Life's Lyrics

Chapter Six

Saturday, October 26 (Continued)

I hear his exasperated sigh of utmost annoyance, but I just keep running, I pick up my already packed bags. Out of breath, I burst into the kitchen, Lyla's hand stops halfway to her mouth. I had wrapped a scarf around my neck, high enough to mask the redness of the slap, yet Even in the moment, I can't help but smile. Lyla has always been 'in love' with food, and when we were younger she would always smile and say that she didn't need no man because she had food. I loved her for that; she really didn't need to fall into the pattern of every other girl. I on the other hand have always followed the crowd; I've always been the sheep. "Time to go," I say as calmly as I can.
"Already?" Spencer asks, noticing something about me. I sigh and fumble with my bag,
"Yes. Now. I'll meet you in the car," I turn around and start walking out,
"Everything will be alright," Spencer, says once Lyla has left, I don't know what he knows, but that's what scares me the most.

I don't know how they know, maybe it's the way I hold myself, maybe it's the way my face shows the pain, but ever since we have got in the car they haven't said a word. Neither do I, I just stare out the window as we pass high-rises and skyscrapers. One skyscraper catches my eye, it's tall and it sparkles in the sunlight, but as we turn slightly I see the other side of it. The broken side. Now that I see this side, I wonder how I could have missed it. How could I have not realized it was crumbling to the ground? But aren't I the same, I'm falling and no one is brave enough to turn me to the side slightly. I long for help, for acknowledgment of what has happened to me, but how can I tell them, how can I be worthy of their sympathy, when I don't have any .

The events of the next few hours fly past in a blur. Getting my ticket, boarding the plane, taking off, landing, and arriving. "Blair! Honey," my mother says rushing out of the house, her Blonde hair flying out behind her. She squeezes me tight before saying, "Come inside I just made some slice," I follow her inside, but not before seeing Lyla's hungry face. We hadn't eaten any food since we left the house, we were in such a hurry it didn't cross my mind. Even from just being in my home state, I feel calmer, happier. It must be that Sebastian is not here and he cannot find me. "Is that the ring?" my mother asks eyeing it up. I nod as I glance down at the monstrosity on my finger. My parents have only met Sebastian once at a music evening in New York. They said he had seemed nice enough and at the time, I thought it was an insult. I hold out my hand for my mother to see just as my father walks out of the lounge. "Mr Adams," Spencer says, extending his hand. My father laughs and his forehead crinkles, "Spencer. You're like a son to me, please call me Sam," He shakes Spencer's hand and then gives Lyla a hug, "Lyla how are you finding Paris?" My father's eyes light up at the mention of Paris, even if he said it himself. Lyla's dream has always been to be an interior designer. It was just a bonus for her dream to come true in Paris. I frown realizing that I have been too caught up in my problems I didn't even ask Lyla how her work was going. I have even been too worried about Spencer and his inability to play the guitar I didn't even talk properly to my best friend. I'm going to do better. I'm not going to dwell on my problems, I'm not going to give them an opportunity to make the conversation about me. I'm going to focus on others, I decide to myself. "Blair?" My mother asks, looking at me worriedly. And it's starting right now. I put on a smile and reply.

I take Spencer's hand and rush into my old bedroom, taking in the lanterns, and posters of boy bands I used to like. I glance at the one artist that helped me to believe in myself, the artist that made me who I am today. My smile is so wide, my cheeks hurt. "I'm happy," I say to Spencer. He laughs "I can see that," I slide onto the old wooden piano seat, that my parents had spent so much on when I was younger. I can remember my smile was just as wide as it is today. It wasn't the newest, it wasn't the best, but it wasn't the kitchen stool, so I was happy. I look at Spencer then at the guitar in the corner of the room, raising my eyebrows at him. He finally got the hint and picked the guitar up hesitantly. I have never seen him so uncomfortable before in my life, the way that he holds the guitar, the way he looks at it is not like what I'm used to seeing. He looks pained to even be holding it, so I get up and take it out of his hands placing it back in its stand. A tear slides down his face, which he quickly wipes away, so I don't see. But I do. I don't say a word, and I take my seat again at the piano. I don't know what I start to play but it just flows, my smile grows, I knew this was the right thing to do. Sometime while I'm playing I hear shuffling and then guitar chords. We play and play; it feels like it did before the pain, before the hurt. There are no lyrics yet, but there are no words to describe the feeling in this room. The pain is being poured out into music and into tears. I stop abruptly, and turn to Spencer whose cheeks are wet from tears. Nothing is said, only felt. I hug him and I share his pain. He lost someone because of music and now he is using music to say goodbye to the lost. "Even though there was no lyrics, I knew what they were. For me anyway" he says after a while. I smile knowingly, "I feel the same way," I wipe his tears away, "Pain creates lyrics," I say.
"Our lives create lyrics," He counters. My eyes widen as he says this.
"I know what it's called now," I laugh because it's so obvious, that I wonder how I couldn't have seen it before, "My album is going to be called 'Life's Lyrics'," I finish.

Don't you love it when they say the title of the book in the book! Yaya

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