Page 77 of The Ballad of Us
“Make me.” He sticks his middle finger in the air, too.
“I'll tell Lana you still sleep with a teddy bear,” I tease.
“I do not! It's a therapeutic comfort animal. That’s different,” Zep jokes.
“A teddy bear. Named what?” Parker is beyond elated over the discovery.
“We're not talking about Mr. Snuggles,” Zep says with all the dignity he can muster about a teddy bear. “And if you tell Lana, I’ll mess with your guitar pedals until they only play polkas.”
Trying to steer us away from the teddy bear talk, I jump in. “What am I missing? The lyrics are good, the structure works, but something is off. Maybe if we all share ideas, we might find what we’re looking for. What do you think?”
“You’re overthinking it. Sometimes the best songs are the simplest ones.” Wyatt does his best to encourage me.
“Or maybe, you need to stop trying to write the perfect love song and just write your love song,” Cody adds.
“Profound, grasshopper. Very wise,” Andrew says solemnly.
“I have my moments, asshole.” Cody throws an empty soda can at Andrew.
Zep has been quiet during this exchange, absently fingerpicking at his guitar while sitting cross-legged on his amp. The melody he's playing is soft and understated, almost like he's thinking out loud through his fingers rather than performing.
“What is that?” There’s a part in the progression that catches my attention.
“What's what?” Zep looks up, confused.
“That melody you just played.” I stand from my seat and move with my notebook to where Zep is sitting.
“I wasn't playing anything specific. Just noodling around.” He shrugs.
“Play it again.” Please let him remember.
“I don't remember what I was doing.”
My eyes widen in fear of losing the perfect melody for Rhea’s song. “Yes, you do. That little progression you just played. Do it again.”
Zep looks uncertain but positions his fingers back on the fretboard, recreating the gentle, climbing melody that caught my ear. It's simple but beautiful, with a vulnerability that manages to be hopeful at the same time.
“That's it!” I practically shout in glee. “That's the sound I've been looking for!”
“What sound?” Zep stops playing and stares at me like I've lost my mind. “I was just messing around.”
“No, no, no, don't stop! Keep playing exactly what you were just playing.” I rush across the room to retrieve my guitar, resting on its stand.
“I can't keep playing exactly what I was playing because I don't know what I was playing!” Zep shouts, pulling at the ends of his dark hair.
“Then figure it out! Andrew, are you recording this?” I’m in a tizzy, about to melt down if he can’t recreate the sound.
“I am now.” Andrew frantically hits buttons on the control board. “But maybe calm down a little? You're vibrating at a frequency that's making the windows rattle.”
“I can't calm down. This is it. This is the sound 'The Ballad of Us' has been waiting for.” I turn back to Zep, who's looking at me with the expression of a man who's accidentally started an avalanche. “Try it again but start from the top. And add a little more sustain on the high notes.”
“Gray, I literally have no idea what I just played.” He crosses his arms across his chest.
“Yes, you do. It's in there somewhere. Just... feel your way back to it.” God, please let this happen. I’ve been waiting for months.
Zep rolls his eyes, feeling the immense and unfair pressure on him. “Feel my way back to it. Right. Because that's how music works. You just feel your way back to accidentally brilliant melodies.”
“Actually, that is how music works, especially for you,” Parker reminds him.
