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“
Mom,” I said loud enough that my voice would carry through the open house.

“
Are you back already?” I heard her say.

I tossed Madison’s sketch pad on the bed and walked to the short wall of my room and looked down, trying to judge where she was.

“
Yeah, where are you?” I yelled down.

“
Up here,” she said.

I looked up from where I was standing to see her leaning over the banister of the top level. I hesitated before I moved back into my room. My heart started to pound. I knew she was in my father’s studio. I had to think of a way to make her forget about me playing for her – the idea was terrifying. I’d rather fight a million shadows than have that moment come.

The only way to get there was a short staircase inside of my room. I waited for a few minutes for her to come down, but she never did – she wanted me to come to her.

I balled my hands into a fist and tensely walked to the short staircase. At the top of the stairs, I found the banister she was looking over empty, and the door that leads to the studio was open.

When I reached the doorway, I saw her adding a guitar to a stand in the middle of the room. There were five lined up there. In the center of the room, there was a black leather couch with a guitar case lying across it. Besides a large amp, that was all that was in this room. I’d forgotten how the simplicity of this space made it so beautiful. The floors were a light hard wood. The top half of the back wall was windows. It looked out at the distant treetops… it was a great place to watch the sunset.

“
What’s going on?” I asked, trying to make it seem like I’d forgotten her simple request.

She looked at me, then all around me. “Are you OK?” she asked in a concerned tone.

I nodded. “Just tired,” I answered, gazing at the guitars behind her. As I stared at them, memories that couldn’t belong to me – ones that allowed me to feel the power of each string as cords - came to life and immersed me. I felt my whole body tense…I didn’t know what was wrong with me…all I knew was that I felt like I was losing my mind.

My mother’s eyes followed mine, then an awkward silence took over. I almost missed my shadows – without them distracting me, I had no choice but to see that I really didn’t know my mom – that she didn’t know me. I wanted to tell her everything I was fighting…what my fears were, but I couldn’t find the words or the courage.

“
I was just setting out some of your dad’s stuff for you to use,” she answered quietly as she ran her fingers across the strings of the closest one to her. I could tell she wasn’t here; she was lost somewhere in time.

“
I don’t want to mess up his stuff. I have no idea what I’m doing,” I mumbled.

As I said those words, her body tensed, and she looked down and cleared her throat. “I saw Evan earlier… do you remember him?” she asked.

I shook my head no as I watched what could only be fear fill her eyes. She looked away from me and quickly tried to gain some kind of calm expression. “Well... I told…I told him I wanted you to play…that you needed to...,” she paused and let her fingertips run across the strings again. I knew she wasn’t making any attempt to make a clear sound, but what I heard was almost angelic. “…he said it was a good idea.”

She tensely crossed her arms across her chest, then walked to the couch and opened the case that was lying across it. “He gave you this…,” she said as if she were trying to see some kind of recognition in me.

I stepped closer to the case to see a small black electric guitar. I swear, I could feel energy coming from it. I could tell you exactly how it felt to play it. I remembered mastering it…but that was impossible.

My trembling hand slowly reached for the small guitar. Once my fingertips touched it, I felt this overwhelming feeling of relief; it was inside of me, it was all around me. It almost felt like me and mom weren’t alone in that room. I looked back at her to see if she felt it, too, and I found her staring at me with small tears in the corners of her eyes. It was hard for me to tell if they were happy or sad tears.

I gently placed the guitar down and walked over and hugged her. She squeezed me so tight, I almost lost my breath.

“
Mom, I can’t stand watching you be sad.”

She moved her hands to cradle my face. ”I know right now…you think I’ve always grieved for your father…but you’re wrong.” She tilted her head as she looked intently into my eyes. “I was grieving for you,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

“
Mom, I’m right here – I have been,” I said, looking down.

She pulled me to her and hugged me once more, then slowly let go of me. ”I need to go,” she said, kissing my forehead and turning to leave. Once she reached the doorway, she looked back across the room and smiled, then nodded slightly.

I slowly sat down on the couch that was behind me and let a deep breath out. I looked at the black guitar beside me, then to the rack holding my dad’s. I stood and walked slowly to them. I let my fingers dance over the stocks to the first three before deciding to pick up the fourth one. As I grasped the neck, I thought I felt someone standing quietly behind me. I turned, expecting to see my mom or even Kara, but the room was empty. I smiled at myself, growing used to the idea of being insane. I took the guitar back to the couch, and as I sat with it in my lap, my thoughts entertained me with images of my young father writing his music.

My fingers were so small, I could barely wrap them around the neck. I let my hand slide down the neck, pressing each space between the frets while fighting with the flashes of memories that couldn’t be mine. I cleared my mind and just focused on this beautiful instrument.

I loved watching the guitarist’s call sound out from these simple five strings. I let my right hand slide slightly over the strings of the body. I swear, I heard the sound echo into something I couldn’t have possibly created. I tried to remember the way I’d touched each string to create what I’d played before, but I couldn’t call it out again. Frustrated, I let my fingers loosen. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the sound again; then I felt the strings beneath my fingers move. My eyes flew open, and I watched as the strings were pushed down and the vibration of the sound echoed around me.

I couldn’t breathe. I’m sure most people would have run screaming from the room, but I was calm, way too calm. I let the breath I was holding out and looked around me. I don’t know what I was hoping to see, but I found it empty, though it still felt like I wasn’t alone. I almost remember feeling like this before; I mean, I remember the feeling of being watched over – learning to play in this room.

I looked down at the strings I’d seen pressed, and I reached my finger in-between one of the middle frets as my other hand strummed the base. The sound was better than what I played last time, but nowhere near what I’d heard before. I spread my fingers out and leaned in closer, trying to decide how I could find that sound again. All of a sudden, I felt a warm sensation surround my left hand, then my right. My fingers pushed against the strings, but not by my will; the sound I heard was a perfect match to the notes I heard before, but I didn’t stop there. I played ten more notes before the warm sensation left my hands.

I sat still, wanting that feeling to come back - but it didn’t.

“
That was beautiful,” I whispered, thanking whatever had given me that moment.

I heard Kara yelling my name. I sighed before standing and carefully placing the guitar on its rack. Before I left the room, I scanned the air, finding it empty - the way any normal person would.

When I reached the bottom level, Kara was holding a brown box, waiting on me.

“
What’s that?” I asked.

“
You tell me,” she said, handing me the small brown box. “A delivery man just brought it for you. He refused to go until I signed your name.”

I curiously reached for the box. There wasn’t any kind of label; only a small piece of tape was holding the sides down.

“
If that’s Chinese food, it’s going in the trash,” Kara said, crossing her arms.

I felt my face flush with fear…could they have found me – that fast? What was this?

I pulled the tape loose, and on the inside on a purple pillow was a phone with a single red rose lying next to it. A small note was taped to the touch screen that read, I think I found most of your bands and put them on here. If I forgot anyone, you can buy them with the password ‘Charlie’.

Britain didn’t sign it, but I recognized his handwriting. Kara shook her head as she read the note.

“
I’m starting to regret mom taking this from you,” she said, pulling my phone from her pocket and laying it on top of the one in the box.

“
I knew they’d find me.” I mumbled, closing the box and putting it under my arm. “Do I really have my phone back? Mom said so?”

Kara nodded. “She said, ‘When Charlie goes to that party tonight, make sure she has her phone. I don’t want her driving without it.’”

“
I still don’t believe she’d let me go to something like that,” I said, looking for any reason to doubt Kara.

“
I told you it was having a party, not going to a party.”

I shook my head and scaled the stairs to finally take off this dress.

Chapter 5

I shed my dress and pulled on my favorite jeans and a black tank top, covering it with my hoodie. I grabbed the box with my phones and laid them across my bed. My phone had my headphones wrapped around the top. I pulled them loose once I could see the screen, and I saw the blue box telling me that I had eighty-two unread messages. I shook my head and cleared that box and turned on my music.

I hesitated as put my headphones in; I wasn’t sure that I wanted to cover the silence I’d found inside this house – but yearning to hear music outweighed that comfort. As the screaming guitars began to echo in my head, I felt all the tension leave my body.

Most of the music I listened to was instrumental with only a few lyrics here and there. I liked how it allowed you to make the song whatever you wanted. It was easy to feel the emotion of the creator, but the way the music was written seemed to be individualized, meaning that each person that listened to the music heard something different; it just depended on what they were going through in their own lives.

I went back to the message screen and started to scan through the texts I missed. Most of them were mass texts from my graduating class, each of which had some kind of quote or saying, followed by congrats. I knew the sender wouldn’t care if I responded or not; they were all just random acquaintances. Once I got to Friday, I saw a text from Madison: ‘worried about u tomorrow can’t come fast enough.’

I responded to her text: ‘just got my phone back over here now if you want 2 come.’

Before I could scroll to the other texts, she responded: ‘Phone car party – welcome home Charles.’

I shook my head and texted: ‘2 tired 2 go 2 a party : (’.

She responded immediately – just like I knew she would: ‘Take a nap I’ll be over soon the bands start playing at 8’

The clock on my phone read four fifty-five. I figured I had at least two hours before she showed up. In that amount of time, I was sure I could think of some way to get out of going or at least convince her to stay here. I had too much to think about to have fun. I needed her help if I was going to get anywhere with my random thoughts and feelings.

The next texts were from Bianca. She must have known my mom would have my phone because nothing she said sounded like the real her; they were just random phrases - , ‘so thankful we are all ok, an innocent movie night gone wrong, next time will cook for ourselves, I feel so bad this happened, my dad is going to get the bottom of what happened with the delivery guy. My head is killing me.’

I rolled my eyes as I deleted them. Britain’s texts were before that; the only one he sent that I hadn’t read was ‘good morning sleeping beauty’ that was sent Friday at four PM. I grinned, remembering that I’d slept another eight hours after that.

I picked up the phone he’d sent and scrolled through the music that was added. I was surprised to find that he’d remembered and found almost every song that I listen to. He only really missed one – and it was the one that I’d grown dependent on over the last few days.

I reached for my phone and scrolled to the song I was thinking of. The opening sound of the guitar was simply godly in my mind. I could imagine an empty dark room with a single player connected to his gift. As the drums came to life, I’d feel my heart race. The base and the lead guitars came next. The lyrics were so poetic, they’d make my heart cry. My favorite one was ‘My soul intertwined with the divine…an angel I wish were mine.’

I’m sure most girls would envision a boy confessing his love for her through these lyrics, but I didn’t; I thought of my father…it seemed when I was scared, I always thought of him – like I was asking him to protect me from wherever he was.

I always felt that my soul was connected to him in some way, but now he was a part of something bigger than me, heaven itself, and the only thing I could wish was that he was mine, that I didn’t have to share him with some divine spirit that lingered in the heavens above. I knew I could never explain my interpretation to anyone because my emotions had twisted the lyrics into something I wanted to hear.