Page 16 of Betsy
Seeping into me
Drowning out your voice
I played through the tune again, more words slowly forming in my mind’s eye. I didn’t stop to write them down. Instead, I let the music come together like an artist blending colors to try and create the perfect hue.
Just a whisper
Let me hear you
Let me feel you
Above all the noise
Hmm. Maybe it would sit more comfortably in a different key. I picked up my capo and clipped the device to the guitar’s fingerboard to shorten the strings and raise their pitch.
Speak to me
E – F – G
You’re all I need.
F – G – A – B flat
Drown out the world
A – A – B flat – A
Lord, I’m listening
G – F – C – C
The doors to the sanctuary burst open, cutting off the flow of inspiration like a clamp to a blood vessel.
“Well, those were lighter than I thought.” Betsy turned to glare at the swinging double doors behind her. When she faced forward again, she grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was hoping to sneak in and check out the equipment without disturbing you, but that’s obviously an epic fail.”
“It’s okay.” I set my guitar down beside me on the stage. “Just let me jot down those lyrics, and I’ll show you around.”
She walked down the aisle and stopped near the second row of seats.
Ah. How did that first line of the second stanza start again? I hummed out the tune, mentally singing the first bit. I hit a blank wall.
“Something about a whisper,” I mumbled to myself, willing the words to come back to me.
“Just a whisper. Let me hear you. Let me feel you—” Betsy sang so quietly I was surprised her voice traveled to me at all.
I looked up at her and sang along with the line. “Above the noise.”
Her mouth softened, and I thought she’d smile, but then her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away. Quickly, I jotted the lyrics in my notebook before I forgot them again, then stood up and stretched out my back. Hunching over a notebook and guitar while sitting on the top step of the stage did nothing for my posture.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. That part of the song could have been lost to me forever if she hadn’t remembered what she’d heard.
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocked on the balls of her feet, refusing to acknowledge my gratitude. Her gaze bounced around the large worship space, setting upon anything but me.
Was she…afraid of me?
As soon as the idea took shape, Betsy whipped her head around and pinned me with narrowed eyes rife with challenge. Almost as if she dared me to say my question out loud.
I swallowed hard, pushing down equal parts intimidation and intrigue.
