Page 34 of Hold Still

I pour myself a mug. Next to the coffeemaker is a plate of muffins. “Are these Grandma Gertie’s blueberry muffins?”

In a sing-song voice, she responds, “Maybe.”

I take a bite. Heaven. “Damn, woman, they are. Are you trying to fatten me up?”

She giggles. “I know you like them and I had some extras, so I brought them over.”

I finish the muffin in one bite and grab another. “For this, you deserve a reward.”

All sorts of rewards pop into my head—all of which involve us both, naked. Deferring to her protestations of not being interested in going another round, I opt for her reaction to the reason I slept alone last night. “I wrote the bridge to the song I started yesterday. With some lyrics. Want to hear it?”

She squeals. “Yes! I’d love to!”

Her exuberance feeds my ego. I motion toward the living room. “I left my guitar in there last night.”

She sits on the sofa and I take a spot on the chair, guitar in hand. I strum a few chords, more nervous now than I’ve been for a very long time. I glance at McKenna and take a deep breath.

“The working title for this song is ‘Take Me.’” I lick my lips and start the melody I wrote yesterday. I still don’t have lyrics for this part. When the time comes, I play the bridge, with the few lines I jotted down last night.

Tonight I’m all yours—Take me all the way

Make me forget and I’ll do the same

Your screams will drown out the noise

And mine will bring us to a higher plane

As I complete the bridge, additional parts of the melody form and I continue playing. When I reach the end of what I have, I do one final fast strumming of the strings.

After a second, she jumps up and runs to me, her arms coming around my neck. “That was hot,” she says, kissing my cheek. “It’s so fresh and different from anything you’ve done before. Just the sort of thing I need to let my imagination fly!”

She returns to her seat and rummages through her bag, pulling out her computer. “Can you play it again?”

“Sure.” I do, adding even more of the melody to the end. Finished, I grab the sheet music and scribble down the new notes. “What do you think?”

She’s clicking away on the keyboard, deep in thought. After a while, she places her laptop on the coffee table and turns the screen toward me. It’s a rough graphic that goes with the lyrics to the bridge, showing what looks to be El Yunque, the rainforest in the center of Puerto Rico with panoramic vistas of the ocean. Superimposed on a waterfall is a couple in skimpy bathing suits, kissing. It’s like she was there, in my head with me, seeing what I was seeing as I wrote the song.

My eyes travel to hers. She runs her hand through her hair, her feet shuffling on the rug. “It’s rough, of course. It’s what came to my mind while you were singing.”

My throat constricts. Blood rushes through my veins such that every molecule pings against my skin. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.”

Her eyes return to the graphics. “But do you like it?”

I can’t form words.

“It’s silly. Let me erase…”

“NO.” I startle her with my exuberance. “I like it. A lot. In fact.” I grab my guitar again and start playing the introduction to the song, lyrics falling from my lips as if they were crafted for the music. Well, I guess they kind of are.

When I finish, she says, “Ozzy, this is fantastic.”

Smiling, I grab my pencil and write down the lyrics before they disappear. When the last word tumbles from the lead, I toss the paper onto the coffee table next to her computer and collapse back into the chair. Placing my guitar on the floor, I stare at the ceiling.

“You think so?”

“I know a good song when I hear one. It’s like you’ve written a story around the couple in my graphics. You’ve given them a whole life.”

My lips tick upward. Without moving my neck, I reply, “Thanks.”

---