My chest feels tight, but I'm not crying. I thought listening to this would crush me, destroy me, set me back months. Instead, I feel calm. I feel peaceful. I've just been given something I never knew I could have. I just got five minutes with my best friend again. I got five minutes to hear her familiar voice and her beautiful laughter. I got five minutes to hear her encourage me to be better. To do epic.
I don't waste anytime opening up her laptop.
And picking up my guitar.
And you know that feeling when you just know something fucking amazing is about to go down?
Yup, that's exactly how I feel right now.
Wednesday, December 6
(Scout)
Gustov has been playing his acoustic guitar a lot this week. He always leaves his bedroom door shut, but since my room is right across the hall, the sound seeps in. Even with my door closed and my hearing aid removed, I hear him faintly. I'm not complaining—it's the best imaginable way to fall asleep. My fondest memories of my dad are the times he would play his guitar and sing me to sleep when I was little. I haven't thought about that for many years, but this week it seems like everything's come to the surface.
It's ten-thirty and I'm lying in bed. I should be sleeping because I'm helping Audrey with a big presentation at work tomorrow morning. Instead, I'm listening. Gustov didn't come out of his room tonight for dinner. I haven't seen him at all today and I feel a little off because of it, like I can't end my day without seeing his face.
And then I hear something that makes me strip back the covers and put my feet to floor. Before I know it, I've inserted my hearing aid and I'm standing in my pajamas in the hallway in front of his door.
Just standing.
And listening.
He's singing. His voice is barely audible. More humming than words. But he's singing.
I sit down next to his door with my back against the wall and I listen.
The humming continues and meshes with the guitar. He strums over and over, each time changing something, fine tuning. Pretty soon the humming gives way to words. A verse at a time, but I swear it's like listening to the creation of magic. Pure magic.
His voice has invaded me. I'm not just hearing it. I'm taking it in through all five senses.
It's intimate in a way I can't even begin to explain.
It's not the tactile sensation normally associated with intimacy; it's cerebral. All in my mind. It's steeping and brewing within me.
It all morphs and evolves into an entire song within a matter of hours. And when the music finally descends into silence, I feel so lucky that I was here to witness this, to experience it, to share it with him. Even if he had no idea.
I glance through my door at the clock on my nightstand, and the glaring red numbers tell me it's almost three in the morning. I need to go to bed, but I don't want to let this moment go. I want to curl up right here on the floor next to his door just so I can be close to him. So I close my eyes and I give myself another few seconds to linger in the dissipating magic before I stand.
Before I walk back to my bedroom, I walk to the kitchen. There's something I need to do.
I return to Gustov's door and set a sticky note on the floor, along with a plate and glass. I knock and then take the three steps required to put me behind my bedroom door.
I hear his door open just after mine closes.
(Gus)
I open my door to find a plate filled with saltines slathered in peanut butter and a glass of grape juice on the floor in the hallway. My stomach growls in demanding appreciation at the sight of them. I haven't eaten since lunch. When I pick up the plate, there's a sticky note stuck to the hardwood floor underneath it. It makes me smile. Eat this. You didn't have dinner. And thank you. That song filled my soul tonight.
She was here, listening, the whole time. I want to knock on her door. I want to hug her. I want to thank her for sharing the past few hours with me.
I don't know how to explain it, but the way the song came together, I knew I wasn't alone. I haven't written like that since Bright Side was around. I always feel her in my heart these days, because that's where she lives. I walk around with her inside me every day. And it doesn't hurt anymore. But the presence I felt tonight wasn't internal. It was physical. Tangible. Like someone was in the room with me, feeding me. Little did I know, she was just on the other side of the door.
Filling my soul.
Friday, December 8
(Gus)
I've been writing nonstop this week. Going through Bright Side's stash on her laptop has started my creative juices flowing again. I've even used a few of her melodies and choruses as a springboard to get me started. Other songs have grown out of the feelings she conveyed in lyrics she'd written. Not the words themselves necessarily, but the emotion behind the words. Those are my favorites. I'm also drawing inspiration from the sticky notes Impatient's been leaving on my door—I find them every morning. Most mornings, she's already left for work or gone for a run by the time I open my door. It's never more than a couple of words but it lets me know she's been listening. That I'm not alone. That she digs what I'm doing. Or that sometimes she doesn't. I should probably just invite her in at night when I'm working, but half of me is scared it will stunt my mojo. The other half is scared I'll choke altogether in her presence, because she's one of the only people I find myself looking to for approval, probably because it's so damn hard to earn it. She doesn't fling compliments freely in the direction of everyone around her; she picks and chooses, and when she says something, she means it. There's no bullshit with her. For now, I like knowing she's just on the other side of the door, listening. Her presence is a palpable force in the room, driving me to dig deeper. To do better. To do epic. I haven't felt that in such a long time. So for now, I've got two of my favorite girls pushing me, bullying me, cheering me on in their own physically non-existent, but emotionally so-fucking-present way. It's eerie, but it works. It more than works. It's fueling me.