Page 4 of Blue Horizons

Poems, screenplays, novels, they are the art of words. People marvel at how twenty-six simple letters can create such brilliant works as the great classics and today's contemporaries, but what about the art of music? Music is created with only seven notes, A through G. Sure those notes can be played sharp, flat, or in a different octave, but letters can change as well. Take 'read'—it sounds different pronounced in the past or present tense. Or take the letter 'c'—it sounds different from mic to mice. In the end, I’m in awe of what can be made by seven little notes. The beauty that comes from the harmony and the emotions that it can evoke, it’s all fascinating, and the people who compose the music even more so.

Another finch flies by and lands on the feeder. Tank sees them, sprints across the deck, and jumps. She’ll never reach the tiny birds, but bless her for trying. I make a mental note to add sunflower seeds to the grocery list.

“Come on, Tank. Let’s go get some coffee and I’ll let you out.” She jumps again and runs around my legs. This little dog has so much energy.

Taking the deck stairs, I head down a level toward the kitchen. Emma and Cora are sitting in the rocking chairs drinking coffee and eating cupcakes. There’s a comfortable silence and a contentment floating around them that makes my heart smile. They’re both relaxed and the cool mountain air looks good on them.

“Where did those come from?” I’m unable to hide my excitement.

Emma stuffs the last of her cupcake into her mouth and Cora grins at me. “Oh, I may have snuck them into my carry-on yesterday before we left,” she says smugly.

“Really?! How did I not know this?” I walk through the French doors that lead to the kitchen, and there on the table is a box from Kelly’s Kupcakes. I’ve died and gone to heaven. “And this is why I love you the most.” Reaching into the box, I pull out a chocolate cupcake with maple-buttercream icing and bacon sprinkles.

“Hey!” says Emma. “I was with her too.”

I sink my teeth into the delicious cake and moan in delight. So good.

Emma and I met Cora right before graduating. She is two years older than us, and although she had attended the same school, we didn’t cross paths early on. Everyone knew of her though. She was born and raised on the Upper East Side of New York City, her family is extremely wealthy, and their name is repeatedly recognized for their generous donations to different annual school campaigns. But the night we saw her play at Talents, we knew she was meant to be with us.

Emma and I had gone out for our usual mid-week escape at Talents, a bar near school, where every night is open mic night, and anything goes. We went for two reasons: One, because we related to the people who were performing, and two, you never knew what you were going to see or hear. The diversity of the performances ranged from poetry slams, Broadway monologues, dance routines, original written music, cover artist music, you name it . . . if it can be performed, it’s allowed. Even though sometimes the performances were awful, some were amazing. It was the only place in the city I felt comfortable. I connected to those who stepped onto the stage because some were trying to conquer their fears, and others were trying to set their souls free.

One minute Emma and I were lost in conversation, and then suddenly we heard “Like I’m Gonna Love You,” by Megan Trainer on the cello. The place silenced as every jaw dropped at the girl on the stage. We were captivated and moved by the enormous feeling and passion pouring out of her.

Her!Cora Rhodes.

What we were witnessing was a complete contradiction to the girl we knew. The Cora from school was trained in the classics and carried herself like the socialite she is. Her hair is always styled and the perfect blonde, her figure and her face have been tweaked to match her pedigree, and she wears diamonds instead of pearls. She’s refined with an air of sophistication about her that says “I am way out of your league,” but watching her that night up on the stage, with her hair loose, wearing casual skinny jeans, we knew she wanted more. More out of life, more than what she was entitled to, and more of who she longed to be and less of what she was expected to be.

Emma and I took one look at each other, abandoned our seats, and followed her off the stage. Instantly, she became a new best friend, we became a trio, and the three of us never looked back.

“Okay then, I take it back. I love you both,” I say, while licking off some of the icing. No one loves cupcakes more than I do. I love to bake them and I sure love to eat them.

“So, Av, what are your plans today?” Emma asks me.

“My plans are to do nothing.” I grin at her, set my coffee cup on the ground, and take my seat in the rocking chair on her other side.

“I think we’re going to head into town, do a little shopping. Wanna go?” She already knows I’m going to say no, but I appreciate that she still asks anyway. The thought of being crowded in the little shops has me tensing.

“No, thanks. My Kindle and I are going to spend most of the day in the hammock down by the lake.” I glance down toward to dock to make sure that the hammock is still there. In the past, Emma’s parents have started to pack up the house for the winter when they come for Columbus Day weekend. But there it is, hanging off to the side, just waiting for me. I spot the kayaker again and my eyes are drawn to the fluid way he paddles. Even from here, the strength in his arms is impressive.

“Okay, well, make sure you rest up because we’re going out tonight,” Cora says, smiling at me, letting me know she’s up for the challenge if I choose to argue.

“Oh,” I groan, frowning at her. I hate going out and they both know this.

“It’ll be fun. Besides, you never know who you’ll meet there.” Emma takes a big sip of her coffee to hide her face. She’s been pushing me lately to try and meet a guy. She says it’s not normal for a twenty-five-year-old to not have had a boyfriend or two by now. But what she seems to be forgetting is that Ihavehad one, and he was enough to last a lifetime. I don’t want another one, not now, maybe not ever. That may not be normal, but I’m not normal, and I’m okay with that.

“Yeah, try no one. I don’twantto meet anyone.” We’ve had this conversation so many times. My relaxed mood shifts and now I’m feeling slightly attacked by my friends.

“One of these days, when you least expect it, someone is going to sweep you off your feet, just like in all those romance novels you read.” She winks at me and grins like she’s in on some big secret. Whatever. I’ve got news for her . . . no way. It’s not that I’m opposed to love—I actually love the idea of falling and being in love. It’s all the other stuff that comes with it—the fear, pain, and uncertainty. Very few people understand what my relationship to Chris did to me, and I plan on never repeating that mistake again.

“I highly doubt it.” My tone comes across sharp.

“Mmm hmm,” she mumbles.

“So listen,” Cora changes the subject, “I’ve got a few chords floating around in my head, and I think it’s time to put them down.”

“Really? That’s awesome. How long have you been working on this?” I look past Emma to see Cora grinning. She’s excited, which makes me excited.

“Not long, but this one came on fast.”

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