LUKE IS PERCHED on the edge of my bed, leaning as far forward as possible. He's making an effort to give me distance, which is sweet, but I know that he hates being apart. The singer isn't one for emotional moments, so he wants to cheer me up.
We both know that can't happen so soon. I need time to process what I just witnessed through my hidden long-term memories. As always, I am processing this information through a song.
I don't have one that displays exactly how I'm feeling, but there is one that is close enough.
"This is a song I wrote for you," I whisper. From his slow nod, I can tell that he heard me.
"We all got nightmares in our dreams. We look for someone to believe in us and show us the way," I glance at him as I sing, "and make it okay. The world can be dangerous, dangerous."
Luke's brown eyes are already beginning to pool with tears. He does that fast-blink thing that men tend to do when they are trying not to cry.
Without missing a beat, I continue. This time, my lyrics are empowering.
"There's something so rare in your veins not a single thing I would change and oh, if you only knew how I see you, would you come alive again, alive again?"
Luke smiles lightly.
He definitely does not miss the irony. In this case, I mean alive in a metaphorical sense. Luke's death killed a part of his parents and seeing him like that has pushed him deeper into his own sorrow.
At this point, I twist my body forward so that we are less than a foot apart. This means that I have to strain to reach the keyboard with my right hand and play on tempo, but it doesn't bother me.
I sing about how our shadows are similar, but they'll disappear in the light. These nightmares won't go on forever, even if I have to suffer through every painful memory of my lifetime. I will get through it. I have people backing me, who care about me and won't call me crazy.
I have Julie, who has been sent to therapy for grief counseling.
I have Flynn, who basically has the personality of a Gen Z Leigh Anne.
I have Alex, who will match my feelings whether we are laughing or crying.
I have Reggie, who will turn my sorrow into joy with jokes and unintentionally brighten my day by being himself.
I have Teresa, Mia, and Blake, the younger siblings that I need to be a good example for.
And there's Daniel and Taylor, proud foster parents of a sick girl who drained their bank account with medical bills, but not their supply of love for her.
All of these people I met because of my tragedy, whatever happened.
"It's okay to be afraid," I sing softly, almost forgetting to play. "Just walk like you're never alone."
Luke has enough songwriting skills to guess the melody that follows.
We sing together, "I don't mind your shadows."
Luke debates whether or not to hold my left hand, then places his hand on my knee, too wary of my injury. It stops me in my tracks, causing me to get off beat as I forget that breathing exists.
"...your shadows," I whisper, echoing the line that we sang. "Baby, I don't."
There's another verse, bridge, and chorus that I've written to the song, but I'm too entranced to continue. The chords that I recorded for my left hand keep playing.
Luke's right hand is still on my left knee. His brown eyes hold warmth. It's like seeing the earth for the first time after a harsh winter, relishing how the deep brown color means that something can grow from it.
I'm not looking for a relationship because I have too many personal problems, but Luke makes it look like an easy decision. My eyes trail down his face from his eyes, to the stubble along his chin that will never grow or be shaved.
The boys are really lucky that none of them had a stupid haircut when they died. They would be stuck with it forever.
My gaze shifts upward to his lips. Luke swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing with the motion.
I tear my eyes away, afraid of what I might do next if I keep staring. They focus on Luke's hand on my knee.
He realizes what I'm looking at and clears his throat while removing his touch.
Luke takes a moment to clap as if he is unsure whether or not it is appropriate to clap. "That was amazing. You wrote all that with a broken arm? Amazing."
I know that he's praising me, but all I feel right now is a lack.
Not a lack of talent necessarily, but a lack of everything that's important.
I feel a lack of confidence, for one.
If I went for what I want, I wouldn't be just singing with Luke. I wouldn't have stood frozen in my memory.
I lack faith in myself.
How do I know that another catastrophe won't break me? I suppose the plus side of Luke being dead means that nothing bad can happen to him. He can't die, so he can't leave me unless by choice.
I lack his touch.
I say none of these things. Luke wouldn't know how to react and I'm scared of what that would be.
I nod absentmindedly. I suppose my song was pretty amazing, but right now I feel emotionally drained.
"I'm so tired, but I'm scared of falling asleep," I murmur to him.
My door opens and my head jerks to the person standing at the door. "Lila Mae, what are you doing singing your lungs out at 3 a.m.? You woke up the household."
I'm surprised it woke Mr. Williams because he tends to sleep through anything.
"I'm sorry, I had inspiration in the middle of the night. It's where the best ideas come to life," I explain to him. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Actually, you only woke up Taylor. She sent me in here because she was too lazy to scold you," he replies. "She didn't want to get out of bed. Don't tell her I said that, okay?"
"Okay," I respond.
"There are children in this house with school at 7:30 tomorrow, er, today, so please be considerate of others, alright?" he asks sleepily.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Good night." Daniel Williams rubs his eyes sleepily as he stumbles back to the master bedroom.
"He's nice," Luke comments.
"Yeah," I agree. Emily comes to my mind. "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot," he says with a grin.
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" I ask.
"With what?" He pretends to be oblivious to my question, but his smile falters, betraying him.
"You know what." I lay next to him on my back, staring at the ceiling fan.
"No, I don't," he reiterates.
"Yes, you do," I reply softly. "We both know what I mean."
His brown eyes are hard with frustration. I get the impression that he's not angry at me, but with himself.
I take a deep breath before proposing what I'm thinking. "How about this: if I open up to you about my dream you'll open up to me about your mom. It's obvious we both need to talk to someone, but we're too stubborn."
Luke hesitates.
"Think of it as couples therapy," I blurt before I can stop myself. My face turns red as I ramble. "I mean, we are each other's therapist, of course. Not a couple as in together."
He nods with a frown on his face.
"So you agree?" I ask.
"Yeah," he mumbles. "It's for the best."
I want to clarify whether he means the couple thing or talking about our feelings, but I resist. I try to play it off cool.
"What's a little heartache among friends, right?" I ask with a small, sad smile. "We understand each other."
"I guess." Luke rolls over so he's on his back too. "Wanna go first?"
I give him a look.
I suppose he deserves to hear from me first because it was my idea. "Fine."
I summarize my dream, telling every detail I think could be relevant. I mention the scene from before where I argued with the girl. The only thing he doesn't know about is the strange man.
"That's...a lot to take in," he begins. "I think...I think we are more alike than I thought."
"Yeah?" I prop myself up on my elbows, feet in the air. "How so?"
"It sounds like your parents weren't into the whole 'music thing' either," he cautiously starts, "but you still went through with whatever performance that was."
It hadn't occurred to me.
"Oh, my God! Did I get my sister killed?" Tears well in my eyes and Luke knows he said the wrong thing. "How awful!"
"No, no! Lila, look at me," he commands, brushing his fingertips down my face as he tilts my head towards him. "There is no way you could have known your lights would malfunction. We don't even know for sure what happened. I'm just trying to piece the story together."
"I think you're right though," I respond. "It makes sense. My sister was trying to stop me from sneaking out or going somewhere. She said, 'There will be other chances.' I think she was talking about that show."
I sniffle, rubbing my hand against my nose. Salty droplets fall out of my tear ducts.
"Lila Mae..."
"If it is my fault, then why am I alive?" I question him. "How am I alive?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure glad you are," he replies. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Don't dwell on it, alright?"
"How could I not?" I half-whisper. "I'm...I'm a murderer. Of my own sister."
"Don't say that!" His voice has risen and for once I'm glad that I'm the only on that can hear him. "Don't say that, okay? Just don't."
"Well," I wipe my eyes, "I've told you my story."
"You want to know about Emily." The question comes out as a statement. Luke inhales and exhales, calming down from our recent revelation. "I ran out on my parents. It's my one big regret. I told Mom I cared more about my music than her. I said that."
And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave.
I can still remember the line from the song.
"I didn't think I would die. I thought I would have time to fix it..." he trails off, caught up in a memory. "I never did. It hurts me so much to see them in pain and to know that I caused it. There's nothing I can do to take it back or fix it."
"Maybe there is," I say, getting an idea. "Let's record the song you wrote for your mother. Then I can say I asked around after finding it and wanted to give it to her."
"Do you think that will work?" he asks, unsure.
"It's worth a try. You said you wish you could do something to show her you still care. This could be it." Seeing his face, I add something else. "Luke, I know she loves you no matter what you said or did. She's your mother. Moms are like that."
"I don't know that I deserve it," he mumbles.
"Yes, you do." I lean closer so he is focused on me. "Your mom didn't understand how talented you are. You could have made it big, Luke. You deserve this. Trust me."
"Thanks." His eyes don't leave mine for long enough that I'm feeling awkward. I tear my eyes away from him.
I clear my throat, flustered. "Anytime."
We don't move or speak for a long time. I feel so much better having someone's company even though it's simple comfortable silence.
"Luke?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you came," I say, avoiding eye contact. I hear him shuffle around to look at me.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I lace my fingers with his. "Don't ghost me after this. I've heard the stories about guys ditching girls. Don't hurt me."
"I won't." We're quiet for a little while longer. "Lila?"
"Luke?" I reply in the same tone, widening my eyes like go ahead and talk.
"Remember how Reggie pulled a blanket over his head to cheer you up?" he asks.
"Yes," I respond slowly. I might know where this is going. "What did he do?"
"Well, Carlos was searching the house last night for ghosts and his aunt was trying to convince him that ghosts weren't real..."
"And then," I prompt him, waving my hand in a circle for him to speed up his story.
"Reggie messed with the lamp, pulled the blinds, around then did the whole ghost thing with the sheet," Luke confesses. "Aunt Victoria flipped out."
"What?" I blurt. "Why would he do that?"
"He thought he was defending the honor of all kids who told adults ghosts were real and got pushed aside," Luke explains. "I know, Alex and I are pretty mad at him too."
"Does Julie know?" is the main question I want answered.
"I'm not sure," he replies, "if she doesn't then it's only a matter of time before---"
"Reggie is in big trouble," I finish. "Does he not think? Like ever?"
"I can't pretend to know what goes on in his head." Luke shakes his head. "It's a mess. Aunt Victoria thinks he's a demon. Carlos thought it could be his mom."
"Awww," I say, "too bad it's just Reggie. Not that I would want a demon in the Molina's house. You know what I mean."
Luke nods.
"Have you ever even considered his country music idea?" I ask, curious. "I don't think it would be too bad. You know, Taylor Swift got famous for singing country music and then switched to pop."
"Who?" Luke says.
"Oh, you need to talk to Flynn," I tell him. "She's promised to give me all the resources and music I need to know about 2020."
"Interesting," Luke says, "and no, we never really entertained the idea of country music. It's not my style."
"All I'm saying is if someone can get famous by bagging groceries at Target, Reggie should get a chance with his country music." I was pretty amazed to find out some random guy went on TV for his picture being taken by a girl. That's like the easiest way to get famous. All you have to do is exist.
"Rock 'N Roll is more my style," Luke replies, "but Reg would be pretty happy if someone actually cared about his country songs."
"Harsh!" I shove his shoulder, a playful action I've become accustomed to.
Luke grins. "You know I'm not wrong."
"It's not very nice." I pout.
"You're not very nice," he retorts with a smirk.
"Who me?" I ask, placing my hands under my chin and blinking like I'm innocent.
"Yes, you." He chuckles at my silliness. "That was...savage the way you roasted Carrie yesterday."
"Learning new words now, are we?" I tease.
"Don't act like you know everything!" he defends. "You were just as clueless as I was a few months ago."
The happy atmosphere evaporates.
"Yeah, I was." My smile has turned into a frown, so Luke's does too.
"I-I didn't mean," he begins. "I was just saying..."
He trails off, not knowing how to save himself. Out of everyone, Luke is the person (or ghost I suppose) who knows the most about my past. While he didn't mean it that way, I can't help the hurt feeling stabbing through me.
Is this just my hormones or am I being a cry baby for nothing?
"It's fine." The words slip my tongue uneasily like pieces of ice you accidentally choke on once you've drunk everything else.
If the world is my morning coffee it's already afternoon. The caffeine is gone. The sugar is gone. I have to wait for the ice to melt, the trouble to pass before I feel safe again.
Find the whipped cream of life.
Oh, how I love being overdramatic.
Or maybe my body wants a coffee because I haven't slept well and it's already 5 a.m.?
How am I going to stay awake at school today? I promised to take the Calculus test and not to sleep in again.
Looks like I'll be chugging the coffee.
Hi! I was craving coffee if you couldn't tell, but I feel like my analogy somewhat made sense? (Like how my 4 hours of sleep make sense, but we won't talk about that xD) I hope everyone is well. ❤
xoxo,
Lynn