Treading The Waters [on hold]

Chapter Eight

I've missed this feeling. The callused fingertips from hours of playing on my guitar. The permanent indent that my pencil makes when I'm writing for hours on end.

I actually woke up excited to write today. I've had these three lines stuck in my head for a few days and during my sleep last night, I dreamt of a chord progression that fit the few lyrics perfectly.

This morning, I started playing and nearly an entire song flowed out of me. With the warm sun rising and a cup of coffee at my side, I finally finish the song. I haven't written in months, and what I wrote back then was simply labeled as shit.

I feel good about what I just wrote. It's melodic and rich, full of feelings. It's the perfect song about connection—not specific to a significant other or a best friend—but just simply about the power of connection with another person.

I haven't felt this good about a song in a long time. Coming home must have been the right move. If I keep writing like this, maybe I won't have to stay here so long. I can write a bunch of songs, add them to my work arsenal and then hopefully leave this place. I feel like I've been under the magnifying glass ever since I got back, and it doesn't help that my ex is my neighbor, and he's always watching.

The sun is rising higher in the sky and I'm not sure what happened, but I know more time has passed than I intended for it to. I pick up my phone and check the time to confirm.

9:34 am.

Shit! I'm supposed to be meeting Lorraine for coffee at 10. I rush back into the house and throw on a pair of jean shorts, a cute flowy tank top, and converse. I put on a light layer of foundation, bronzer, highlighter, and I swipe a few strokes of mascara on my eyelashes. I look presentable enough. Totally not like I have a miserable life right now and that I'm unemployed.

No, this is fake, happy Baya. I can play her easily.

As I drive into town, I see a few people on the streets with baked goods and groceries but other than that, this part of town isn't very popular. At least not at 10 am on a Thursday morning. Now the evenings... that's a different story. The town can get a bit wild then.

I parallel park on the street across from the bakery and get out, checking my handiwork. Whoever thought to make parking spaces parallel so that people like me—who own a girthy Jeep—can't park easily should really be slapped in the face. Parallel parking was and still is a horrible idea. Someone must have been really bored when they came up with that torturous idea.

I walk into the bakery and see Lorraine already sitting at a table by the window. She waves me over with a huge smile on her face, and her warmth eases some of the nerves I had in coming here.

I make my way over to the table and Lorraine stands to hug me. She looks so beautiful. Lo has been gorgeous for as long as I've known her, and the years have only done her justice.