Page 39 of Your Rhythm
I do what he asks anyway, the two of us awkwardly shuffling towards the door. Matt reaches his other arm out from behind me to push it open and I feel a blast of cold, March air draw blood into my cheeks as soon as it hits me.
“Are you seriously taking me onto a fucking roof?”
All he does is tell me to keep walking, the hot skin of his palm still shielding my eyes.
“Okay, stop!” he shouts suddenly.
“Jesus, Matt!” I shriek. “Is this some kind of murder setup?”
“Not quite. I have to take my hand off now, but keep your eyes closed okay?”
He moves away from me and I wrap my arms around myself. It’s fucking freezing up here. I’m about to tell him just that as he shuffles around doing god knows what, when I hear his voice right beside my ear again.
“I’m gonna put some headphones in your ears, okay? Just listen to the song for a bit, and when I tap your shoulder you can open your eyes.”
“This is the most insane thing anyone has ever asked me to do,” I inform him. “I couldn’t even open my eyes if I tried. My eyelashes are probably frozen to my face.”
I feel the rumble of his laugh as much as I hear it. Without being able to see him, it’s like he’s all around me at once. He fixes the ear-buds in my ears one at a time, and the wind and distant sounds of traffic are silenced for a few seconds before the song starts.
I’ve never heard it before. It’s a dreamy, electronic sound, meandering through a shapeless melody before a drum intro kicks in and the beat picks up. It’s the kind of music you listen to on long highway drives in the hours between late night and early morning. It’s the kind that makes you roll your window down to let the breeze snatch at strands of your hair, as the lights of some huge city come into view over the dashboard. It’s a song for the start of something, for that first breath of air, for letting go and jumping in.
There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I realize I’ve gotten so caught up in the music I forgot all about having my eyes closed. I slowly let them open, and when I do I almost scream.
I’m two feet away from the edge of the roof, with nothing but a small ledge to stop me from tumbling twenty stories down to the street. I start to back away and almost scream again when I collide with something solid. A pair of hands takes hold of my waist and I realize Matt’s standing right behind me, ready to catch me.
“It’s okay,” he says, loud enough that I can hear him over the music. “I’ve got you. Just look.”
I swallow, the shock of the moment passing and allowing me to actually acknowledge where I am. Buildings stretch out in every direction, some with roofs below us, some towering far above even from this height. The lights are dazzling, the roads and intersections crisscrossing like arteries and veins. I can feel the energy of the city pumping through them to the beat of the song in my ears.
Matt still has his hands wrapped around my waist, and I forget myself for a moment and lean into him, needing to keep hold of something solid as the rest of me starts to drift away. I feel something burning in my chest as I look down on all the streets I’ve come to know so well, made tiny and unfamiliar from this angle. Everything feels more immediate right now, like the past and the future have already hurtled themselves off the edge of the roof, leaving me standing here with just this moment.
I close my eyes again as the final notes of the song fade. I can feel Matt’s chest rise and fall against my back, his breath quick as it clouds the air around us. After a moment I pull the ear-buds out, but neither of us moves.
“Why?” I ask, surprised by how small my voice sounds. “Why did you show me this?”
“Because I knew you’d feel what I feel when I’m up here, when I listen to that song. You understand about me and music, Kay. You get it. I may not know you all that well yet, but I’m sure you feel the same.”
I watch as our breaths merge together in the air.
“I make music because of moments like this,” he tells me, sweeping one hand out in front of us across the skyline before bringing it back to my waist.
“Moments likethis,” he whispers, his lips so close I can feel the ghost of them on my neck. “Not a lot of people understand that. You do. We’re losing ourselves Kay, me and the band. I can see everything that matters slipping away and I want to save it. I think you can help with that. I want people to know who we are, who we really are, and why we do this. You can tell our story the way it needs to be told. ”
“Matt,” I start, my voice rocky, “I just write forLa Gare. I’m not a big deal or anything. I’m not—”
“You are. You are a big deal. The second I saw you I thought, ‘That girl right there is a big fucking deal.’”
A nervous laugh escapes me as he bunches the fabric of my jacket in his hands.
“So what do you say?” he asks. “Are we doing this?”
For a second, I wonder what he’s talking about: the article, or my growing need to turn around and wrap my arms around his neck before finally feeling that beautiful mouth move against mine.
“We’re doing this,” I answer, not knowing or caring which of the two I just said yes to.
I twist in his grip until we’re face to face.
“You can let go now.” It comes out as a challenge. “I know I’m not going to fall.”
