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After dropping beside him, I fire up the computer and open the music app. It should take longer than it does to find the playlist, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t listened to it since my crushing teenage self compiled a collection of everything Tristan Haverford. Truth is, I listened just a few months ago. Okay, maybe it was a few weeks. Or days, whatever. That’s not the point.
I start the first song and he sucks in a quick breath.
“How…?”
My smile leaks out at the shock on his face. His own smile grows with each passing second, and I’ve never been so glad I didn’t delete a file in my life.
“This is my song. You still have it?”
“I have them all,” I say, turning my screen so he can see the list of seven titles.
“I… wow.” He blows out a breath. “I can’t believe you kept those. I figured you’d erase as much of me as you could after what I did to you. And then after, you know…” His voice trails off, and my humor fades.
“Never,” I say. “Your music was amazing. Nothing you ever do or say will change that.”
I don’t know what he’s thinking when he looks away, but when his fingers tighten around an imaginary object, I can’t help but picture a guitar on his lap. Growing up, I almost never saw him without one. He probably felt so lost without it in prison. Why does that thought hurt so much?
“Did you get to play at all while you were… at Burlington?” I can’t get myself to say “locked up.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Some prisons have music programs, but SCI Burlington doesn’t.”
I swallow and nod, not sure what to say next. I finally settle on, “I bet you’re dying to play again.” I force a tight smile but he doesn’t return it.
“I was at first,” he says quietly.
“But you’re not now?”
He picks at the fabric of his sweatpants. “It’s pointless. It only took two days to learn everything is pointless. This is what I am now.”
“And what’s that?”
“I don’t even know.”
The desolation in his voice stings as I study this strong, chipped shell of a person. His hands tighten on his knees when he gets lost in some distant place again. I don’t know where it is but I know he doesn’t belong there.
“Well, I know one thing you’renot,” I say, pulling his gaze back to me.
“And what’s that?” A tiny curve tugs at his lips.
“A good dishwasher.”
His smile breaks, and maybe I see the slightest spark flicker to life.
