The Masked Singer

[Chapter Eighteen]

Chapter Eighteen

Alex cautiously gets up from the piano stool and wanders over to the wall of acoustic guitars. Instead of looking at the individually perfectly carved pieces of wood, my eyes stay trained on his body, carefully watching each movement he makes.

"What guitar do you like?" He looks over his shoulder.

"How is this going to help?" I laugh.

"Where's the trust?" Alex places his hand over his heart, "I'm hurt." Though the bright smile on his face lights the room up.

"The one to the left of your head." His pouty lips quiver, and then slip into a smile.

He turns around and grabs the guitar from the hooks, and then places the strap over his shoulder. Alex slowly strums his fingers over the strings, taking time to fiddle with tightening the strings as he walks back to me.

"It's perfect." He hands me the guitar.

"Thanks." I pull the strap over my head and rest my arm over the top of it, "What do you want me to do with it?"

He grins madly, raises an eyebrow cheekily at me, and then says, "Play something good."

Frowning, I go to say something, but Alex rolls his eyes so I keep my mouth shut. I can't disagree with his crazy methods, so I let my fingers strum across the strings, plucking random cords – whatever comes to my mind first.

"Now I want you to keep an open mind now," Alex says.

"How-"

"Shh..." He presses his finger to his lips, "When you talk, you close your mind off to the possibilities." I shoot him one last glare before I try relaxing my body and opening my mind.

As I stare off into the distance, I feel... I feel nothing. No inspiration coursing through my blood.

"Close your eyes," is the next thing Alex instructs.

"But I won't be able to play," I say.

Alex crosses his arms over his chest. "Close your eyes," he demands.

As I close my eyes, I start to focus on the feeling of the strings underneath my fingertips and the next note I'm going to play.

"Visualize the first time you met this special person. How did you feel? Does this feeling remind you of anything else? Did you enjoy it? Do you want to feel like that again?" asks Alex.

All of these questions get me thinking. There's a sudden rush of feeling and memories flashing through my mind – it's like a movie playing through my mind. And then there's a large clap, pulling me from my thoughts, and the hazed like dream floating through my mind.

"Inspired yet?"

"Sadly, yes." I nod my head.

"The next step is finding suitable words to describe your feelings. Which we can build the words into sentences, which will evolve into lyrics," Alex explains.

"You're making this sound easier than it is, aren't you?"

"Yes." A guilty smile flashes onto his face.

"Does it get any easier?" I ask.

There's a thoughtful expression on Alex's face. I want him to nod his head, tell me things get easier after time, but he doesn't.

"You get better at it." Those words send shivers straight up my spine.

"Hopefully," I whisper.

"I'll grab pens and paper." Alex walks over to the corner of the room. There's a clear plastic container with a stack of loose paper and a box of pens.

"I usually prefer to write my lyrics down in my book," I say.

"Just glue the page in later?" he offers.

"That'll have to do. I left the book in my hotel room."

"Now that we've got that sorted, write down everything you felt."

Taking the guitar off, I lean it up against a free space on the wall and then join Alex at the desk. I take the pen and start writing down words, anything I can think of. With Alex standing behind me watching, it makes me nervous. I rack my brains trying to find intelligent words that are also descriptive.

"I can't write while you watch over my shoulder."

"Get used to the idea. Millions of people will be reading these." 

I don't like the words on the page, I don't feel them in my heart. I feel pressured, restricted with Alex gazing over my shoulder. The walls inside of me are coming up, and I can feel myself getting blocked up.

"I can't do it." I shake my head.

"Keep writing, you might write something intelligent down." He chuckles.

Waving my hand, I motion for him to move along. Alex takes the cue, and wanders over to the drums.

"Give me one line," he asks.

"Tell me where to start," I say.

"Give me something you've written," he repeats.

"I did, that was the line."

"Interesting line, what else have you got written?" he asks.

Picking up the papers in front of me, I scan through the different things scribbled across it. There's one line penned at the bottom was something I found just as interesting as the other.

"Do you feel the same way?" I say, "I know its cliché, but it would be a good ending!"

Alex takes a moment to think, quietly turn the words over.

"I think it would work, do you have anything else?"

"No."

"Do you want to know what I do when I write?" he asks.

"Sure." I nod my head eagerly.

"I play music and connect with other songs so that it gets the emotions flowing, or to remove the tension," explains Alex.

"Can we play a fun song?" I plea.

"Sure can, you look stressed!"

"I am." I pout, "I didn't realise how much traveling and work was going to be involved in a short period of time. I feel like I haven't had time to adjust," I confess.

"How about this," he says, "we put the foundation down for a song, and then I'll take you to my favourite place for dinner."

"Are you asking me out on a date?" I giggle at the idea.

A date with Alex Bray, that's enough motivation to start writing a song.

"If you write two verses."

"That sounds better than a whole song," I whisper.

"The clocks ticking, it's getting close to food time." He points to the watch on his wrist.

"I'll get started on writing the song," I swiftly say.

"That's what I want to hear." He chuckles.

"Of course." I'd like to skip to the part where we start eating dinner.