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“You really like her, huh?” Dax says.
I slide the strap of my bass over my head and shoulder. “I’ll put it this way, brother. For the first time, ever, I finally understand what inspired you to write ‘Fireflies.’”
Fourteen
Fish
Alessandra’s beautiful face is glowing on my laptop screen.
It’s our fourth date.
Our third on video chat.
And I’m in heaven.
I’m sitting on the bed in the guest bedroom at my mom’s house in Seattle—the two-story I bought for her last year, debt free, with an awesome view of Puget Sound. Alessandra is sitting on her bed in her bedroom in Boston. As usual, our conversation has been easy and lively. Sparks have been flying nonstop. At the beginning of our chat, Alessandra sang me her song, “Blindsided,” and, not surprisingly, it brought tears to my eyes. Everything about her melody and lyrics was honest and raw. And her voice on the song was alternately soaring and intimate.
After the performance, we talked—caught each other up on the past few days. Alessandra told me some of the cool stuff she’s been learning in that summer class. Since then, I’ve been telling her about today’s interview with Georgina for Rock ’n’ Roll.
“Sounds like the interview went fantastically well,” Alessandra declares.
“Didn’t Georgina already tell you about this stuff?” I reply. “Don’t you two talk every day?”
“Yes. But I wanted to hear the story from your perspective. I’m so excited to hear you thought the interview went as well as Georgie did. She was thrilled when I talked to her.”
“I think it helped our chemistry that we all got to hang out the night before at the Morgans’ for dinner. That helped break the ice, so that we were all loose and comfortable from the get-go during the official interview.”
“Georgie said the same thing!”
In truth, hanging out with Georgina on Thursday night was a blessing for more than the interview itself, because it gave me the chance to ask Georgina questions about Alessandra. To find out about what Alessandra was like as a kid. To hear stories that made me like Ally, that much more, if that’s possible. Before Thursday night’s chat with Georgina, I already knew Alessandra is a truly sweet person. Also, that Alessandra has a goofball side. But, after talking to Georgina, I gained a new appreciation of how difficult it was for Alessandra to lose her father. I figured that, obviously. Intellectually. But I’ve never lost a parent, and Alessandra doesn’t talk about it much, so I didn’t fully grasp Alessandra’s pain in that regard before Georgina explained it to me. Among other things, Georgina told me, “When I first met poor little Alessandra, she was like a little snail, after someone has sprinkled salt on her. Just curled into a little ball and hiding out in her shell.” Man, the stuff Georgie told me made me want to drop everything and hop a flight to Boston, if only to take Alessandra into my arms and tell her I’m proud of the woman she’s become.
“Whoa. Is that the cover of The Violet Album on the wall over there?” Alessandra asks.
“Yeah. My mom made this guest bedroom into a shrine of me and the Goats. All our albums are framed on the walls.”
“Oooh! Gimme a tour of the shrine!”
“Careful what you wish for.” Laughing, I get up and walk slowly around the room, showing Alessandra the various items of memorabilia crowding the walls, dresser, desk, and bookcases.
“Go back to the desk!” she commands.
I aim my laptop and pan across the slew of framed photos there.
“Is that a photo of you and your mom on a red carpet?”
“Yep. I took my mom to the American Music Awards a couple years ago.” I show Alessandra the photo in close-up, and she “oooohs” and “aaaahs” and compliments my mother’s dress. “My band was nominated in a couple categories that night,” I say, “but we didn’t win anything. Fuckers.”
Alessandra laughs. “You were sweet to take your mom as your date.”
“That wasn’t me being sweet. That was me having no other options.”
“Are you close with your mom?”
“We’re close now. But if you went back in a time machine to when I was fifteen and all I wanted to do was make music with my best friends, skateboard, and smoke weed, you’d find a mother who was beyond exasperated with her fuckup of a son. She constantly told me back then, ‘You’re never going to be able to support yourself if you don’t get serious about school, Matthew!’”
“Well, damn. You showed her, didn’t you?”
“Yep. As it turns out, skateboarding after school every day, smoking a blunt, and then hanging out making music in your best friend’s garage until bedtime, is a perfectly valid way to set yourself up for success in life.”
She laughs uproariously, and so do I.
Laughing, I say, “When I say it like that, I realize I really have won the lottery. What are the odds?”
