Page 17 of Out to Find Freedom

I rolled my head, resting my forehead against the brick. I flattened my other hand against the wall. Listening, feeling, and crying quietly over the wonder.

When the song ended and he started with another, I stayed right where I was, never wanting to miss something that warmed me throughout. Ryan didn’t know, but he was sharing a breathtaking treat with me, and I would always treasure it.

As he started another, one I actually knew, I hummed quietly along with it.

My dad and I loved music. There wasn’t a day that went by where we didn’t have a record, CD, or radio playing in the background.

One day I’d pestered him to get with the times and buy a Bluetooth speaker we could connect our phones to. His reply had been “Emmie, we don’t need to waste money on some babytooth speaker or whatever it is. We have my stereo and the radios. We have all we need for the two of us.” And we had. We worked, ate, and cleaned along with music day in and out. We tried singing along with the songs, but both Dad and I had terrible voices. Music connected my memories to many good times.

I covered my mouth as a sob caught in my throat. I missed my dad. Missed my old friends from my other school. Missed the farm. Missed the animals. Missed my freedom.

Ryan moved on to another song, his fingers drifting over the strings with ease. Why was he awake so late? Did he have trouble sleeping?

Suddenly, he stopped playing. My heart cracked. I needed more, wanted more. Without really thinking, I flew off the bed, across the room, and pulled out my phone from its hiding place. I opened the message box, and using the anonymous texting app, which sends a different, untraceable number than the one assigned to my phone, I typed outPlease play more.I hit Send to the only number I had stored in my phone. Why I stored it, I didn’t know, because I had ripped the paper up with his number on it and flushed it away.

My heart crept up my throat, thickening it.

I’d sent a message to Ryan.

I’d sent it because I needed more beauty in my life.

Because hearing him play reminded me of some good times I’d had.

Good times where I’d been loved, safe, and happy.

I fumbled with the phone when it vibrated in my hand.

Licking my dry lips, I then bit my bottom one. Could I open it? I wasn’t sure if I should.

My pulse ticked hard in my throat; my head pounded from anxiety.

With a shaky hand, I pressed the button to light it up. He replied,Who’s this?

I wiped at the sweat beading over my upper lip. Nerves pulled at my stomach. Still, I tapped out a response.Someone who needs music right now.

I pressed Send and regretted it right away. Would he think I wanted him to play all night?

The phone buzzed. Since I just programmed his name in, the new message popped up withRyan:You live around here?

Unknown: Yes.

Ryan: Where?

Ignoring the question, I asked again.Unknown:Just one more song. Please.

He didn’t reply. Hanging my head, I closed my eyes and clenched my phone to my chest. But then I heard it. I slapped a hand over my mouth and raced back over to the bed. I climbed on it and stood next to the window.

Ryan’s voice mixed with the beat wonderfully. It was a country song, and I loved it more than any of the others because now I knew he was doing it for me, only he didn’t know who I was. But I didn’t care about that fact.

I stared out into the night sky and listened to a song about a woman being beautifully crazy. It was the best moment I’d had in years. My chest expanded with how much I felt right then.

I wanted to be that woman in the song.

A combination of happy and sad tears flowed down. While it was amazing to listen to, I wanted nothing more than for Ryan to actually be singing it to me.

Me.

The scarred, marked, dirty woman.

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