“Now,” I said, picking up speed. “Note the difference.”
Same song. Different type of playing. I let every note flow from my fingers all the way through my body like my soul and the music were one.
When I was done, I opened my eyes.
To see Saylor crying.
“Shit.” Yeah, because saying shit immediately made girls stop crying. Brilliant move. “Are you okay?”
“That was beautiful.” She sniffled, her blue eyes glowing with excitement. “I’ve never heard anything like it. I’m sorry for crying. Ugh.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You must think I’m such an idiot! I’ve cried twice now.”
I shrugged. Actually, she’d cried once and even then it wasn’t some crazy sob-inducing spectacle, she cried with… restraint. It was almost weird. “At least this time I earned the tears.”
Saylor smiled. “Yeah, you really did.”
“Alright.” I stood and slid my hands around her waist gently pushing her toward the middle of the bench. “Now, play one of your songs, any one of them, and I’m going to help you feel.”
“Feel what? It’s just music.”
“Just music?” I repeated. “That’s like saying you’re just breathing, or I’m just existing. Not true. Music is a story. And you’re the author.” I placed her hands on the piano and put mine over them. “Each stroke of your fingers is a different word that describes the story. By itself it’s meaningless, but—” I pushed down on a few fingers helping her play a few notes. “String them together and you have a melody. You have a story. So, Saylor, what story do you want to tell?”
Her entire body froze in front of mine. Her warmth against mine drove me insane. Saylor began to tremble as if the closeness was too much for her to handle. If I were being honest, it was taking every ounce of restraint I had not to touch her more. Being near her was the closest to living I’d experienced in a very long time. And damn, damn, damn, I really did want to live, didn’t I?
For some reason I felt like we had stepped over some invisible boundary, but I wanted to help her. It was almost as if helping her find that passion was redeeming my own damnation.
Music made me feel alive.
And those who made beautiful music? Were like an addiction all by themselves.
“Yours.” She said it so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. “You won’t use words to explain — part of me thinks you never have and never will. So, show me through the music, show me your story, Gabe.”
The room was suddenly too small.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Saylor, my story… It isn’t a happy one.” I pressed down on her fingertips anyway as I helped her play a melody.
“I don’t need a happy story.”
“And the ending.” I continued helping her with the melody, my abdomen pressed against her back as I hovered over her. “It’s one of those endings…”
“What kind?” she breathed.
“A sad one.” My voice quivered.
Her fingers became strong underneath mine, her body stopped shaking. In an instant, her hands slipped out from beneath mine a
nd moved to press over the top. “So change it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Life has two stages. Birth and death. That’s it. What you do in between the two? Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? —Wes M.
Saylor
Behind me, Gabe ceased all motion. The only way I knew he was still there was from the heat that seeped into my back from where his body touched me. More warmth rolled off his hands where they seemed fused to mine. Any minute now, I expected him to pull away, to slip into mask number one or mask number two. Instead, he flipped my hands over, gripping them with his fingers and exhaled, long and slow. Seconds went by, but they may as well have been years. Each time he let out a breath, my heart skipped a beat of longing, needing more of his touch — more of something. My back tingled as the hard planes of his stomach pressed against me. I was in a Gabe cocoon.
And I loved it.