Page 145 of Broken Lines

That’s how I used to see and hear things. Then I didn’t, for about ten years. And then suddenly, it was back.

Now it’s gone again. Because today, all I see is a blank piece of paper. And I don’t hearshitin my ears except, well, utter shit.

My brow furrows as I shove the blank page away. I stab my eyes out the picture window in the studio, glaring out at the big, gray Atlantic stretching to the horizon.

Fuck.

It’s closing in on evening again, and I still haven’t really slept since watching those taillights fade into the dark yesterday.

After watching Melody leave, I dealt with the punch to the throat life had just served me like the rational, responsible adult I am: by getting blind drunk at the Clam Shack.

Mitch behind the bar was good enough to let me sleep it off in one of the booths after closing—which is hardly the first time I’ve done that. But this time, waking up two hours later in a dark, closed dive bar with a swimming head and cocaine residue on my nostrils felt…

Well, slightly less “rock ’n roll” and a little more “what thefuckkind of choices are you making in your life at forty-two?” Which was sobering enough to get me off my ass, out the side door, and back to the docks to boat back over here.

Since then, I’ve been sustaining myself on spiked coffee and Percocets, and sitting here trying to bleed genius across a page. The same page, in fact, that’s still blank and now shoved halfway across the desk in front of me.

I scowl in the lights-off dimness of the studio, lit only by the twilight outside. I take a heavy sip of my whiskey and coffee and exhale slowly.

If this were a song, or a movie or some shit, the cliche would be that after she’s gone, I see the error in my habits and kick my demons to the curb. That through her, I find my true self, and become the best version of myself.

Cue: an uplifting “look to the future” type song as the credits roll. Springsteen or John Mayer would be all over that shit.

But life isn’t a song. And the lessons don’t come just because they rhyme the right way or highlight that cool metaphor in the chorus. Out here in the real world, there’s a chance I’ve let these demons of mine devour so much of my soul that there’s no coming back.

I swear as I shake those thoughts from my head. I’m about to put the guitar down, get up, and go do someseriousdrinking. But instead, my brow furrows. I reach over and slide another piece of paper towards me—this one sketched over with lyrics, with chord notations jotted down above them.

I smile to myself.

It’s the song Melody and I wrote, together.

My breath exhales as I position the guitar in my lap, my eyes scanning the lines as I start to strum the intro we came up with. And when I start to sing, I let myself imagine that she’s still here with me. Fueling me; pushing me. Igniting whatever it is inside of me that used to burn so bright I couldn’t stop the magic from pouring out of me.

“There’s a song in my ear, there’s a hope that you’re near,

When I’m lost on the rocks and I’m sinking

When the boats goin’ down, all I’m thinkin’,

Is the melody you sang to me to sleep…

Is the one pulling me down to the deep.”

When I finish, I go right back into it. I start from the top as the words and the music that came from both of us fill the space around me.

This time, when I’m done, I close my eyes and let the final notes just sit there in the semi-darkness, hovering around me like a memory.

“Do you have, like, a tip-jar, or something?”

My eyes snap open. For a moment, in the darkness of the studio with my pulse thudding in my ears, I wonder if maybe I really have lost myself. That I’ve truly drank myself into a psychosis of some kind, because I’m actually hearing shit that isn’t there.

Shit like words from the lips of a pink-haired, pain in my ass girl who I watched leave in a haze of taillights last night.

I start to stand and put the guitar to the side. But suddenly, soft hands touch my shoulders and a warm breath teases my ear.

Real hands, really touching me. This isn’t in my head.

“Play it again?” Melody whispers quietly. “Please?”

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