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So the idea of doing just that, then falling into bed with one, then wanting to open my life up to one, well, it was hard to reconcile the old and the new me at times, I guess.
I figured that was mostly because things were new. Once I settled more comfortably, I would feel on steadier footing.
"It's been so long since I've been shopping," I admitted. "You know, aside from grocery shopping. Which I think we can all agree doesn't count," I added, moving back into the living area. "So, this is the couch where you said we could sit and binge watch TV," I commented, dropping down on it, reaching for my guitar.
"T-Told y-y-you i-i-it w-was b-big enough," he agreed, dropping down next to me, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, waiting.
For me to play.
I hadn't found much free time at the clubhouse around all his brothers and their women, always having someone to talk to - an entirely new phenomenon for me - so I hadn't been playing much. Just the one time when Cyrus was in the living room and his brother, for some reason or another, demanded he play some Michael Bublé. When Cy didn't play it - again for reasons that were going right over my head - I started. Cyrus eventually joined in.
It wasn't until after we finished our second song that I noticed Camden had come in from the yard where he'd disappeared with Virgin and Pagan, and was watching me very intently.
"Hey Cam?" I started as my fingers strummed.
"Y-Yeah?" he asked, rolling a crick out of his neck.
"Can we try something?"
"T-T-Try w-what?"
So, on one of the nights at the clubhouse when he'd been on a guard shift and I hadn't been able to sleep, I had grabbed my phone I had picked up in Cape May and started doing some searching around online.
About stuttering.
I was worried about doing it around him, or asking him about it. I didn't want him to feel insecure around me since he seemed to be making some progress in the comfort department. I just didn't really know much about it. I wanted to understand it better, to educate myself. Without having to use him as a source.
During all that searching, I had figured out something that had seemed pretty profound to me.
You couldn't stutter when you sang.
Apparently, when you sing, your tongue and mouth and vocal cords work differently than when you speak. There were also some theories about how there is no time pressure while singing and that since people knew songs by heart, there were no issues with word retrieval.
I couldn't help but wonder if his speech therapists as a child had worked on singing with him, if they had used that as a tool.
I probably could have asked. Camden had been nothing but open with me about his past. I worried, though, about bringing up old, buried pain. Sure, he had grown into a confident man, but he had once been an insecure boy picked on for talking differently. I didn't want to bring all that up to the surface again.
I figured this was a gentler way of seeing how he felt about being able to communicate something without hearing himself stutter.
"Will you sing with me?" I asked, turning my head to watch his reaction, hoping I didn't find annoyance or frustration or pain there.
All I found was confusion.
"Have you ever sung before?"
"F-F-Figure I d-d-did as a k-kid. D-D-Don't r-r-r-remember."
"Can we try?" I asked. And I didn't kneecap it. The urge was there. To say It's totally okay if you don't want to. I don't want you to feel pressured. It is just a little idea.
He didn't really want to. I could see the hesitation there. But I decided to let the question hang in the air, let him come to a decision.
"O-Okay. W-W-What s-s-song?"
I had asked him about songs just a couple days ago for this very reason. And out of the list of songs that had been really impactful to him that he'd given me, there was one that stood out amongst the rest.
"Hallelujah."
He'd been very specific about it too. He loved the emotion and voice in the Jeff Buckley version, but wanted the fifth and seventh verses from the original Leonard Cohen version.
I figured we could have the best of both worlds.
My fingers easily fell into the rhythm, and I watched as recognition hit.
"Join in whenever you feel comfortable," I told him before starting in on those first very distinct lyrics.
It took him a while to find the courage to do it.
That or he chose the part somewhat pointedly.
I didn't know.
All I knew was he finally joined in when the lyrics sang about love not being a victory march.
Just as the articles online predicted, he didn't stutter.
He also couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Which I found incredibly endearing as his voice gained some strength, likely emboldened by his own ease of communicating the depth of feeling he had connected to this song about loneliness and love and sex and religion, a song that was both a melancholic plea and a heartfelt exaltation.
