"Galaxy, c'mon and sit with us!" Elaine chirped, batting her pretty eyelashes and showing off her CoverGirl smile. Elaine was full of herself, sure, but there was nothing wrong with that. It was refreshing to find a girl who loved everything about herself.
Galaxy turned towards us, taking her time, serene eyes blinking as she weighed the options of joining us versus not joining us, then came to sit with us, plopping down on the blanket next to Elaine and sitting with her long legs out in front of her. She gazed at her hands on her knees without a word.
"Eric, honey, won't you pull out the sodas?" Elaine chirped at me, immediately finding it hard to strike up a conversation with Galaxy.
"Sure thing. And don't call me honey," I replied, passing her a Sprite and Galaxy a Pepsi. I'd figured out at least one thing about Galaxy Hartwood- she really liked Pepsi.
From behind us, Ronny shouted "Heads up!" And before I realized what had happened, Galaxy had reached out one scrawny arm to catch the frisbee before it conked Elaine right in the head. Elaine gasped and squirmed away before laughing at this near-injury experience.
"How did you do that?" she asked Galaxy through her hand, bewildered and giggling.
Galaxy merely shrugged. "Reflexes," she replied before getting up to give Ronny the frisbee.
Elaine turned to me immediately, snickering in awe at how the weird girl just kept getting weirder- but in a good way, she added quickly.
From somewhere down the path that led through trees down to the docks, a soft melody floated to us on the breeze. A guitar and a voice were carried on the air to us, creating a relaxing fall ambience.
"Street performers," Leonard commented with humor before turning to catch the frisbee Ronny chucked at him.
I wasn't thinking much of it, but Galaxy was. I didn't notice, but she was standing in the field, gazing in the direction of the music, listening intently. Without making a sound or saying a word, she began to walk towards it, unnoticed by the rest of us.
I didn't notice she was walking away until she was already on the path and almost to the trees. I hopped up immediately, calling her name as Elaine, Leonard, and Robby abandoned our picnic and followed. In retrospect, I'm not sure why we were so worried about her. It's not as if she would've gotten hurt, but then again, every memory of Galaxy Hartwood feels like it was meant to happen, whether it made sense or not.
We stayed behind Galaxy, watching, and the words of the song drifted to us. I could hear only the ends and beginnings of words, like "school," "fly away," "driving," "car," "arms," mixed in with the notes of a guitar.
For a second, we lost Galaxy beneath the shadows of the trees, and I nearly panicked until we finally reached the street performer. It was a young woman sitting on a little stool with a guitar in her hands, and she was singing and playing something I'd never heard before. Her appearance was more Janelle Monae than Tracy Chapman, but her downturned face and unyielding voice were full to the brim of soul and heartache.
Galaxy was sitting on the large, protruding root of a tree directly across from the woman with the guitar. I could see her profile from this angle; her shoulders slumped over, dyed-midnight blue hair pulled into two braids with her bangs hanging in her face, and her eyes wider than I'd ever seen them. They were fixated on the performer, as if she was watching the music float from the guitar itself. In this light, I noticed for the first time that her eye color was golden brown.
Looking from Galaxy to the woman with the guitar, I began to listen to the lyrics. If I remember right, it went something like;
"You've got a fast car
We go cruising, entertaining ourselves,
You still ain't got a job,
Now I work in a market as a checkout girl"
Standing there, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why Galaxy was looking the way she did. I wondered if maybe she'd never seen a street performer before, or maybe she was having some sort of episode. It didn't quite occur to me that this song meant something painfully important to Galaxy Hartwood until the chorus came around. Something like;
"So remember when were driving
Driving in your car
Speed so fast I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder"
It was there. It was that line that I looked at Galaxy and her eyes were closed and her shoulders began to move up and down in a hiccuping, erratic motion. I looked at the profile of her face and she was crying. Galaxy Hartwood was weeping, right before me.
Each note seemed to be striking her in the chest. She cradled her arms to herself as the lyrics spat "I had a feeling that I belonged, I had a feeling I could be someone," and something with the way her shoulders shook and how she gripped at the front of her leather jacket told me she used to have a feeling she belonged, that she could be someone, and before she moved to our school she lost that feeling in a tremendous way, and now she was here.
I looked at the woman with the guitar. Her voice kept coming out and her fingers kept strumming, but she was looking up at Galaxy. She wasn't shocked or even guilty; no, she was understanding. Her large, melancholy eyes had nothing but a sympathy for Galaxy, a shared feeling. There was something going on between the woman's guitar and Galaxy's tears that only this song understood.
"Thought maybe you and me find it
I got no plans I ain't going nowhere
So take your fast car and keep on driving"
Galaxy's head was bowed. She was curved, like a cripple, and as afraid for her as I was, I wanted to know all about her sadness. I wanted to read this chapter of Galaxy Hartwood, entitled, "Why This Stranger's Song Breaks My Heart in the Most Personal Way Possible."
"You got a fast car
Is it fast enough so you can fly away?
You gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way"
The voice stopped, and eventually the guitar did too. I was silent, and so were Elaine and Ronny and Leonard. So was Galaxy, as her damp eyes stared down at the fallen leaves, her teeth biting her lower lip and hands debating whether to keep clinging to her jacket or to wipe away the streaks of dark eye make-up that ran down her cheeks.
The street performer removed the guitar strap from around her neck and placed it on the ground next to her stool. She stood up and walked with light steps over to Galaxy, that same understanding look planted firmly on her face. She brushed Galaxy Hartwood's bangs to the side and kissed her forehead gently, like a mother. Their lips never moved, but they were speaking with each other. Whispering thanks you's, screaming I'm sorry's. Communication of those with backstories, I guess.
The street performer picked up her guitar and her stool and left down the path towards the docks. None of us said anything. None of us moved.
I stared at Galaxy Hartwood, who was staring at the ground. I wanted to ask her everything, but knew she would answer nothing. She was a book that I could only read, chapter after chapter, without ever knowing the motives of the person who wrote it.
Fast Car- Tracy Chapman
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