My 3D Lovers

Chapter 4

Her childhood room was in the corner of which sat the old keyboard. It was dusty and tuneless, and had not been played years before. It was her refuge, where she could forget the world and escape pain by notes and forget grief by songs.

She sat before it now and her fingers were hesitant.

One chord, then another she played. Her hands knew the music, although her heart was still lagging behind.

The dream had always been music. Andrew had removed that, he said, it was too hazardous, too open, too n***d. This was a safe place, now, and Rose was in quiet surroundings.

She began to play.

Her father went by the door and stopped, cigarette in his fingers without being lit. She looked up, startled.

You have it all, you still have it, he said to himself.

Rose smiled. "I'm trying."

He nodded and walked away without saying anymore.

That night, she questioned Efe on whether to perform again.

Well, there is an open mic in the Green Room downtown, said Efe, all but jumping. "You should come. Sing something. Anything."

"I'm not ready."

"You’ll never feel ready. Just do it, scared."

She did.

Her hands were wet and her voice trembled initially. But when she stood in the dim lamps and sang the opening chords of her song, a song she wrote to Anthony, an aperture came over her.

Her voice was soaring.

The crowd didn’t roar. They listened.

They felt it.

Then a person came up to her and gave her a card. The producer of music, a little time serious. He wanted to help her record. No promises, just potential.

It was a lot more than she had had in years.

The following day, she phoned Andrew.

"I want to see Anthony," she said. "I'm stable now. I have a job offer. I'm working on my music again."

"You left us, Rose."

"I left you, not him. I never ceased to be his mother.

There was a long silence.

Get him this weekend, get him, get him, Andrew said finally. It does not, however, imply that I trust you.

She hung up without replying. Confidence could not be imposed, but it had to be earned.

On Saturday morning, she went to Andrew's mansion with a cab waiting. Anthony was at the door, in a state of indecision.

"Mom?"

She knelt. "Hey baby. Are you ready to come with me?"

He nodded slowly.

Andrew stood looking on the steps, with his crossed arms. "If you mess this up…"

"I won’t," she said calmly.

Anthony held on to her as they got to the cab. During the ride, she cuddled him and smelled him and her small body was touching his tiny body. Part of her heart had come back.

That evening when he slept with her, Rose peeped through the window. Dancing stars twinkled like clinging pains of their past.

This is freedom, she said to herself. Not perfection. But choice. And peace."

She had paid the price.

Now she was ready to live it.

Three weeks passed. Rose had already been a frequent guest in a studio where she recorded her first single. Producer Mr. Tunde was strong yet tolerant. He challenged her to perfection in every note and lyric to the point that she could see her story in the song.

One time he said to her, Don’t sing the words. “Give them.”

She did.

The song she dedicated to Anthony was called Morning Without Fear, and it was the main part of her debut. It was not flashy or upbeat. It was tender and crude and excruciatingly actual. It is narrated about a woman who used to fear waking up in her own house, but now she was learning how to wake up to the possibility.

Loud talk about her acting in the Green Room was soon spread. The clip was posted on a blog and the demo was subsequently played on a small radio. Her voice, which was a collision of force and pain, began turning heads.

Jeffery came one afternoon during one of the rehearsals in the studio.

I heard you on the radio, grinned at him. “I almost cried. You’ve found it, Rose. Your voice.”

She flushed with quiet pride. “Thanks to you. And to Efe. And to all that I have ruled.

He handed her a single daisy. “Survivors bloom too.”

The connection between them increased, although not fast or named. They would silently take walks together, have meals together and spend hours together discussing numerous things. There were other occasions when they sat silent. He never forced her to more, he just appeared.

One night, Rose was informed that Anthony was already in bed when she took him to bed after putting him to bed.

It was from Josh.

“I heard about your song. I’m proud of you. I was serious when I told you that I would always be on your side, Rose. I still care. And the divorce is final.”

Her hand trembled.

The past was never truly gone. It waited in the corners.

She typed and deleted a reply.

After reviewing, she wrote:

“Thank you. I hope you will have peace and happiness. But I have already chosen to do so.

She switched off the phone and gazed at her image in the window. She was no longer haunted in her eyes.

She was no longer in need of confirmation by the men who previously humiliated her.

She got a letter the following morning with the Women Fund of Santavista. She was selected to sing at their yearly gala that was going to be broadcasted.

Anthony shrieked with pleasure as she told him.

You are going to be famous, Mommy!

She laughed and hugged him. I do not mind being famous, baby. I just want to sing. And live. And be free.”

She was standing backstage in the slow hours before the performance, and breathing. This was not the end of the road but it was not the end of the c****x as well.

But it was hers.

She came to the stage, picked up the mic and shut her eyes.

Then she sang.

Not to a man, not to be afraid of the past, but strong in her voice, a woman reborn.

Clear.

True. Unapologetic.

On Thursday afternoon, Rose was sitting on the wooden bench in the bookshop of Jeffery, with a cup of cinnamon tea which was warming her palms. Anthony was preoccupied in the children section with a book about the planets.

Jeffery leant against the door and looked at her in silent affection.

You have come a long way, Rose, said he.

She smiled softly. At times it seems to me that I crawl.

He shook his head. “No. You’re flying now. Even if you don’t see it.”

The eyes met, and there was a mutual understanding between them.

Jeffery had been staying with her for months, not to save her, not to cure her, not to do anything with her, just to be. She had not demanded anything, neither had he. Their friendship was mild and apprehensive.

But now her heart stirred.

That evening Rose was lying awake in bed with Anthony snoring next to her. She looked at the ceiling remembering all her decisions, some motivated by fear, others by affection.

Her heart had always whispered to Jeffery but it had been crippled by fear.

One of her songs came to her: What if love were never designed to save, Only to rise with thee?

The following day she called him for a walk with her.

They walked around the park where they had held hands many years back. Everyone was asking questions without uttering a word.

At last Rose halted under a jacaranda tree.

“Jeffery… I have loved you so long I didn't even realize how to love you at that time. I ran away due to the fear of living like my mother. Of making love without guarantees. Now I know I should rather build slowly with a person who sees me than go after comfort with a person who does not.

Then Jeffery gazed in stupefaction.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. “For the first time, yes.”

He stepped closer. And then to love you, not to redeem you, but to walk with you. Whatever pace you set.”

She reached for his hand. “Let’s take it slow. But let’s start.”

They kissed not with the craziness of youth, but with the gradual vow of two individuals who have decided on each other of their own free will.

Later in the week Rose was sitting on the couch with Anthony, with his little hand in her.

There is somebody that I am so fond of. You should know her.

“Mr. Jeffery?”

She blinked in surprise. “You knew?”

Anthony grinned. He never seems to be angry about you singing.

Rose laughed and threw her son into her arms. “You’re too smart.”

I simply thank the Lord you are happy, Mommy.

Her heart swelled.

Rose Woods was not after love as she has never in her life.

She was living it.

Home wasn’t a place.

It was a person.

Peace was all that mattered. She had at last discovered her real home.