But now I didn’t feel afraid.
I think I resented O’Dea for that too. That a man like him could make me feel safe. It reminded me of Micah. Of having a man make me feel safe and yet horribly used at the same time.
By the time, I got out of the shower, I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to drop down in that beautiful king-sized bed and sleep the rest of the day. I used the toothbrush he gave me, first wincing at the painful stretch against my cut lips when I opened my mouth too wide, and then flinching against the vibration of the bristles. It had been so long since I’d used an electric toothbrush, it felt uncomfortably weird against my teeth. I had to dab fresh blood from my lip afterward.
But once I’d changed into clean underwear, jeans, and a hoodie, I’d made the decision that O’Dea was right. We’d struck a bargain and it was time to suck it up and fulfill my end of it.
He was on the phone when I stepped out. He gave me another head-to-toe once-over before he said, “We’ll discuss it when I get into the office. I have to go.” He hung up without saying goodbye. “You look marginally better.”
“I look like shit.” I shrugged and sat on the sofa. “Let’s get this over with. What do you want to hear?”
He sat down in the button-back chair looking ridiculously too tall and masculine for it. “All of it.”
“You’ve already heard a few of my songs.”
“I want to hear them again. But I also want to hear something new.” At my silence he continued, “Why don’t you start with the one about the moon and the stars.”
O’Dea referred to my song “Ghost.” It was one of my more upbeat melodies.
Looking away from him, out of the French doors to the river below, I prepared to sing. It felt weird starting the song straight into the lyrics because I loved my intro on the guitar to this one. This song, like quite a few I’d written over the past eighteen months, was a collision of perky sound and melancholic lyrics. “Ghost” had a folky, countrified riff and that was obviously difficult to capture without my guitar.
Still, I opened my mouth and began to sing, surprised my voice came out clear and true, despite the battering I’d taken the night before.
“The plane landed in Rome
And I shook off the past,
Oh, I hope it’ll last.
Then I hopped on a train to take me
From my name.
Oh, it’s gone now.
“Yeah, I’m a ghost,
Drifting coast to coast.
“I slept under the stars
Trying to make them my friends.
But just like a cleanse
They all wanted my amends.
So, I left them behind me
And turned to the moon.
For less gloom, yeah.
“’Cause now I’m a ghost,
Drifting coast to coast.
“The moon took me to Berlin
Where we started a fight
With the stars about light
’Cause they tried to shed some
Over all of the past
That I’d buried in Rome.
Oh, stop forcing me home!
“’Cause now I’m a ghost,
Drifting coast to coast.
Yeah, I’m a ghost,
I don’t wanna go home.
What is home,
But a grave left in Rome.
“I settled down in Glasgow
With the moon on my side.
And the stars they all died,
Withered under my will.
They couldn’t stand the chill.
But I can, yeah.
“You know I’m a ghost,
I’m not misdiagnosed.
Yeah, I’m a ghost,
I’m not misdiagnosed.
You know I’m a ghost,
And I ain’t ever going home.”
Without my guitar, my music, the song seemed short and ended awkwardly. I flushed, feeling vulnerable in a way I never felt when I was performing on the streets.
O’Dea gave me nothing. He merely demanded, “Another.”
And so I sang another.
“Are we done yet?” I asked as soon as I finished.
“I want to hear something I haven’t heard. Something even more real than all the others.”
My stomach flipped at the thought. “Those two were pretty personal.”
“I want more.”
Butterflies raged in my stomach, the song I felt was the most personal coming to mind. I wanted the audition over and I knew instinctively that this was the song that would end it. It wasn’t just the lyrics, it was the melody. I’d never once written a song and not questioned how great it was. There was always something about it that I wanted to perfect. But not this song. This song came from somewhere so deep inside me, it was me. The acoustic version was exactly how I wanted it to be, and I even knew how I wanted every aspect of it to sound with a band. I’d finished writing it only a few nights ago when my existence as one of the invisible had still felt like my only option.
Maybe I should have sung another, one of the songs I hadn’t quite finished. But O’Dea wanted to know what kind of artist I was right now, and this was me. Fucked-up, little old me.
“This one’s called ‘In the Wind’ . . .”
“No, I didn’t understand then
That your soul was part of mine and
When yours faded out
Mine broke down to dust.
“Oh, it blew into the wind and
I can’t find all the pieces
That used to be me—"
“I can’t,” I broke off, my voice cracking with emotion that embarrassed me. I covered my face with my good hand, flinching as my fingers touched the painful mess of my eye. Hiding from him, I tried to control my breathing, hating that he got to see me like this.
There was utter silence in the small apartment.
Then O’Dea cleared his throat and I heard the chair protest under his movement. “You need rest.”
Astonished at his soft words, I removed my hand from my face and stared up at him now standing as if to leave.
He stared at the floor, seeming unable to meet my gaze.
“I need my guitar,” I whispered.
O’Dea’s dark gaze flew to mine and I saw the puzzlement there.
“My mom gave it to me,” I reiterated.
Understanding dawned on his face. Everyone knew what happened to my mom.
“You need rest,” he repeated, proving that he could feel empathy after all. “Take today to get yourself together. Sleep, rest. Whatever. I put some fresh soup in the fridge so all you have to do is heat it up. There’s also plenty of water in there. Your painkillers are in the cupboard. I’ve left you what you need for tonight. I’ll bring the rest with me tomorrow.”
I scowled. “You don’t trust me with painkillers?” At his silence, I huffed. “Nurse Goddamned Ratched. You know what, screw your apparent ability to not be a patronizing pain in my ass. You just fuck it up by reverting to instinct. So let’s just do this.” I indicated the seat he’d stood up from. “I want this over with.”
And before he could reply, I started singing again.
“No, I didn’t understand then
That your soul was part of mine and
When yours faded out
Mine broke down to dust.”
Memories flooded me as I stared unseeing out the window, the lyrics, the music in my head, the feelings becoming everything until I forgot where I was and who I was with. I wasn’t singing to O’Dea. I was singing to her.
“Oh, it blew into the wind and
I can’t find all the pieces
That used to be me,
They’re lost in a sea.
“So I wander all alone now,
Numb in my remoteness,
Content to be
Lost in this sea.
“Just a whisper on a wave,
A lost ship that can’t be saved.
And it’s all that I deserve.
“Ah, ah, ah.
“Oh, I wish that I had told you
All the truths locked inside me,
Instead of cutting you out
Like a knife through our lives.
“So afraid that I would fail you
With these years that I’d lied through,
And now it’s too late
To tell you I’m sorry.
“I can hear your voice in my head.
Absolution that was never said.
Fingers sifting through wind,
Trying to pluck out the dust.
“It catches in the light,
Familiar fragments full of fight,
But they’re always out of reach.
“Ah, ah, ah.
“No, I didn’t understand then
That your soul was part of mine and
When yours faded out
Mine broke down to dust.
“It catches in the light,
Familiar fragments full of fight,
But they’re always out of reach.
“Ah, ah, ah.”