Page 129 of Saved By My Buyers

“You were rushing,” she says with a shrug. She knows the way I am in the morning better than anyone. “I thought it was in your bag. I’ll start reminding you.”

“That’s not your job,” I remind her.

“Hush, go show people what you can do,” she says, shooing me before we walk into the room and her face goes back into neutral.

It’s like talking to someone with a split personality, I swear.

Forcing myself not to rush, I walk up onto the stage again, and Sullivan grins at me. Speaking of masks and personas, the head of Melton School of Music is officially ‘on’.

“Can I have your attention please,” Sullivan says into the microphone, and I smile tightly at him. There are two chairs on the stage, along with a place for my notebook and two guitars.

Thankfully, the instrument I usually practice on is here, so I won’t have to adjust to playing on something different from normal.

“A few very interesting comments have reached my ears,” he continues. “I created this school, so that people who love music could learn in an environment that both pushed them to reach new heights and would respect their privacy. You may have noticed the high levels of security, and the fact that we took all of your devices when you came in.”

I had noticed that security took longer than usual to process our visitors, but was too busy today to realize why. I guess this is why.

“My father recognized my love for music, and made sure I took lessons for them, which is why his name is on the school,” Sullivan says. “What we are not going to do is shame people who have every right to be here, as are your own children. Today, Dee is going to play a work in progress. It is not intended to be perfect, but instead to show you how this school works.”

“Why are there two guitars up there?” Arina yells, and I almost want to tell Ciara she can go ahead and kill the bitch. She wouldn’t, but a girl can dream.

“As one of our students has so helpfully noticed, there are two guitars up here, because I’m also playing with her,” Sullivan explains. “This is an exercise to show you how students are supported at Melton, not thrown to the wolves. Dee has also expressed her concern, since the song she’s currently writing isn’t finished. The words are raw and honest, and I’m in no way responsible for how it makes you feel. Neither is she. Dee and I are going to have some fun together up here, to showcase how gifted she is.”

It’s a big ole ‘fuck you’ to those who are pushing for this to happen, and some of the parents and guardians look uncomfortable as Sullivan turns to me.

“That should make them think about some things,” he mutters, his face away from the mic. Smirking, I sit in the chair nearest to the microphone, and pick up a guitar.

Sullivan follows, making sure that the mic is still off.

“Play me the melody for this,” he says.

Making sure the guitar is well tuned, I play the first few notes of the song, and Sullivan nods. He harmonizes easily, and when I glance at him in surprise, he smirks at me. He’s a natural, which is why he took a chance on me.

He also reminds me that music is supposed to be fun, a way to give my words another layer of meaning. It’s as therapeutic as it is challenging, but I also picked up learning things quickly.

I’ve gotten a lot of sidelong glances as I moved from the class filled with fourteen-year-olds to a more advanced level.

Taking a deep breath, I start to sing, ignoring when Sullivan reaches over and turns on the microphone. My voice gets stronger and more steady as I sing about how no one notices the girl huddling for warmth in the alley, or the person who is simply struggling to get through the day. The soul has many points where it can shatter, so how do you put yourself back together again?

Sullivan’s deeper voice makes me grin wildly despite the solemnity of the words. He picks up the song as if he’s always known the words, flipping the page effortlessly as we sing. I’ve never just played like this before, and it’s kind of addicting.

Now I can see why his eyes sparkled when he suggested it.

You pass by as if I’m not worthy to notice.

As if my filth is contagious.

You don’t know my story.

You haven’t felt my pain.

We need to do better. Be better.

Blindness is a choice.

Kindness is the solution.

But that's a dream for a different me.

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