Page 11 of The Music in Me

Iwalked into the spare bedroom and sighed when I saw the lyric sheets on the floor. Somehow, the thought of filling them up and coming up with a new song felt daunting. Pushing away all negative thoughts, I closed the door behind me and got to work. I picked up my guitar and began to strum a few notes, playing familiar chords as I tried to get myself into the zone.

Two hours later, I had managed to couple together a few verses, but nothing that jumped out to me. It was like I felt no connection to the words I was writing. That was not like me. Music was more than just a job to me. It was my passion and a way of sharing parts of myself with the people who resonated with the message. I sang about joy, pain, loneliness, and every emotion in the spectrum. I sang heart-wrenching songs about love and silly songs about partying with friends and drinking wine on the beach.

Every song was a snapshot of who I was when they were written, a genuine expression of my hopes, dreams, and reality. I had never had a problem with that, and even though not every song I’d written had gone on to find its audience, I could boldly say each one was an authentic representation of myself.

For once, I found myself unable to do that, and that frustrated me. Not just because I had a contractual deadline to meet but also because I didn’t want to give my fans something that wasn’t me. I would feel like a fraud climbing on a stage and performing words I knew were not true to me.

A few minutes after midday, Leon knocked on the door and pushed it open. I sat cross-legged in the middle of the room with my guitar in my lap, surrounded by empty and half-filled lyric sheets. He was carrying a tray with a glass of lemonade and a plate of cookies.

“Cookies!” I exclaimed, pumping my fist in the air like a cheerleader.

“Thought you could use a snack,” he said, grinning as he set the tray in front of me.

“Thanks, Leon. You’re the best.” I reached for the tray, but he pulled it out of my reach. “What…?”

“Leon?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Thanks, Daddy,” I said, rolling my eyes and stretching my hand out.

“Try that again, and without the attitude this time,” he said, and I complied, even adding a big, fake grin. He didn’t seem to mind because he pushed the tray toward me. “Good girl. Any progress?” he asked, looking at the sheets around us.

I ignored the stab of excitement I felt when he called me a good girl. “Got a couple of verses I think could work if the production is great,” I said as I reached for the glass of lemonade and picked a cookie. I bit into the cookie and sighed deeply. “I don’t think the cabin thing is working. I mean it’s a bit better than back in the city, but it’s not enough.”

“That’s because we just got started. Don’t worry, I’ll have those creative juices flowing before we leave.”

“I’m the one who has to come up with the songs, and I think this will take more than a few days. How can you be so confident?” I asked, scowling at him.

“Because I know you, baby girl. More than you know yourself, it seems.” He got to his feet and stood in front of me, forcing me to tip my head back to look at him. “I think it’s time for a break. How about you finish your cookie and lemonade, then come meet me in the backyard when you’re done?”

“To do what?”

“Stop asking questions and just do as you’re told,” he replied as he walked away. I wanted to yell at him to come back but remembered being spanked a few hours ago for being stubborn and, even worse, having to beg him for an orgasm I still hadn’t gotten. I decided wisely to keep my mouth shut. Besides, he brought me cookies and lemonade.

A few minutes later, I stepped out of the house through the side door and followed the sound of Leon moving around to where he was in the backyard. I gasped when I saw the large canvas hanging from the side of the house with paint-filled balloons tacked onto it. My heart skipped a beat at the sight, and I ran the rest of the way to meet him.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, grinning wildly as I stared at the display. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Can’t take the credit for coming up with the idea,” he said as he pinned a balloon to the top of the canvas. “I know how much you love this scene in that movie.”

The movie about Chips’s diaries was my favorite. I watched it several times a year. I watched it when I was happy, sad, or just wanted to laugh. Leon knew that because I’d roped him into watching it with me a dozen times. Even though I could recite the movie line for line, it had never occurred to me to try something like this.

“When did you do this?” I asked, reaching out to gently touch a balloon, afraid I’d pop it.

“This morning,” he replied. “Overalls are over there,” he said, pointing at a box a few feet away. “You should put on the safety goggles too.”

I hurried to do as he asked, giddy with excitement and giggling the whole way. He had finished setting up the canvas when I returned, and he checked to make sure I had the goggles safely on and the overalls were zipped all the way up.

“I know how to put on overalls,” I hissed at him and rolled my eyes.

“I know,” he said, sliding his hand up my body until he cupped my face. “Just wanted to make sure. I have something else planned for us this afternoon, and I don’t want you to get too much paint on your body, or I would have to give you a bath before we do that.”

My throat went dry. “Give me a bath?” I squeaked.

“Of course,” he said. “Can’t have my baby girl walking around covered in paint, now can I?”

“No, Daddy,” I croaked and saw his eyes lit up.

“Good answer. You get an extra point for that.”

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