Page 30 of The Ghost of You

“Did you just say jamming?”

“Yes.”

I turn in my seat to face him as he pulls into the lot by my job. “What are you fifty? Ready to jam like back in the seventies.”

He looks at me and laughs. “I don’t know what you young whippersnappers call it these days.”

I laugh at that and open my door. “Thanks for the ride, Noah.”

“Anytime.”

I get in my car and shiver. I wish I had heated seats. I hate the cold. Okay, that’s not true. There is nothing more I love than fireplaces, sweaters, and tea, but I hate getting into cold cars. It is the worst.

I pull out and see Noah waited for me. I follow him home. I wave as we both exit our cars and I walk inside. I don’t fail to notice him wait for me to make sure I made it inside my house okay.

I can tell he is a protector. From the way he is with me to the little I have seen him with his family. He is always making sure everyone is okay before himself. I wonder if he has ever had someone to look after him. Protect him from the things that have hurt him. I have no doubt he has needed it at some point. I have a feeling he has been through something that destroyed him. There is nothing wrong with being the strong and silent type, but from my experience, it’s always because someone has been put through the wringer.

I grew up with someone like Noah. He was a good friend to have around. I was sad when he moved when we were fifteen. But he had that protective gene that Noah has. I remember getting bullied one day when I was in middle school and he stood up for me in a way no one had before. He had been through foster care for a good chunk of his life and it hardened him. My friend, Becca, and I were always trying to get to know him but he kept his lips sealed.

I wonder what it would take to get Noah to open up. Do I want to know him better? I think so. In more ways than just what his hands would feel like on my body. Because I am not going to lie, I have thought about that more than I care to admit. Seraphina doesn’t help by always talking about him.

But I feel this pull to him. Like gravity wants us to collide.

I fall asleep with thoughts of Noah in my head. Promising myself that tomorrow I will try to learn more about him.

* * *

My planof getting to know Noah didn’t go over very well as he wasn’t home when I woke up yesterday and I never saw him return. His car was in the driveway this morning though when I returned from yoga. Maybe he does have a girlfriend and I just haven’t realized it.

I shower quickly and put on a pair of yoga pants, tank, and hoodie. I dry my hair and throw it on top of my head. I run into my music room and grab my favorite acoustic guitar and head out the door.

My palms are sweaty as I drive to Mason’s studio. I haven’t played music with others in a long time. I’ve kept it to myself. Which is probably why it sucks. I need other’s opinions and expertise. I need to collaborate and learn. I need to put myself out there.

It’s one of the reasons I keep putting off moving to Nashville. I can’t show up there, expect to get a gig anywhere, and perform without being comfortable playing in front of a crowd again. Hell, playing in front of two people sounds scary enough.

I think back to when I was in college. I was playing in bands for crowds of hundreds and it never affected me. I never got stage fright. I never felt like puking when picking up an instrument in front of a crowd. But now I can barely play a chord without anxiety pummeling my chest or my lunch inching its way up my throat.

Becca and Seraphina would both say it’s because of Kyle. Kyle and I played everywhere together. He was my rock on stage. Even if it wasn’t us doing our cutesy little acoustic alternative hipster music. When I would play with my folk band, he would sometimes just sit on stage or step in and play the cowbell a few times. But he was there. And when I lost him, the thrill I felt on stage disappeared with him. I knew if the events leading up to his death hadn’t happened, I might still be able to do it, still be the star on the stage. But those events almost made me lose my interest in music altogether. My family pressured me to keep playing, told me it would be my therapy. But it hurt too much. I never played the songs we wrote together again. I quit my folk band. I let the music in my soul die.

And I didn’t touch it again for six years. Not until I moved to Asheville and Seraphina shoved a guitar into my hand. She kidnapped me one day as I put it. Forced me into a car and drove us back to my hometown to a storage unit I’ve kept all this time, where all my music, instruments, and memorabilia were kept. Seraphina unpacked it all in my sunroom, decorated it, brought the space to life.

I cried for an hour when she showed me what she did.

I felt the ache in my chest when I let my fingers glide over the keys of my keyboard.

I suffered through the emptiness in my heart with the first chord I played on my guitar.

But I did it. And I kept playing. She told me I didn’t have to be a star. I didn’t need to be front and center. But my music was what kept my soul alive. She told me to write, to let it out. Just do something to let me feel again.

She was right.

It helped. I’ve felt more alive every day since that intervention. I started doing yoga. I started eating healthy. I started caring about myself again. Music became my therapy in a way I never thought it could.

I started to focus on songwriting and composing. It awakened me more and more with every note and every melody.

I’m not a hundred percent healed. I still fall down that dark path when I think about Kyle. But I am getting better. And maybe one day soon it won’t hurt anymore.

But right now, I am scared shitless of playing in front of people.

---