Party of Four

Creative Breakthrough - Cole

I wasn’t actually going to bed. Just like Riley had coordinated getting everyone to the pool so Nica and I could have a little one-on-one time for my birthday, I was returning the favor for his. I heard the music come on in Nica’s room, an attempt on her behalf to muffle any noise they made. Not that it bothered me. I wasn’t jealous by any means. I was happy they got to spend just as much time together as she and I did. Not to mention, we had plenty of fun together.

I took a deep breath, trying to swallow the building arousal that knowing what was happening across the hall stirred. Instead, I focused on rolling a joint. I grabbed my lighter and my journal, then slipped out of my room, letting the sound of Bad Omens accompany me as I went downstairs.

I sat on Nica’s old futon on the patio, the journal open in my lap. I opened it to the first page, rereading what Nica had written. I had it memorized at this point, but it felt different seeing the words etched into the paper. Eleven years ago, I’d given up on the idea that I’d ever have a wife, or a family that extended beyond Riley and our parents.

Now, all because I’d walked into a bookstore and made accidental eye contact with the pretty bookseller, I was expecting a daughter. My mom was planning a commitment ceremony. And I was doing it all with my brother. It felt surreal.

Sure, there was a chance that even if I’d never seen Nica in Jasper & Jade, that she likely still would’ve ended up at Stella’s, and perhaps our story would still play out this way. The coincidences made everything more interesting though.

Even just a year ago, I didn’t think my life would become what it has now. I turned the page in the journal, seeing my own handwriting. Brief simple sentences scattered across the page. My words didn’t come as eloquently as Nica’s had, but I tried. I hadn’t really written anything since Father’s Day, and I was almost ashamed to look at my own handwriting after seeing her pretty cursive on the first page. My letters were small and blocky, Nate and Emily complained all the time at work that I wrote too small. That they couldn’t read it. Even when I tried to write bigger, the letters didn’t quite look right.

I sighed softly, trying to reflect on everything that was happening. The impending baby shower, the secret driving lessons, Nica’s bedroom violin performance…

I swallowed, feeling a wild assortment of emotions swirling around, mixing with that slight arousal that wasn’t completely gone yet. There was excitement, as well as a little panic, over Poppy’s impending arrival. Fear, and a lot of panic over driving again. I still hadn’t made it past the stop sign, but since Nica played my song, I could actually make it out of the driveway without a panic attack.

My song…

I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact I’d gotten to hear it again. It was another instrument, and another musician. It didn’t quite sound the way it used to. But it was my song nonetheless. Tears threatened to fall and my heart beat a little faster every time I thought about it.

I tried to put pen to paper, to write my thoughts, and my feelings. Nothing felt right though. The words were jumbled and mixed up. I scratched out sentence after sentence.

July 17

I thought my song was dead, but ever since Nica played it, it keeps getting stuck in my head. It didn’t sound like the trashy rock song I wrote as a teen…it was this clean, polished thing. It doesn’t sound like the wreck…the glass..

I scratched it out and tried again, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

It’s been a month, almost. Dad and I sneaking out to drive when no one’s around. I don’t get far. At least I don’t have panic attacks in the driveway anymore though…

I scratched that out too. Sighing heavily, I set the pen down for a moment, lighting the joint that I’d brought outside with me. After a few hits, I picked the pen back up. I turned to a fresh page, smoothing my hand over the unmarked paper.

The words came with ease, flowing across the paper:

Spent a decade in the dead zone, running down the clock.

Boarded up the exit signs, locked away the shock.

Left the ghost of shattered glass somewhere on the street.

Kept the engine silent ‘cause I couldn’t trust my feet.

Felt the phantom wood grain under calloused, dead-still hands.

Built a fortress out of silence, lived inside the sands.

But you cut a clean line through the dark, played a note I knew.

Now the old music is crying something new.

I’m peeling back the bandage on a scar I swore was clean.

Feels like asphalt under pressure, trading what has been

For the sound of an open door, a key I’m scared to turn.

That black ink blueprint never said I was allowed to leave.

Don’t care whose blood is flowing, but the promise is the same.

I’m breaking silence for the one who woke me up.

This is not a final bow, this is an encore.

This is not the eleventh hour, this is daybreak.

We’re three hearts, beating out a time

Never thought a broken rhythm could turn into a perfect rhyme.

Got a fear of driving, but I’m getting in the car.

‘Cause the only road worth traveling is the one that leads to where you are.

You spun threads of chaos into golden safety nets.

You’re holding down the anchor on a promise I won’t forget.

I trace the lines of that old song, the one that used to sting.

Now I hear the violin, and know the battle can be won.

I can’t say if I’ll ever feel the six-string again, heavy in my arms,

But I hear that melody you played, a shield against the harms.

I’m trading road dust and pain for a clean slate.

And the fear is just a window to the future we’ll create.

I am not the ghost of who I used to be, a spectator in someone else’s life

I’m the man they’re waiting for, the dad they get to see.

Tears spilled from my eyes when I finally put the pen down. I hadn’t written a song since I left Oklahoma, and now here one was. Everything I couldn’t say, everything that got tangled up on my tongue took the form of lyrics on the page. I wiped at my eyes again, feeling a strange sense of contentment and optimism.

I sucked in a shaky breath, feeling emotionally raw as I reread what I wrote. I wasn’t sure I’d ever put a melody to it, but to know it was there…to know that I was capable of creating art again…

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the glass door sliding open. “What are you doing out here?” Riley asked, the trousers he’d worn earlier hung low on his hips now, the belt missing.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I answered softly.

“Sorry if we kept you up,” he sat next to me and I passed him what was left of the joint.

“No, bed was an excuse to leave the two of you alone. You know…returning the birthday favor,” I smirked and he scowled dramatically. He smashed out the roach in the ashtray and lit another joint. “What’s Nica doing?”

“She’s asleep. Passed out almost as soon as she hit the pillow. Barely even cuddled.”

“That’s a shame,” I murmured. Though deep down, I knew it was probably for the best. Nica constantly tried to convince us that she was just as capable as when she wasn’t pregnant, but we could see how tired she was getting. And if her and Riley together were anything like when it was her and I, I could imagine just how intense things might’ve gotten upstairs.

Riley shifted, leaning closer. His eyes fell on my journal, the small cramped handwriting filling the still open pages. “What’s that?” he asked, passing me the joint. His brow furrowed as he studied me. “You look like you just cried.”

Immediately, my defenses went up, a remnant of a past life where expressing myself was dangerous. “Just some scribbles,” I attempted to downplay it.

Riley didn’t buy it though. He continued to study me, gaze softer than the joking smoke that drifted between us. “Cole, come on, you’re shaking. What did you write?”

I sighed, sliding my glasses up and running a hand through my beard. I wasn’t ready to share the lyrics yet, but… “Its a song…the first one I’ve wrote since I left Oklahoma,” I admitted, closing the journal.

Riley froze, joint halfway to his lips. His eyes widened slightly, a rush of understanding washed away his sleepy expression. He slowly passed the joint to me, taking a moment. “Eleven years, man, that’s huge,” he spoke softly, his voice reverent. “That’s everything.”

He put a hand on my knee, grounding me with a gentle squeeze. “The kid’s already fixing you, huh? That’s some powerful stuff.”

“It’s Nica,” I corrected. “She played my song on her violin. This one…” I shifted slightly, only barely lifting my arm. “It sounded so clean and perfect…it felt like I was being given a clean slate. The whole thing just kind of spilled out.”