Content Warnings: depression, anxiety, mild cursing93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlLNxLZkwUk
We pull into her driveway, and I don't want her to go. The seat belt hangs limply at her side, and she's reaching for the door. I don't know what's going through me, but I am unbuckled, leaning across the center console, my hands holding her in place. A single breath passes between us before she closes the distance. The car feels too small for the emotions rushing through us, and as I reluctantly pull away, I am jump-scared by the shadow of her father standing in the frame of the passenger window. I sink into my seat, embarrassed to have been caught, yet frustrated that it had to end.
She smiles apologetically at me. While I want her to kiss me goodbye, I have a feeling that the last one would have to be it. I can't get the words out, and neither can she. So, we are silent as she slips out of my car, pressed forward by her father, who shoots disapproving looks in my direction. I know I shouldn't, but I smile smugly at him, and the disapproval turns murderous. I am cackling as I pull out of her driveway and carefully navigate home. The road turns bumpy, and I pray that the old car doesn't dislocate an axle or something of the sort.
I safely park my car in the grand driveway of my father's house and make my way in, knowing he isn’t going to care where I've been the last two hours.
"What do you mean he's missing?" Marion shouts.
My father's nonchalant attitude has peeved his latest attempt to replace my mother. "He's a teenage boy; he can handle himself."
I take this moment to step into the foyer, "Hey." I wave up to her.
"Where have you been, Jake?" She is stern, and her anger seems more directed at my father than me.
Just because it is so much easier than having to engage with her, I head to my room in the basement, calling, "Out!"
I can hear the reaction to this response as I descend the stairs, her voice rising in pitch and volume, resembling an angry hen. I turn on the LEDs and throw myself at my bed. Turning on my phone, Melody’s left me a message. Her father wants to ground her, but I got her back by curfew. So she now has an earlier curfew; he never told her directly “no kissing,” and this is the punishment. I laugh because that seems way too lenient a 'punishment'. She must have done some real schmoozing to wear him down and keep her phone. So, back by 7:30pm now, not 9pm...
It's going to suck not having her at my band rehearsals, let alone an actual show, but I'll take whatever I can get. I scroll through my phone until I eventually fall asleep.
The lunch room is a ruckus, and I am probably making it worse, but I am not getting down from this table until she says, 'Yes!'... or no... the anxious voice in my mind mutters. I shake it off and wait for her answer; her jaw is dropped, and I can't tell if she is going to laugh or cry. She does both, and I am rejoicing, fist-pumping to the applause and cheers of the lunch room as Melody whispers an awestruck, "Yes." I jump off the table and take her in my arms, kissing her head until she shoves me away, 10 this time. I smile, I'll make it more next time.
I shift my attention to Zeke, who stupidly dared me to do my dance proposal from the table, "Your turn, buddy!" Zeke huffs in indignation. Lay off... the voice says. My smile seems harder to hold onto, and I guide Melody to the seat next to mine and open my bag.
The banter has begun between my friends and bandmates, but I can only focus on Melody, who is at my side, leaning her head on my shoulder. I’m distracted by this and don't catch what she says, but Zeke's face is redder than a lobster, and the rest of the guys are cracking up. "Dude, you're gonna let her say that to me?"
I don't let her say anything; it's not my place. "Yeah, dude, whatever, you probably deserved it." I fix my attention on the packed sandwich, but I guess I misjudged how fed up Zeke is.
"That's it, dude, I'm done. I'm not taking bullshit from you, her, or anyone else. You were supposed to be my friends, but you're just a bunch of assholes. Find a new fucking bassist, I'm out!" He picks up his tray and leaves in a hurry.
I go to get up, and the other guys are calling out, "It was just a joke, Zeke! Grow a pair, jeez!" but he's already gone. It's your fault... the voice says. You didn't defend him. What a bad friend you are.
I look down at Melody, "Hey, what did you say?"
"Oh, well, he had been complaining about not having a girlfriend because he's surrounded by whores. I told him it takes one to know one. I didn't think he'd take it so personally." She seems to feel guilty for his outburst, and I rub her back.
"He shouldn't have been talking about our fans like that anyway," Aaron says. "You were right, he got what he deserved. He'll fuss about it for the next week, which will be insufferable, since we need all the practice we can get on our next song before the next gig. But it'll right itself, you'll see."
We all eat in silence during the rest of the lunch period, not sure how to continue after everything that just happened. I can't even think of eating the food in front of me. I slide the snack cake over to Melody, and she happily takes it. She offers me pieces, but I refuse, content to just watch her eat. As lunch ends, Melody leans over to me, "Senior parking lot, 3:55." I smile, unsure what for, but ready to oblige.
I spot her car, now reparked, and she is sitting on the hood, a delicate flush to her cheeks from the wind. I rush over to her, eager for the surprise. What if it's a fight? The voice utters. Something grips my chest, and now I'm impatient, ready to end this uncertainty. Her responding smile tells me all is good, "What's up, babe?"
"I figured what my dad doesn't know won't kill him." There is mirth in her eyes, and she surprises me by kissing me. "I will kiss you as much as I want to, thank you very much." She feels warm under my hands, and she leans forward again, this time inviting me to take the next step. I hold off for just a moment, and before her face completely falls, I smirk and kiss her. "What the heck?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to prove something to myself." I brush my thumb down her cheek, it's soft like a peach's skin.
She looks indignant, "And what is that?"
"That you really want to kiss me, but not as much as you want me to kiss you." She playfully smacks my chest and turns away. I grab the sides of her face and see the beautiful blush that has eclipsed her features in a delicate rose hue. "I'm really glad you agreed back there." I peck her on the nose and let go.
She rubs her nose, "Why wouldn't I, Jake? I love you." My heart feels like it is soaring and, simultaneously, falling off a cliff. 'Love', why does this word feel terrifying? Because you don't deserve it, the voice hisses.
"Melody, you can't mean that." I run my hand through my hair. Why are you saying this? Do you want her to leave you? You're going to end up alone. It's what you deserve. The voice is rapidly twisting me in its words, wickedly.
Her expression turns angry, "Yes, I do. I am old enough to know my own feelings, and so are you. I am not afraid of them. I love you, today, tonight, and tomorrow."
I laugh, "I see, at least the spell will be over by tomorrow." But the voice has made my nerves raw and tension builds in me thinking about her tomorrow no longer loving me.
"Jake, I'm being serious. I was being metaphorical with the tomorrow part, but I am not leaving you. I am here for you, and I will be with you at the Homecoming dance. Don't make me regret saying 'yes'." She is stern, and I don't want to fight. She's right, and I don't want to dig a deeper hole for myself.
"Sorry. So, why here in the parking lot?" I ask.
"Well, before you told me I can't love you, I was going to invite you to my place to study after spending some quality time away from my father's murderous gaze." Her arms and legs are crossed, closing me off.
I messed up, "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean it like that. I want you, too. Forgive me?"
She looks up at me, and my hope swells as the defensive pose drops. She lowers her head and looks up at me through her lashes, and it does something to me. I kiss her, hoping to erase my mistake with my tongue.
I wait in the foyer of her house; her father is staring daggers at me, but I keep my gaze on the stairs as she comes down. What if she doesn't come down? What if she changed her mind? The first thing I see are her heels, green to match the dress. I am holding a corsage for her, and as I catch the sight of her entirely made up, I am pleasantly surprised that she can look prettier. She deserves better...
I place the corsage on her wrist and notice it is perfumed. In an act of defiance towards her father, I kiss her knuckles before releasing her corsaged wrist. His face is contorted in some kind of dutiful-parental-glare, but for some reason, he seems kind of pleased by the action. Her mom comes down the stairs, "Daniel! You didn't take the picture of her going down the stairs!" She swats at him and takes the camera from his hands.
"It's okay, Mom. It's a cheesy, overdone thing anyway. I don't want us to be late, so can we just take a picture like this?" She grabs my elbow and pulls me close.
Her mom nods and snaps the picture. "Alright, you kids, go have fun!" She looks like she is about to cry... It's a look very similar to how Marion stared at me as I left today.
I drive us to the dance, and the voice seems to be louder than usual. It speaks quickly and in a constant low cadence that is distracting. Is Melody comfortable? I turn up the heat. Why isn't she looking at me? I must have done something wrong. It's too warm in here. I turn the heat down.
"Hey, Jake, are you okay?" she looks me over.
"Yeah, I'm great, why?" I smile, and it feels awkward.
Her eyes narrow, "You've been fiddling with the temperature like a madman."
"Sorry." I grip the wheel and try to keep my mind clear. I park and swivel my head. "Don't get out yet." I jump out of the car and open the door for her; she seems giddy.
I hold my elbow out for her, and she takes it, closing the car door with her hip. I lock it and pocket the keys. "Let's go," she says. And we stride to the door. I have the tickets, right? I reach into my other pocket and find them, releasing the breath I didn't know I was holding. I hand the tickets over, and they rip them in half, returning the other half.
"Can I have mine? As a keepsake?" Her eyes are longing, and I hand them both to her. She slips them into her purse, and we move forward to the photo stand. It is a blur as we are posed, and the light flashes, and we are sent onward without an extra second to look over the raw file. Did I smile? She smiles at me, and I push it down.
In the gym, they have done everything possible to transform it with balloons, streamers, and table favors. They have dimmed the light and installed a disco ball. There are lights from the theater hung up on booms in the corners to give the room an ambiance. The DJ on the other side seems to be having the time of his life putting on family-appropriate mixes of Baha Men's Who Let the Dogs Out to less family-appropriate choices, like Push It by Salt-N-Pepa.
I see the gang, and Zeke is with everyone. He's still put out with me, but he doesn't leave when I walk over. We chat about the last gig, when Melody tugs on my hand, I pull her in and kiss her hair, "In a minute, babe." I let her go and focus back on the guys. She walks away as we continue chatting.
The guys have decided to try to sneak the balloons out of the dance and leave them in different teachers' classrooms. I look for Melody, and she is on her phone with a frown on her face. I did it again, she's mad at me. "Hey, babe, what's wrong?"
"You missed my favorite song." She's pouting, and I'm at a loss. I don't even know what song that was.
"I'm sorry, babe, can I make it up to you somehow? We can dance now." But as I listen to the song that's playing, it is not one either of us would want to dance to.
She shakes her head, "No, I think I just want to go home." She looks at her feet.
I grab her hands, "I don't want tonight to end like this, you were looking forward to tonight. Don't let me ruin it, please."
She shrugs, "I danced with Stacey and Ella. And it was fun. I just didn't get you most of tonight, I thought that's what this was for." You idiot.
"Come on," I grab her hand and lead her to the parking lot. "What song was it?"
She's trying to keep up, and in the rush, she stutters, "Uhh, Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright."
I am already typing the name of the song into my search bar and pulling up the video. I will my data to work tonight, so that she can have this one moment not poisoned by my stupidity. I have it pulled up by the time we reach my car. "Wait here." I leave her for a moment to turn on my car and plug my phone into the audio jack. I turn the speakers up all the way, not caring now if they get damaged; this is for her.
Then I hit play, the piano begins to play, and I roll the windows down, closing the door gently. The look she gives me is a mixture of gratitude and amusement. I take her by the hand and pull her to me, "Will you dance with me?"
Her smile grows, and tears slip from her eyes, then we dance. It is a slow swaying rhythm that grows in intensity as we spin under the street lights. In this moment, I don't know that I have ever seen something more beautiful. Her skin glows as she gracefully floats around me. She, in this moment, is sacred, and the words fall from my lips, "I love you, Melody."
I pull her closer to me, my only thoughts bent on worshiping her thoroughly. This heavenly body, somehow more celestial under the brilliance of the streetlights. My lips start at her ear, and I kiss her along her jaw, hot and feverish until I reach her lips. I try to spell "I love you" with my tongue, and I embrace her tightly. The next words come just as fast, "I love you, today, tonight, and tomorrow. I will hold you like this until tonight, do us part."
Her eyes are steady on mine, and after a moment, she kisses me; it's tender and soft, nothing feverish or desperate behind it. Breathing fast as we pull apart, she whispers into my chest, "Until tonight do us part."
The song has ended, and people are starting to leave the school and head to after parties. Instead, I will take her straight home, like I promised her father. Opening the passenger door for her, she takes her cue, settling while I restart the car, roll up the windows, and roll out.
She wanted to dance with me inside, but now she has to remember a parking lot dance, how pathetic. She's here out of sympathy. The voice is incessant, and I am fighting to keep my focus on the road. You only think of yourself; that's why Zeke can't stand you. I glance over, hoping Melody's face could restore a fraction of calm, but her eyes widen, and when I look back at the road, it's too late. I swerve to avoid the other car, and we veer off into the surrounding woods. Everything is a blur, and there's her screaming, then everything stops.
I hear a steady, slow beeping noise as I wake up. The ceiling is white and clinical. I roll my head to the side and see my father; he jumps up and rushes to my bed, pushing a button. His hands brush my hair back, relief evident in his features. "That was quite a scare, I'm glad I didn't lose you too." He holds my hand as a nurse comes in.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but we want to ask some questions if we can," the nurse says. Behind him is a woman in a white coat with glasses.
"Good morning, I'm Dr. Young, the in-house psychologist. I need to evaluate the patient, and you may not want to hear these answers, sir. I recommend you wait outside. We will fill you in when we have conclusive information." She walks in authoritatively and places her computer onto the counter. My father reluctantly lets go of my hand and leaves me with the two.
She puts sanitizer on her hands as she boots up her computer. "It's been quite a night, huh, Jake? Wanna walk me through what you remember?"
"Starting from when?" I try to sit up, but I struggle with the IV in my arm, and the nurse rushes over to help me reposition myself and the pillows.
She begins to type on her computer, "Do you remember last night?"
I think about it and nod slowly. I remember the dance, the parking lot, then the other car, her screams. "Yeah, pretty well. We went to Homecoming, and I was taking her home."
"Well, that's good. Can you tell me what happened just before the accident then?" Her head tilts, and her ponytail swishes to the side with the movement.
I feel a lump in my throat, I shake my head, I don't want to remember her scream. "Jake," she admonishes, "this is so we have an accurate account of what happened from your perspective."
"It... It was my fault." I look down at my useless hands, and there is a pain in my head that goes beyond physical emotion. My hands fist in the sheets, and I hit my leg to stop the tears that threaten to fall.
I can't look at this doctor, but she asks, "Why do you say that, Jake?" Her tone is soft, motherly.
"I was..." I wipe the tears away with my free arm. "I was distracted."
I hear her typing this into her computer, "What distracted you?"
"I don't know..." I feel so stupid.
Her typing ceases, and I look up, expecting her to press for more details, "That's alright." She shrugs. "We don't always know, that's normal. But I do have a question, how often do you feel distracted, Jake? It could be by your phone, your surroundings, whatever."
"I don't know." I'm confused now, but I feel defensive. "I wasn't on my phone."
She nods and types. "Okay, are you distracted often, Jake?"
"No." I say it fast, but then I falter, "yes, well, sometimes, I guess." Only sometimes?
Her head bobs once more, and her fingers tap on the keys, "So, sometimes?"
"Yeah," I mutter.
"And what does this distraction feel like?" The nurse leaves the room, and it is just Dr. Young and me. Her name is fitting.
I shrug, "I don't know." I hope she will move on, but she just waits patiently for me to respond, and the silence irritates me. "Where's Melody? Is she okay?"
"Jake, I cannot disclose the status of other patients to anyone. I am bound by law. Now, what does the distraction feel like?" Her tone is cold and clipped, devoid of the prior warmth and concern.
I shake my head, and the pain worsens, "My head hurts." I lean back into the pillow and stare at my shoes, which are tucked at the edge of the bed.
"Apologies, we will continue this later then. Please give thought to the question when you can. I will call Miles back in so we can get you something for the headache. Just stay there." She leaves, and my father sulks back into the room.
He sits in the chair by my side, and Miles flounces into the room, writing down my vitals. "Hey, where would you rate your pain? With 1 being the least and 10 being the worst."
I don't really know how to answer this question, as I can't pull up a ranking of the worst pain I've ever felt. I just want something strong enough that I can think again. "It's an eight," I say.
Miles looks taken aback, "Well then, we need to get you something right away!" He rushes out, and I feel exhausted.
"How long have I been out?" I see the sunlight breaking through the blinds, but the clock in this room happens to be placed somewhere above my bed, behind me.
He checks his phone, making sure he gives me the right answer. "They found you at 8:43pm, and it's now 12pm. So 15 hours give or take." He wipes at his nose with his fingers.
"Is Melody..." I can't even finish the sentence. What did I do to her?
He swallows, "Her parents have been in the lobby. She's been in a coma just like you. But it sounds like she hasn't come out of it yet." His hand rakes through his hair. "Her situation sounds a bit more delicate. You wanna tell me how you ended up wrapped around that tree?"
His voice is tinged with an anger that doesn't reach his eyes. I can't escape his accusation while hooked up to the bags of fluid. Thankfully, I am spared from answering by Miles racing back in with another nurse, and together they administer some kind of painkiller into my IV. It is cold in my veins and tastes vaguely like an eraser. They leave as quickly as they came, and I feel the drug is already working its way into my system. "I was distracted," I say.
"You were staring at her and not the road?" He seems genuinely peeved, and I want to defend myself, tell him that it wasn't her, that I didn't look at her. But I did.
"Sort of," I agree.
He covers his eyes with his hands, "Son, either you were distracted by the girl, or it was something else. It's a yes or no."
He is very matter-of-fact, and this is one thing I've always liked about living with him. There's no hidden meaning; he's honest. So I guess I will be too. "I was thinking."
"Well, that's a first," he snorts, the joke at my expense relaxing him. "Although if you were thinking, you wouldn't have ended up in a ditch, so what were you thinking about?"
I try to remember what it was that distracted me, and nothing important stands out. I remember looking at her for comfort. Then that feeling comes back, and I know this is what caused it. "The voice in my head." Voice? Now I sound insane.
"It told you to drive into a ditch?" He doesn’t believe you. Something shifts, though, as he looks at me, and his next question is genuine. "This voice, what does it say to you?"
I pick at the blanket, "It's kind of harsh, but it always says things that are true." I yawn, and suddenly the drowsiness hits me.
He grabs my hand and rubs the back of it with his thumb, "Thanks for telling me. Jake, I don't always understand everything... But it doesn't mean I don't want to." My eyes slide closed, and the last sensation I remember is the feel of his hand holding mine.
She's alive. That's all the more I know. I was discharged three days ago, and everything feels bleak, like there is a grey filter over it all. My father has been looking into clinics for me to visit. They had me do an anxiety screening, and he wants to get me to someone so we can talk. Talking won't make this better. It feels pointless, but I agree just to make things easier. My first appointment is next Monday, and I couldn't feel less enthused.
I don't have a car anymore, so it's my father who picks me up from school today, and we drive in silence. I can tell he wants me to talk to someone already, even if it's just him. I bury my head in my phone, thankful that it, too, survived. At the house, I see the orange cones of inconvenience lining the road in both directions, "What's this about?"
He nods, remembering something, "Town Hall was talking about improvements to the community, and it was agreed that they would repave the road. The potholes and unevenness have been an eyesore and a literal pain in the butt to drive on. It should be done in the next few days, a week max."
I loathe the sound of future jackhammers, breaking down the current pavement and leveling the ground for a new one. My stuff is in my hands in a flash, and I am safe in the isolation of my bedroom. I turn on the LEDs in my room and doze off, wearing my headphones, listening to her playlist, a requiem in her absence.
The knocking at my door pulls me back into reality, and I get up, reluctant to answer it. It is Marion. "Hey, I know you are tired, and I will let you rest if you want," I go to close the door, but she puts her hand on the frame, "I wanted to ask if you wanted to visit Melody."
This wakes me up, and I let the door swing open as I grab my jacket by way of answer. Marion looks very pleased, and she leads the way to her car. "Do you want me to come in with you?" She asks while she drives.
I think about the answer for a moment, but shake my head. I want alone time with her if I can get it. Hopefully, she'll be awake. I have to apologize.
In the hospital, her mother sits in one of the chairs in the hallway in front of her room. She is on the phone with someone, and she scowls when she sees me. "I'm sorry," I say. "Is- Is she awake yet?"
"Hold on, I will call you back." She hangs up the phone. "No. She is not awake yet. What are you doing back in here?"
I wring my hands and wipe them on my jacket, "I wanted to see her, I feel horrible, and I'm worried."
Her frown lessens, "I'm not going to absolve you of this. My daughter's life was in your hands, and you took a chance with her life. Give me a good reason as to why I should let you in there to see her."
The world begins to spin, and I take a deep breath, willing it to stay still. I don't have a good answer for her, and fear not getting the chance to apologize. "Please, I love her, and I am scared of how bad it is." Her scream echoes in my head, and I shut my eyes, trying to focus on the real noises around me.
"Fine, but just this once. My husband will have your hind if he catches you within five feet after today." I open my eyes to her face, which is frozen in perpetual worry, and there's a wariness in her body; I feel it mirrored in my own.
"Thank you," I whisper, and she opens the door, letting me pass through.
The lights are off, and so as not to disturb the peace, I leave them. She lies in the bed, the only movement is the light rhythm of her breathing. As I get closer, I can see the damage; she has bandages wrapped around her head, some patches of gauze on her cheeks and arms. Her right arm has a giant bruise on it, likely from the door, and her foot is in some kind of brace. This is just the surface; this is only what I can see. I left invisible scars inside, ones that the doctors won't be able to heal. She said she loved me, and look at the disaster that brought her.
I lightly stroke her hand and stare at her face, taking it all in. Forcing myself to memorize each gruesome detail, imagining the gashes and scars hidden by the bandages. "I am so sorry, Melody." The words come out choked. And because I don't know what else to do, what else to say, I begin to hum Hallelujah to her. I'm almost certain it's off-key, but I hold onto the melody for her. I imagine her going in for X-rays, on an operating table - even if it isn't likely. Her screams from the crash meld with the melody I hum for her.
I leave the room before her mother kicks me out, but I don't feel ready to leave the hospital, her. I pace through the hallways, the cafeteria, and the gift shop. It's aimless. In the end, I find myself at the hospital chapel. It is a quiet place, solemn and morose. I find a pew and lower myself to kneel - in a way I have not done since I was able to sit on my mother's lap. I look at the carved statue of Jesus and pray.
I turn on the lamp as I slide my feet out of the covers to the floor. On the bedside table, there's a set of orange bottles, and inside are white pills. I grab the bottle of water and shake one out into my palm. Huh, that's funny. The LED strip is set to blue, and under the shine of the lights, the pill is a vibrant blue color. I swallow it and mentally prepare for the numbing feeling. It's weird how dull everything feels when I take these pills; when they eventually wear off, though, I feel worse for wear, and the voice comes back in full technicolor.
I eat my breakfast to the sounds of jackhammers and grunting. Marion takes me to school. My life has become a routine of wake up, pills, school, lunch, pills, more school, home, pills, hospital, bed, repeat. The only interruption is my meeting with the psych; they say the pills need at least a month to become effective, and then they will consider switching me. I don't know what the pills are supposed to help with, but I don't know if they're helping. Everything just feels dulled; it's harder for me to focus, and my teachers are getting mad at me all the time, it seems. I've failed the most recent test worse than I have in the last few months. These last two weeks have been hell. I just want her to wake up.
I blink, and I am back in the car on my way to the hospital. If I were allowed to visit her, this would not feel as miserable. Instead, I look at her through the window of her room until I hear footsteps, then I escond myself in the chapel and pray until my knees hurt from kneeling. Without realizing it, I've written a song to the sound of her machines beeping, and I pray that she will wake to hear it.
I ignore the protests of my chemistry teacher as I grab my bag and leave class in a hurry. The text message has broken through my routine, and I can only think of one thing: go to her. She's finally awake, and she's messaged me. She wants to see me. Maybe she wants to yell at me for the accident. Even still, I would deserve it. I walk out of the building and call Marion. She arrives just as fast, just as eager to know that Melody is no longer in a coma. I didn't kill her. The fear, belying it all, has come to the surface, and I hold onto the thought; when I finally see her sitting up in the hospital bed, I am weeping from relief.
She sees me through the window and beckons me in. I waste no time in opening the door and joining her side. I don't bother with the chair. She reaches for my hand, and I reach for her face. We are kissing so quickly, and I hear the beeping of her heart rate monitor speed up in reaction. Then I hear a harumpf. I turn my head, and her father looks ready to put me in the ground, glaring at me from the part of the room I couldn't see from the window... "Sorry, sir."
"Jake-" she starts, but I cut her off.
"Melody, I am so sorry. I was not paying attention to the road; this should have never happened. Your father is right to be angry. I shouldn't even be here. You were in a coma for so long, and it was all my fault, if you hadn't woken up-" The choking feeling returns, and I desperately try to swallow the feeling, so I don't cry in front of her father, and Marion, who is witnessing all of this through the window...
"Hey, Dad, can I have a moment with Jake, please? Alone?" He looks like he is going to protest, but her lips form a pout, and he leaves the room with one backward glance, his eyebrows raised. "I won't kiss him again. Just go grab a coffee, or something to eat." He is gone, and looking over, so is Marion.
I grab her hand, "What is it?"
She shakes her head, smiling, "Nothing, I'm just glad you're okay, my parents wouldn't tell me anything about how you were doing."
"Melody, you could have died because of me." I am shocked, and yet the feeling doesn't reach the center of my being.
"Jake, it's okay, I'm alive. The past doesn't matter, okay? Bury it." She runs her fingers through her hair and has to pause with the IV getting tangled. I help her untangle it.
Her hair is soft under my fingers, and I hear the beeping of the monitor, bringing the melody of the song to my mind. I softly hum it as I lower her arm and IV back to the bed.
"What's that?" she asks.
"What's what?" My hands find her blanket, and I pull it up higher on her.
She raises her eyebrow at me. "The song you're humming?"
I shrug. "I don't really know yet. It was something that kind of wrote itself while I was waiting for you to wake up."
She shifts more alert, and the blanket falls. I grab it and try to put it back into place, but she pushes down on my hands. "Does it have lyrics?"
"I mean, kind of, I'm not settled on them yet." She grabs my hand and looks me in the eyes, her eyebrows quirk up in askance, and I comply. "I love you in the same way. There's a chapel in a hospital. You are the dreamer, and we are the dream. I could write it better than you ever felt it. I hum Hallelujah, just off-key for a reason." I sing it softly and realize how ridiculous it sounds. Nothing is rhyming, and it feels off.
Melody is giggling, "I love you, but that was awful." She shakes her head, "It sounds like a bull in a china shop, I don't know what you're singing about or what the subject is."
"Yeah, it's a work in progress." I laugh. She didn't like it. You can't even write lyrics for a proper love song. A bull in a china shop... "Well, I should probably leave. Your father will be back, and I don't want to overstay my welcome. I'm glad you're safe." I give her a kiss on the cheek and leave the room to find Marion. She's alive, no thanks to you. I look at the time on my phone; I should have taken my pills an hour ago.
I look down at the calendar, but I don't know what I'm looking for, though. Someone says something vaguely, and I try to shake the fog out of my brain long enough to comprehend. I focus on the table of guys before me, whom I have eaten with every day. I think they are talking about the next gig, maybe I'm smiling and nodding. I'm not even sure at this point what value I add. My writing is horrible, and I haven't been able to help set up any of the gigs. They could replace me easily.
I feel two fingers pinch my arm, and looking over, it's Melody. I forgot she was here. Her eyes widen, emphasizing something, then she points at my tray, which I also forgot about. It feels too hot in here, and I brush her off. I need space.
She doesn't take the cue and follows me into the parking lot. "What's the big deal?"
"What?" Her anger catches me off guard.
She runs her hand through her hair. "You've been so out of it, Jake. And don't say you haven't been. It's maddening because I love you and I hate to see you like this."
"Like what?" Suddenly, I'm angry. It surprises me, but it feels good. "What else am I doing wrong?"
She looks struck. "I didn't say you did anything wrong, Jake. I just feel you're not as present as you used to be."
"I don't know what you mean by that, Melody. I still take you on dates, kiss you, hell, we're talking right now! What more do you want from me?" I feel a weight lift off my shoulder, and I keep going before I lose the momentum. "Yeah, I'm failing classes. Big whoop! I can't write a single song! I don't have my car and need my ‘step-mommy’ to drive me everywhere. But you know what? I've been there for you, and that's my fault too."
"What?" she utters. My world tilts under her gaze, and I know I am about to go over the edge. Will I even care?
"Yeah... I'll take the blame for it all. You took a chance on me, and I've blown it, God knows, how many times? Melody, this isn't worth it for you, and you know it. I think we need to end this." I feel a chill deep in my bones, the numbness keeps me from moving just yet. I look up at her, maybe to punish myself.
There are two very straight, fresh trails of tears falling from her eyes. It melts me, and I turn away to go - wherever I can - away from here. Then she claps. I look over once more, and my last view is a confusing one. She's standing very still, clapping, laughing, and crying. She shakes her head pathetically and throws a cold and broken, "Hallelujah!" at me. Confused, I walk away from the scene into the road that leads, eventually, to my house. I'm humming something, but I can't catch what song it is, until the chorus. The irony of the song hurts me just enough that I keep humming it.
Dear Melody,
I feel like I should say sorry about how things ended. You were right. I wasn't doing very well. I just left people's lives after that, and you didn't deserve that. I'm okay now, better some days than others. Thanks for supporting me even when it was hard. My therapist asked me to write this, but I do mean it. I don't know what you will do when you get this, but I wanted to give you the lyrics. I fixed them, and, while they may not make a lot of sense, this version feels right for me. Hopefully, I'll be in a place someday where I can sing it.
- Jake
ns216.73.217.19da2
and then Add to home screen.