Page 61 of Paint the Town, Dove
“She said ‘what’s dead can’t hurt you.’”
What a naïve woman.“Rachel’s got some friendly skeletons in her closet, then.”
“Do you think she’s right?” He asked, turning to me. “That the dead can’t hurt us?”
I thought back to that day.
The funeral.
Envisioninghisspirit rising from the dirt, six feet under, telling me to scrub the toilet with my own shirt. The one I’d been wearing that day. The only one I had that was clean.
I thought about his palm swatting the back of my head, then my cheek, telling me we had no food left in the fridge. I was seven.How was I supposed to pay for anything?
Finally, I thought about how he pushed me up against the refrigerator, holding a needle to my neck, warning me against theworld. ‘This is how you get through the day, Vi! This will keep you sane!’”
If only he could see me now.
In a world engulfed by speakers, singers and song lyrics.
A planet of noise, to help me drownhisvoice out.
I hardened my gaze, staring up into shadows. “The dead don’t hurt what they’re afraid of.”
And I made damn sure to exercise that fear.
Chapter Eighteen
Ryden
Fifteen Years Ago
I met Emory the same way I met Scarlett.
[Came in like the wind, left like a storm.]
“I hear you’re a guitarist,” she mused. “Show me.”
I was fearless having practiced over and over to drown out the noise.
The crunch of glass beneath my mother’s bare feet.
Knuckles colliding with plaster.
And yelling, so much yelling.
Music was my escape, my lifeline. Once I found my sound, I didn’t stop singing.
My guitar slung in its case across my back; like a wallet to some, a phone to others, Harley was my wristwatch. “What do you want to hear?”
She smiled. “Whatever you want to sing.”
It’s only fitting, I thought, as I strummed a C Major, hummingFreedom, a song I wrote in hopes to one day feel such a thing – a manifestation, a dream.
“He’s good,” Emory nudged Scarlett as I played.
I was so used to the notes reverberating off the corners of my room that the noise of others felt distant. I could hear bits of praise, tuned them out just the same. To be a rock star…
Drown out the noise.
