This One's For You ( Part I )

1

"love always finds a way"

Ali could taste the words in his mouth but couldn't make his lips say them. He shut his eyes tightly. The darkness behind his eyelids kept him motionless as he absorbed the beat of the music playing on his home studio speakers. He'd worked on this for a week. The beat was on repeat. When the first loop finished, he took a deep breath, hoping the second loop would encourage him. Nothing.

I'll wait for the third loop, he thought despite himself, swallowing the wet gathering at the back of his tongue. By the fifth loop, a similar wetness had gathered.

"I have found my anchor... I have found my voice!" Ali whispered to himself. This, too, failed him.

She's dead! The thought clouded his mind.

Ali sighed. His eyes were still closed. This time, he focused on his song's first couple of lines. The lyrics were written on a notebook page that Ali had between his fingers. The words appeared behind his shut eyes. This was always like magic to him. He never needed to make an effort to memorize music. The words stuck in the darkness behind his eyelids.

The loop started all over again—still, nothing. Ali's lips wouldn't cooperate.

A muscle in his arm grew tense, threatening to tear the page with the lyrics. He forced his lips one last time to sing the words. Nothing. The ongoing loop came to an end as his throat dried up. Instead of a song, the microphone in front of his face amplified the sound of sobs and laughter. He wasn't even aware he was laughing until he heard himself cough amidst a melody of weeps and rasping, caught between choking in his throat.

He remained perfectly still behind the mic for a few moments before finally finding the courage to rise and open his eyes. He pulled huge headphones from around his head, carefully hanging them on the mic stand. The walk from the live room to the control room was condescending. He threw the lyric notebook over a sound mixer spread over half of his workstation. He spun a full-length backrest chair, moving it out of the way, and reached for a MacBook. He flipped the laptop closed, and the speakers fell silent.

He paused, staring blankly at the lyric book on the table. This made him notice a blur of his reflection on the transparent glass partition separating his home studio live room from his control room. His face reflected a wicked scowl that explained the haste with which his legs carried him out of the studio. He spent a fortune to build such an expensive setup, hoping that if he had pro tools and state-of-the-art equipment like real artists had, he could do it. What's the excuse this time? He wondered, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

"Well, maybe it's because we're forgetting our morning run today!" a voice warned as he opened the fridge to find something for breakfast.

He hated how his mind did this to him during his worst times. He especially hated that his mind used her voice. She was right, though. He needed to keep up his routine if he wanted his leg to fully heal.

Ali pulled off his pajama shirt and walked straight to his bedroom closet.

"Green..." the voice spoke again as he knelt over the drawers.

Ali shifted his arm over neatly folded sweatshirts, then picked up a green piece, remembering his blue running shoes were still at his mother's house. The corner of his lips curled as he shook his head with a snicker. He walked out of the closet, threw the shirt on the bed, made a return trip, and came out with a pair of running shoes and two pairs of shorts. He placed the shoes on the floor and raised both pairs of shorts above his face.

"Grey, obviously, to match the color of the shoelaces." The voice spoke again.

Ali glanced at the shoes and nodded. "Hmm!" he snickered with a grin. He bent over and had almost pulled down his pajama pants past his thighs when he noticed Mayela staring at him with twisted facial features. He couldn't hold back a chuckle at how realistically his mind managed to pull off the eye roll Mayela used to do.