Page 45 of Rock Me

"Yeah, thanks. Um, is there... um, is there something for me today?"

He smiles and hands me an envelope.

An envelope.

Not a wrinkle piece of hastily folded paper.

But an envelope.

I’m silent as I turn it over in my hands. Like it holds some sort of secret I’ve waited my whole life to uncover.

Robbie flicks the switch on the lamp by the bed, flooding me with light. “I'm just going to do a walk around. Hit me up if you want a chat." I tear my eyes away from my hands long enough to give him a weak smile as he leaves. He's barely out of the room before I rip the envelope open and pull the sheet of paper out of it, unfolding it to its largest form.

It’s blank.

Wait. What?

I flip the paper over. No, that can't be right. I turn back again.

It's blank. Completely blank.

What does this mean? What's he trying to say?

My heart sinks with disappointment. I don't know what I had expected, but it wasn’t this.

I'd been waiting all day, to see what his message was to me, to show me he understood me, knew me. And this is what he has for me. A blank page. A nothing. The story of two people who have never crossed paths, exchanged looks, words.

I scrunch up the paper and envelope and throw it hard across the room. Tears spring to my eyes and I don't know why. I'm angry, or sad, or hurt or lost. I wipe them away, brushing my fingertips hard against my wet cheeks but they keep coming.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I spit, over and over, as my hands wipe over my face again and again, the tears drenching the collar of my shirt.

But I don't know who's stupid. Him for making me feel this. Or me, for letting myself get into this position.

Fuck this.

I jump to my feet and grab my ukulele from its open case.

I don't care who sees me and I don't care who hears me

Who needs him? My chin tilts up in defiance. I had music before him, and I’m going to have it after him.

I storm out of my room and down the hallway into the family room, not bothering to pull the door closed behind me. I skid to a stop, right in the middle of the room. Like I’m center stage in a concert starring myself.

And I play.

It's not a song I've ever heard before, or a song I've ever played.

It's new and it's by me.

About this moment. This exact moment in time.

About all the exhaustion, the pain, the expectation, and the disappointment. All the waiting and the not knowing, and the confusion, and the excitement and the nothing.

It's all coming out now. The notes are fast and furious. My fingers become numb as they glide over the taut strings, chord after chaotic chord.

Will I remember what I played here tonight? Can I recreate it in the calm of my bedroom later to write down the notes on a pad?

Probably not. But I don't care. This isn’t about later. This is about now.