Page 33 of Stolen Harmony
“But you're really good,” another kid chimed in. “You should play a real song.”
“Yeah!” Sofia added, her voice stronger now than it had been all afternoon. “Play one of your songs!”
“I don't really write songs anymore,” Elias said, but there was something wistful in his voice.
“Why not?” Mark asked.
Elias was quiet for a moment, his fingers absently picking out a melody on his guitar. “I guess I just... haven't had anything to write about lately.”
The kids accepted this with the easy understanding that only children possessed, moving on to suggestions for what he should play instead. But I caught the sadness that had flickered across his face when he said he didn't write songs anymore.
My mother had mentioned his music in some of her letters. How he'd play for her sometimes in the evenings, how he'd written a song for their wedding that had made her cry. She'd been proud of his talent, frustrated that he didn't share it more widely.
Now I understood why he'd stopped.
The class was winding down, kids packing up their guitars and chattering about practicing for next week. Elias moved around the room, helping with cases and offering individual encouragement. I knew I should leave before he finished and caught me standing here like anidiot.
Instead, I knocked on the doorframe.
He looked up, and the expression that crossed his face was... complicated. Surprise, definitely. Maybe a little wariness. But there was also warmth there, the same genuine pleasure he'd shown with the kids.
“Rowan,” he said. “I didn't know you were here.”
“I was using the gym,” I said, gesturing vaguely down the hallway. “Heard the music.”
The kids had noticed me now, eight pairs of curious eyes studying the stranger in the doorway. I felt suddenly self-conscious, aware that I was sweaty and probably looked like I'd been wrestling with demons. Which, to be fair, I had been.
“This is Mr. Hale,” Elias told them. “He's a musician too.”
“Really?” Emma asked, bouncing slightly in her chair. “What do you play?”
“Guitar, mostly. Some piano.” I looked at their eager faces and felt my usual walls starting to crumble. “I write songs too.”
“Cool! Will you play us one?”
“Oh, I don't have a guitar with me,” I said quickly. “And you guys are probably ready to go home.”
“You can use mine,” Sofia offered, holding out her guitar.
I glanced at Elias, who was watching this interaction with an expression I couldn't quite read. He gave me a small nod, like he was saying it was okay if I wanted to.
I stepped into the room and accepted Sofia's guitar, checking the tuning quickly. It was a decent instrument, better than I'd expected for a community center program.
“What kind of song do you want to hear?” I asked.
“A dinosaur song!” Emma called out immediately.
“I don't know any dinosaur songs,” I admitted. “How about... how about a song about coming home?”
The kids nodded enthusiastically. I looked at Elias again,and this time I saw understanding in his eyes. He knew this wasn't just about entertaining children.
I started fingerpicking a simple melody, letting the muscle memory take over while I tried to find words that felt true. The song that came out wasn't polished or complicated, just honest.
“Sometimes you leave and think you're gone for good,”I sang, my voice rougher than it should have been for a kids' audience.“Sometimes you run because it's all you know how to do. But sometimes you find yourself walking down a road that leads you back to where you started, and maybe that's where you were supposed to be all along.”
The kids listened with the kind of attention adults rarely gave music, completely absorbed in the story. When I finished, they applauded with genuine enthusiasm.
“That was beautiful,” Sofia said quietly.
