Page 46 of Rebel Moon

11

KNOX

Istarted writing songs when I was sixteen years old. From that point on, there wasn’t much that had happened in my life that hadn’t been captured in a song. I’m not saying all of them were good, but one thing I knew for sure. They let me process whatever life had thrown my way.

So here I was in my cabin, confined because of my blasted ankle and slightly losing my mind about the way Madeleine and I had left things between us. So I reached for my guitar.

I’d had a phrase rattling around in my mind since my visit with Luci. Hobbled for the Holidays. I’d said it would be a good title for a Christmas song in jest, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. For one thing, it described me perfectly. Not only was my ankle sprained, I felt emotionally hobbled as well. Everything that had gone down the last few days had ripped me wide open, and I had no idea what to do about any of it.

Songs often came to me first as a title, kind of a North Star so to speak. When that happens, I ask myself, whose story is it? What is the story and the twist? Finally, what’s the emotional payout? Other times, the melody came to me first. Sometimes I even woke up with some notes playing in my head.

Today, it was the title. I could go one of two ways. Make it funny. Poor guy’s hobbled in his room while everyone else is out having a grand time. Or, delve deep into the truth of what it truly means to be emotionally hobbled.

I picked up a pencil.

This Christmas I asked Santa for someone sweet

And full of spice

Instead I’m stuck in a hotel suite

With my ankle packed in ice

There's an ache under the joke, the little hook that tells us this isn’t going to be a happy Christmas song. That's the trick of a song like this. You make the listener laugh and then you make their chest ache. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just funny. Is is Christmas after all.

I played it through, humming, finding the shape. Wrote a line I crossed out. Wrote another one.

I closed my eyes, replaying yesterday afternoon on the mountain, screaming and laughing our heads off as we roared down the hill. I’d felt young and free. And happy. Maybe even at home next to Madeleine, with her hair sticking to my cheek and my arms around her waist.

Madeleine had not been known to me. Not for ten years. Because of my insecurities and the way I always chose suspicion and anger before trust and compassion. All this time I’d been running as far from my dad as possible, yet I’d become him anyway. This whole thing with Madeleine was on me. I was the one who had painted her in a dark light when the opposite was true. She’d stuck her entire self out for us because she believed in our music. Who did that?

Madeleine, that’s who.

The song came fast after that. It always does when it's right. The chorus arrived nearly whole. Probably a gift from Gramps.

Instead I’m hobbled for the holidays

Paying for my lovesick haze

I smiled to myself as verse four poured out of me. The last chorus and tag came to me.

Yeah, I’m hobbled for the holidays

Still lost in my lovesick haze

I put the pencil down and played it all the way through. Wouldn’t win any prizes most likely but the tune was catchy, if I did say so myself. Jack’s voice would make it shine.

Outside my window, the lights were on in her cabin. Gold behind the curtain. Fifteen feet of snow between us. And me too hobbled to go get her.

One of the staff brought dinner for me. A bit later, Luci stopped by to see how I was doing. She took of the bandage and said I was healing surprisingly fast.

I was growing a little stir crazy by then and had decided to brave the icy paths to the bar when there was another knock on the door.

“Knox, it’s me.”

Madeleine.

“Yeah, come in. It’s open,” I called out from the chair.