, making a snack when I heard the slow, methodical clacking of an old typewriter.

Noah’s typing? When he can’t see what he’s doing or read it after?

I thought of our conversation at Strawberry Fields. He liked to write. He’d been good at it. A sunburst of optimism dawned in my chest. This was something he could do and it sounded like he was willing to try. But not on a typewriter.

I raced down to my floor and powered up my laptop. It only took a minute to find software for the visually impaired that read screens, spoke typewritten words, and had all kinds of voice-activated bells and whistles. They could be used with braille keyboards or regular, and didn’t require special computers; they were compatible with anything.

And they were expensive. The best, that I could see, was $450. I’ll call Lucien tomorrow. I’ll show this to him. When was Noah’s birthday? Too far away. November 1st. A Scorpio. I scoffed with a smile. That explains a lot.

These thoughts raced through my head until a text from Melanie chimed on my phone.

Well? How did it go?

I frowned in perplexity and nearly texted her back: How did what go?

And then it hit me. The Philharmonic. The audition. I’d missed the audition. I’d forgotten all about it.

Chris’s voice echoed in my mind. “First Juilliard, then the Phil!”

Oh my god, how did I forget that audition? How did I let that kind of opportunity slip through my fingers?

My hands shook as I shut my laptop. I shut off my phone too, without answering Melanie’s text, and climbed into bed. Noah was right. I was squandering my time. I was meant to be singing with my violin, and if I didn’t at least try to find that voice, I might lose it forever. I had to rage against the dying of my own light, or else put my violin in a closet and never touch it again.

I vowed to tell him I needed to start looking seriously for a seat somewhere. Maybe I could still work here part time and they could charge me rent.

Or you could get serious and resign.

I bit my lip, and burrowed deeper under the covers. I hated the thought but didn’t Lucien say the best thing to do was rarely the same as the easiest? But did I have to choose?

I fell into a fitful sleep in which I dreamed I was playing on stage, alone, and the only person in the audience was Noah.

The following morning, I was on the third floor, dusting and airing out the unused guest rooms, and the office/gym. On the desk, was the typewriter I’d heard last night. Noah must have dug it out of some closet since I’d never seen it before. It was a classic, sleek and black with the word Corona etched in elegant gold along the front.

There was paper still tucked inside. With writing on it.

Don’t do it, I thought even as my feet brought me closer. I had to dust the desk; that was part of my duties. My eyes darted to the paper once, twice, then I sat down in the chair, drawn in by the words, typewritten perfectly despite Noah’s blindness. He must have been an excellent typist, from his Planet X days; not a ‘dumb jock’ at all, and here was the proof.

Chapter ?

Once, when I was in Peru, I hiked up to Machu Picchu, like everyone does. Only I didn’t trek up the puny little Huayna Picchu with four hundred other tourists. I hiked up the big one, Cerro Machu Picchu, some 1,640 feet high. Not the highest peak I’d ever climbed; not even close. Mt. Everest Base Camp has that distinction. But the Picchu wasn’t the easiest trek anyway: winding, steep paths and dense, sweltering cloud forest. It was summer time. December. December 25th to be precise. I arrived at the pinnacle alone, around three in the morning, and waited for the sun to rise. A Christmas present to myself.

I was on assignment for Planet X, and had my digital SLR at the ready. But when the first rays broke the eastern horizon, that $6000 camera nearly slipped out of my hands.

The light emerged first like a molten glow through a thick mist. I imagined a lost god, wandering the earth and holding aloft his lantern, searching, like I was, for something he would never find and not caring, because it was the journey that mattered. Always the journey. The thrill of discovery, of boundaries and edges, of new horizons.

The light grew brighter, spilled into the cracks and ravines of the surrounding mountains, and stained the sky in hues of violet, orange and gold.

I watched the light grow stronger, until it seemed all of Peru—all of the world—lay at my feet. The mountains, swathed in green, surrounded me on all sides, challenging me to climb up and over and see what lay beyond. The Urubamba River coiled through the greenery below like an albino snake, and the famous ruins were mere scratches against the mountain from my high vantage.

The beauty of it stole my breath and made my heart ache in a way I couldn’t explain. I got my wits about me enough to snap a few photos, but I didn’t want to see this unfold through a lens. I wanted to see it with my own eyes. Savor it. It wasn’t just a new day, it was the epitome of all new days, as if the world hadn’t existed until that light touched it, and then it was all mine.