Page 154 of It Happened on a Sunday
It’s far from ideal, considering my left index finger is useless, but I’m not exactly playing power chords. I use my middle finger instead, and it works out okay.
I play around for a few seconds, trying to figure out exactly what pitch I’m looking for. Once I’ve found it, I start playing the melody I’ve heard in my mind hundreds of times over the last few months.
“Let the light in on a Sunday,
let the love come pouring in.
Let the love in on a Sunday,
let the light come pouring in.”
I run through what I think is the chorus several times, just to get the feel for it. Then I move onto the first verse—I don’t have it perfectly structured, but the idea is there.
My voice is dry, but since I’m pretty sure I just drank the last bit of water in the room, there’s nothing I can do about that fact, so I ignore it and do the best I can. I’m just playing anyway.
“It happened on a Sunday,
when the first three notes arrived…”
My hair falls into my eyes—it’s why I never wear it down when I’m writing—and I toss my head to get it out of the way. As I do, my eyes wander to the glass door at the exact same time Sly looks up.
His eyes widen as they meet mine, his jaw going slack. Not sure what else to do, I give him a smile and a little wave and then go back to playing the words that have been haunting me since I met him. Words about Sly and me and everything that’s managed to blossom between us despite the odds and opposition.
“It happened on a Sunday,
when the first three notes arrived.
A major chord that thundered through
the silence I’d survived.
It happened on a Sunday,
those three notes in my head.
A wild run, a stolen kiss,
long hours safe in bed.
Let the light in on a Sunday,
let the love come pouring in.
Let the love in on a Sunday,
let the light come pouring in
on a Sunday, on a Sunday, on a Sunday.”
The door slides open before I finish the first chorus, and then Sly and Marco and a woman in a nursing uniform are all there, staring at me like I’ve suddenly grown three heads. And maybe I have—at this point, nothing would surprise me.
“You’re awake!” Sly sobs as he runs for the bed. “Oh my God, you’re awake.”
He tries to grab hold of me, to hug me, but the nurse stepsbetween us. “Let me just check her out, and then I’ll get the doctor and you two can talk.”
“What happened to me?” I ask, looking between Sly and Marco. “Why am I here?”
“You suffered an oxycodone overdose. You fell, which led to a subdural hematoma,” the nurse tells me as she shines a light in my eyes. “I’m Lena, by the way. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Walker. Welcome back.”
