Page 26 of A Boy Called Lovesong

And yet here on this tape, through Joan’s tinny speakers, came the sound of every exquisite note, every complex configuration, every twisted and tangled bar of music being lovingly unraveled into sheer beauty.

I could hear those fingers dance across the keys, twirling and tantalizing every note from whatever old piano this man was playing.

Then suddenly, without a word of warning, Rachmaninoff morphed into Jerry Lee Lewis as those fingers pounded out “Great Balls of Fire.” The keys thumped like a tribal drum as the song’s irresistible energy and recklessly joyful riffs launched themselves from the cassette deck.

Chet barked playfully at the happy sounds jumping out of the dash—the most animated I’d seen him in months—and even Ifound myself tapping away on the steering wheel until soon the tune changed again, this time sliding gracefully into Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” turning notes into a journey of light and shade, of pure emotion, that built to a stunning crescendo that sent chills through my bones.

“Oh God,” I uttered to myself. “This guy is really something.”

As if he heard me, the man in the tape said, “But wait, y’all. There’s more. Perhaps you’d prefer to hear some strings.”

With barely a second’s pause, the man on the tape switched instruments as a violin danced its way through Rimsky-Korsakov’s frenetic, fanciful “Flight of the Bumblebee,” the tune spinning and swirling, the notes seeming to zig and zag so busily through the air, sounding so convincingly like an insect, that Chet’s eyes and nose darted this way and that in search of buzzing bee.

Before the pooch could find the imaginary insect, the track shifted, the dizzying dance of the bee seamlessly transforming into Leonard Cohen’s haunting “Hallelujah.”

It was one of Joel’s favorite songs, even Chet recognized it with a sad whimper.

It was almost too much, too raw, too emotional.

I reached forward to hit the stop button, but before I could, the tune changed again and the car was filled with the drama, the grandeur, the spine-tingling suspense of Vivaldi’s “Winter” fromThe Four Seasons, masterfully playing to its dazzling conclusion before the man on the tape spoke again. “Or perhaps y’all might prefer strings of a different kind…”

Suddenly an electric guitar began to sing, full of life as it belted out the iconic intro to Guns n’ Roses’ “Sweet Child of Mine.” Within moments the melody entwined itself with that of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”… followed by “Walk This Way” by Run DMC and Aerosmith… followed by a briefcomment from the musician himself as he informed us, “And this one’s a personal favorite of mine.”

As he began playing, my mind struggled to identify the track. I knew it, I just hadn’t heard it in forever, until finally I recognized the catchy chords of Ry Cooder’s “Crossroads,” a mix of blues, gospel, and a whole lotta southern sass and style.

As the track came to an end with a few soulful twangs of the electric guitar, the man’s voice came back on the tape. “Well, I hope you liked my playing. I guess that’s it for now. This has been Lovesong Valentin, signing off. Hope I hear back. In the meantime, God bless and sweet lullabies to y’all.” Suddenly, distant church bells chimed on the tape, followed by Lovesong saying, “Oh shit! I really gotta go.”

And that was it.

I hit the stop button and realized I was filled with two intense, raw emotions: awe and anger.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Nothing in between.

There was no denying that the person who had made that tape was some sort of god of the keys, a boy-genius on the strings, a virtuoso of the violin. But there was no forgetting that this prodigy, this freakish musical phenomenon, was still responsible for the death of the man I loved.

I needed a moment to breathe.

I began to brake, pulling the car over to the side of the road, when suddenly a huge Mack truck blared its horn behind me. I jumped in my seat and glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the giant of a vehicle bearing down on us, towering over us, a shadowy monster about to steamroll right over us. I panicked and the car swerved on the road before skidding onto the shoulder. As we slid to a halt in a cloud of dust, the truck blasted its horn again and roared past us like a freight train.

I was rattled, my nerves shredding away the awe and anger I had felt seconds earlier, leaving me nothing but shaken.

I turned to Chet who had dived from the passenger seat onto the floor under the dash, huddled and quivering like a sick pigeon. “You okay, buddy? Come here.”

I reached toward him to lift him off the floor and hold him, tell him he was safe. But he snapped at me, and I backed away. “Okay, okay, I get it. That was a bit scary, huh.” I didn’t know how to ease his fears. Joel was always the one who could calm Chet when the wind was howling, or the thunder was clapping, or smoke alarms blared relentlessly at a single slice of burnt toast.

What would Joel do now?

Why the fuck wasn’t he here to fix this?

What the fuck were we doing here… in the middle of fucking nowhere… all alone?

I pushed the questions out of my head, knowing I was headed fast into a dark chasm with no answers.

Then suddenly I realized—“Wait, I know what’ll calm you down.”

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