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It’s been years since I cracked it open. The last entry, in messy, blunt writing, is that of a child’s:
BLACK BALLOON - GOO GOO DOLLS
My fingertip brushes over the words, and I smile to myself, reading the messy fractured lyrics I’d written down just above it. And suddenly, I’m thrown back to the moment I remember hearing it…
I was in the backseat of Ray’s Subaru with Jeremy. We were on our way to our first ever Comic Con, the big one in New York, a joint birthday gift from his parents and my mom, seeing as our birthdays are a little over three weeks apart.
His dad took us, and we dressed as our favorites—me as Captain America, and Jeremy as Spider-Man.
We’d just turned eight. I’d been living in Shiloh for a year and a half at this point. Been what the Montgomery’s affectionally called their third son for about that same amount of time…
“What are you doing?” Jeremy asks when I pull out my journal and a pen. Neither of us are wearing our masks right now, just our bodysuits.
I look up at Jeremy and grin. “The song. I’ve never heard this one.”
Something sparks in his eyes, as if remembering I do this sometimes.
He’s quiet as I bop my head along, chasing and mouthing the words I hear as I jot them down, trying to catch them fast enough to get as much as I can on paper. When the chorus wraps up, and it breaks into a guitar solo, I look back up at Jeremy and say, “I just don’t want to lose it.”
He smiles and nods again, like he understands exactly what I mean. Then he tells me, “It’s called ‘Black Balloon’.” He says it so quietly, I almost miss it. His cheeks redden and he ducks his head shyly. “It’s by The Goo Goo Dolls.”
My eyes widen, and my smile grows real big. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs, and flits his gaze between my face and the journal in my hands, but says nothing.
I realize I didn’t even think to just ask him—or Ray, who’s chuckling up front. I’m just so used to writing the lyrics to songs down…
Not all of the lyrics, but enough, just in case.
I like having them scribbled all over the pages of my journal. Like the words are for me, and just me alone…
Maybe one day, I’ll make my own songs, and someone else will have them scribbled all over their journal…
Back in my room, I pop the cap off my pen with my teeth, and flip the page, bringing the ballpoint to the page, letting it hover just a hairsbreadth away.
Wetting my lips, I let the melody in my head take shape.
Maybe…
Maybe I can’t find it, because it doesn’t exist yet.
Frowning, I glance over at my keyboard laying on the floor, sheet music spread out around it. Sliding off the bed, I walk over on my knees to where it rests, and let my fingers find the keys I’d recreated the song on earlier with Izzy.
No, I think as I jot the notes down in my journal.
This has to already exist.
It’s definitely not mine.
At the top of the page I write a big question mark and circle it.
I’m just about to close it, when a word comes to mind.
Triggering an image…
No, not an image. A memory.
My hand moves, drawing words.
