Seth
I looked up from my bed at the clock on the nightstand. It read six thirty. I groaned and rolled over. It was too early. I hated this bed and this hotel. It didn’t even have a decent continental breakfast. Seriously, what was I paying for?
I sat up and looked out the window. It was still dark but a tiny strip of light shone across the horizon. I didn’t feel like sleeping anymore, so I got up and started a pot of coffee in the miniature coffee maker. As I waited for it to brew, I got dressed and checked the weather. It was supposed to be in the low sixties, and a run sounded good. I drank all of the tiny pot of coffee and headed out.
I ran on the main roads, cutting through the quiet neighborhoods. I stopped at places I had been before, taking new routes and running four miles total. Being back in North Carolina was harder than I had expected. I thought about Amy a lot, and I wondered how she was doing, if she’d changed at all, if she had moved on. The last one kept me wondering, and the questions haunting me. I tried to picture her, those knobby knees and curly hair. The image grew more faded each day.
Phil was waiting for me when I walked into the label’s offices. We headed for the studio.
“Okay, now don’t get mad, but—” he began, but I cut him off.
“Don’t tell me,” I said dryly. “They want me to rerecord another song. What is it to be this time? More poppy? Or will I be rapping instead?”
“Look, they want it to be better. They’re only trying to help you, Seth,” Phil argued. “Just trust us, okay?”
I didn’t answer, just clenched my jaw, frustrated. I liked the way my demos had turned out. Why change them? I didn’t want to sound like everyone else.
I took a deep breath and walked into the studio. Rita, another person from A&R, greeted me. She had her red hair tied up with a purple striped bandana and wore hoop earrings large enough to fit your hand through.
“Okay, this is what we are changing.” She handed me the lyrics for one of my newer love songs. I had written it in Shelby after “Curly Hair and Knobby Knees.”
“We need this one slower,” she said, not looking at me, already distracted by her hair getting caught on her earring. I glanced at her, then at Phil, my expression turning from annoyance to surprise.
“Slower?”
She did a sideways nod, still attempting to get her hair free. “Yeah, we want to try it with just piano. I think it will give it a softer touch and enhance its beauty.” I raised my eyebrows at her, but nodded. This I could work with.
I cleared my throat. “Should I add a more complicated variation to the piano piece?”
She shrugged. “We can try it.” She finally yanked her hair out and winced. “Let’s get started.”
I went to the piano and sat down. I brushed my fingers across the keys, playing the soft melody. I played it slowly, and then repeated it a little louder. I looked up at the sound room where Rita and Phil were standing, watching me. Rita nodded, approving, so I began a variation, playing around with it. I hoped she was recording; I liked the way it sounded.
Her voice filled the studio. “That was great. All right, that’s going to be the first twenty seconds of the song. Now start the simpler piece again, and let’s try and record the whole song. Remember: slow. Get a little louder and complicated at the bridge.”
I nodded again and she gave me the signal to begin. I began playing again and thought of Amy. I remembered singing this song the first night she watched me play at Conner’s Club. This song was about her, as were so many others on this album.
Throughout the song, I glanced at Rita, who continued to nod and once even smiled. When I finished the last of the lyrics, I played the piano piece, slowly getting quieter and then fading away completely. Rita’s voice filled the studio again. “That was perfect.”
Three hours later, I grabbed some dinner and had a picnic at the fountain in Pack Square Park. It was nice out, of course—North Carolina weather was rarely anything else. It was great being able to sit outside in beginning of December without needing a winter coat. It was crowded, even at five in the evening. I watched the sun disappear gradually behind the trees. I thought about my mom again and how long it had been since her death. Four and a half years. I closed my eyes and inhaled the air, remembering that night as if it were yesterday.
It was cooler than usual, and I lay in bed slowly dozing off. I had headphones in, trying to will myself to sleep, when I heard the screen door slam shut. My eyes flickered open and I saw my mom, barefoot, running on the sidewalk away from the house. It was odd to see her running without me; usually on her midnight trips to the beach, she’d shake me awake to go with her. That night, though, she didn’t. I didn’t hesitate to get up and follow her. I knew my mom too well to go back to sleep. We hadn’t gone to the beach in a while because of her depression, so I knew something was not right.
When I left my bedroom, I noticed John’s light was on. The light was seeping out of the bottom of the door, and I could vaguely see shadows crossing the light. He was awake. Another odd thing. My mom never left until after John was asleep.
I went downstairs and out the door. I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach and broke into a run. When I reached the beach, passing the smoothie shack and swim gear shop, I could barely make out my mom’s bobbing head. I pulled off my shirt and dived into the water. The tide was high and it was hard to swim against the fierce waves, which insisted on pulling me back, keeping me at a distance from her. When I reached the deeper water, I dived under it, getting past the waves. When I came up for air, I found my mom a few yards away, floating next to a black rock. I swam to her and yelled over the noisy waves.
“Mom?! What are you doing?! Come back!” I yelled, the water choking me.
My mom lifted her head for a moment before the water swallowed her. The water seemed to accept her and was fighting me. Or maybe, I realized, she was the one accepting it.
“Mom!” I yelled again. I pulled at her leg, forcing her off her back and making her face me.
“Seth,” she said calmly, her face pale. I reached out, touching her cheek. She was ice cold.
“Mom,” I said, uneasy, my voice cracking.
“Seth,” she repeated. “I love you.”
I shook my head. “Mom, let’s go.”
She pulled me close and then let go. “I love you,” she said again.
I stared at her, not understanding. She was going to freeze. My body was already going numb in the cold water. What was she doing?
She kept her eyes on me, which began to glisten with tears. “I love you,” she mouthed as the water pushed her farther away from me.
Then I understood.
I was frozen for a moment before rage overtook me. “No!” I yelled at her. I tried to swim nearer to her, but the waves pulled me under. When I emerged I was already yards away from her.
“No!” I screamed, crying and choking. I fought the waves as hard as I could, but still the water pulled me under again and again. When I finally came up, spitting and gulping for air, my eyes searched helplessly for my mom’s bobbing head. I couldn’t see it. My vision was clouded with tears and water.
“Mom,” I whispered softly, all the energy draining from my body.
And then I heard it.
A voice, a hum, above the wind and the waves, my mom’s lullaby. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the lullaby, the water playing with me, swaying me this way and that way.
If they’d take her, they can have me too, I thought. I let the water take me under again, and this time I didn’t fight it. I began to hear myself hum the lullaby as well. I didn’t open my eyes until I felt sand beneath me. I looked around me and then sat up quickly. I searched the water with my eyes but saw nothing but blackness. I tried to stand but fell to my knees, shivering.
“Mom!” I yelled, sobbing. “No, no, no!” I cried. “Why didn’t you take me too?” I yelled at the water. “Why?!” I asked, helpless, falling to the ground, sand getting into my eyes. I was shivering and shaking.
I closed my eyes again and hummed the tune, but it was unrecognizable. I tried again and failed.
I remember hearing footsteps a few hours later, a yell, and a lot of confusion. I remember bits and pieces after that. The hospital, getting a glimpse of my mom’s body, so still and blue, her face at peace. Then the funeral, the yelling, the blaming, the fighting, and leaving for college, leaving everything for good. The ache in my heart that never left, the emptiness intoxicating me. She was gone. She had left me, with no one, all alone.
I remembered the night I told Amy all of this. We were at our usual spot on the beach, cuddled up, her head on my chest, my fingers stroking her hair. It was a few nights before I confronted John. We had become rather attached in the previous two weeks. I remembered telling her every detail about that night. I had never told anyone the story before, and when I was finished she stroked my face, looking down at me. She leaned into me then, touching her lips to mine. It sent chills through my body as I pulled her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her. She pulled away slowly, smiling at me. I lifted up to kiss her nose and she lay back down, interlacing her fingers with mine. I rolled to my side to face her and as I mouthed the three little words I couldn’t keep inside me any longer, I feared her reaction and what this meant for us. What this meant for me.
Whatever it had meant, I wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.