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I’m penetrating the wall!
I can’t stop wanting to squeal with happiness. I can feel that the animosity he’s held toward me is slowly dissipating, and since our breakdown downstairs, he’s finally talking to me! And without scowling, which is definitely an added bonus.
Last night, he let me run into the grocery store on the way home, and I picked up items to make enchiladas, chips, and homemade salsa. He sat at the kitchen island, and we talked about Avery’s wedding, both of our new albums we’re working on, and the renovations he made to the house. It wasn’t a lot of talking and there were some downtimes of quiet, but I didn’t mind. He said he loved the dinner, and I went to bed happier than I’ve been in longer than I can remember.
This morning, instead of him retreating into his office, he brought his guitar and a notepad out to the living room. He sat in the oversized armchair across from the couch, and he’s been working in front of me for hours. Mostly, it’s mumbled words and chords, but watching him create the magic that he does makes my already smitten heart even larger.
When I think about Avery, Cora, and myself, I know both of them love music in a way that is different from me. Avery is so unique with her ability to have perfect pitch, hearing things we will never hear, and for Cora, the cello was her punishment and then became her escape. It became her one thing that truly brought her happiness in a world where she couldn’t find any. As for me, playing the violin just became something I was good at.
I’m not sure why I am like this, sticking with what I know and remaining loyal, but I am. It’s not that I’m afraid to try new things; I’ve just always had the mentality that if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. I was good at the violin, so I ran with it. I like living in New York, so why move? I had years of a relationship with Justin, and I couldn’t fathom throwing that away. But when I applied my go-to mantra, it took me a long time to see it was broken. It is broken, broken in a way that made me tired of trying to glue us back together. Do I think relationships should be one hundred percent perfect? No, but even through my loyalty to him, he wasn’t loyal to me, and when I think about a lifetime, I know we both deserve better.
“Do you write all the songs for you and Ash?” I ask, curious to know.
His eyes pop up and land on me, and I instantly feel warmer. Today, he has on another pair of sweatpants that leave little to the imagination and a long-sleeved white shirt. His hair is messy, and he still hasn’t shaved. He looks comfortable in a way that makes me want to go over there and slide onto his lap.
It’s also warm in here because he has the fireplace going, I’m wrapped up in a super soft blanket on the couch, and I just finished my second cup of coffee. My laptop, violin, and phone are just sitting next to me because I’d much rather watch him.
“No. I do write a lot of them—it comes easier to me than it does to him—but when we’re together on the road, we co-write.”
On the road. I wonder if he misses being on the road. I kind of do, or maybe it’s just that I miss the days where the three of us were always together. I can’t help but wonder if he and Ash plan on going on tour again. Will Avery join him, or will she stay behind? Will she come home to New York, or will she stay at one of their houses? It’s not the first time I’ve wondered about these things. I just miss her. We went from living together for years to suddenly she was gone.
“We co-write our songs too,” I tell him. “It’s part of the reason why Avery and I lived together for so long.”
That and in general we loved living together. She was my person and I was hers, that is until Ash walked into her life and she never looked back. I think about Clay’s song “Sunday Afternoon”—actually I guess it’s Ash and Avery’s—and how he describes how love should feel. In many ways, hearing him sing that song was a wake-up call for me and I guess the cherry on top of the disaster of a cake I’d made, because I’m sure I never felt love like that for Justin, or him for me.
I mean really, what were we doing together?
“I’m excited about this new album,” he says as he looks down at his guitar, runs his hand over it, and then looks back at me. It’s easy to see the sense of peace the instrument gives him. The muscles in his face relax, his shoulders aren’t so tight, and he holds it like it has the answers to the world’s biggest questions. “Over the past couple of years, the label has had us using other people’s songs, and that’s kind of when the magic died. You remember when Ash did his disappearing act? Well it was after that when we had a long talk, and both of us were in agreement that we wanted to go back to our roots, to who we are. This next album is all us.”
“I think that’s amazing. Avery used to listen to your Blue Horizons albums all the time. There’s definitely a different feel to those than say the songs on your last album.”
“Yeah, those songs are something all right.” He chuckles in a self-deprecating way, and then his brows pop as he thinks of something and jots it down. “Will you play an A major chord for me?”
“Sure.” I love that he understands these things. Picking up my violin, I settle it under my chin and place my fingers. “Three or four notes?”
“Four,” he says without looking at me. Instead he closes his eyes. Starting with the two lower strings, I drag the bottom quarter of my bow across them, keeping it straight, and then I angle the bow for the top two strings to complete the drag. Moose’s head rises from where he’s lying on his bed, and he looks at me.
“Again, please.”
“Fast or slow?”
“Slow,” he says as he mumbles to himself, taking a deep breath, and I play the notes again. His eyes stay closed, so I play them again. And then again. And then again.
I do feel like after all these years, of all the instruments I could have played and can play, my heart always takes me back to the violin. There are over seventy pieces of wood put together to make it, and the bow can be made from wood, carbon fiber, or fiberglass. The difference is that the tone quality is directly related to the quality of the bow. Once I started learning how to truly execute the bow strokes on the strings, I finally understood the appeal as it is the perfect instrument for emotional expression. The violin can evoke happiness, lightness, and sadness. There’s a dark timbre to the sound, and if I were to play the same melody as, say, on the flute, more emotion would be drawn out of the listener from the violin.
But what I really love is the electric violin. It’s what I’ve come to use most of the time when we perform. Whereas a regular violin is hollow, this one is solid and needs to be connected to an amplifier to be heard. It does sound different; after all, one should expect that the resonating sound traveling through wires and technology is not the same as resonating through a hollow wooden body.
“Thank you,” he says as he fervently writes something down. I return the violin to its place next to me.
His back is to the window, but natural light is pouring in. Him and the lake, it’s such a beautiful scene, and I mentally take a picture, wanting to remember this moment for a long time.
“How do you do it?” I ask, hoping to keep him talking to me. “Everyone is different in their writing and creative styles. I find it so interesting.”
He takes a sip of water from a glass he has next to his notebook and then leans back in the chair, propping the guitar up against it as he thinks about my question. “Yeah, so for me it usually starts with one line.” He rubs his hands across his thighs, and the fabric of his pants pulls.
Those pants would be so easy to slip off.Gah, stop it, I chastise myself as he keeps talking.
“I’m sure like most musical artists, we’re always thinking and brainstorming, but that line will come to me just about anywhere at any time, and there’s this feeling I get telling me this is it, I need to expand it.”
