Sketch

98- Emmy

I ask to the keep the radio on.  Sam's fetched his notebook and Ollie's sitting across from us, a guitar balanced in his lap.  Vince is behind his drum kit, trying out the rhythm that Sam's describing to him.  A  short, sharp beat is Vince's response to the idea in Sam's head and Sam seems pleased, clapping his hands together before jotting down notes.  The pen glides across the paper quickly and smoothly and I know from the look on Sam's face that he's onto something good.

My heart thrums with hope.  I hum under my breath until I feel a hand on my arm.

"Emmy?"

"Sorry," I say.  "I'll stop if I'm distracting you."

Sam shakes his head, his eyes wide in thought.  "Share.  I want to hear it."

And so I do, accidently triggering Ollie's fingers on the guitar.  It's striking and melodic what Ollie produces and so strangely familiar to the tune that I had in mind.

"Like this?" Ollie asks.

"Exactly like that," I reply.

He grins.  "I'll have to think of a solid baseline to match but it shouldn't be too hard."

"Something sharp," Sam cuts in.  "Edgy."

Ollie nods before handing Sam the guitar.  "I'll get my bass."  He stands up and I move to follow him.

"I need brownies," I say, skirting past Sam, not quick enough to avoid an affectionate tap on the bum, and I enter the kitchen while throwing him a childish look; tongue out and eyes crossed.

I scoff a few brownies before I sit back down, knowing full well the guys will wade into the box no sooner than I place them on the table.  Sure enough, even Vince leaves his drum kit to snag a few.

I laugh as Sam paints his teeth in chocolate before giving me a goofy grin.  Ollie shakes his head, going back to plotting his baseline for the new song. 

I feel inspired, and I don't know if it's all the sugar I've just let loose in my body but I'm up and dancing to the radio before I can stop myself.  It's like being at home with Tabs.  I go wild, twirling and jumping.  I sing random lyrics too, whatever comes into my head.  One minute I'm singing about hurricane hearts, the next Christmas hymns.  The only difference now is that three bemused guys are watching me.

I stop, my chest rising and falling fast as I catch my breath.  I stare back for a second, only then noticing that the song on the radio has changed and it catches my attention.  The voice is cold, leaving a literal chill up my spine.

"Is that?"

It's only now that I realise the guys have been staring in disbelief, not at my dance moves, but at the song that's creeping from the speakers like smoke; toxic and black, heavy and foreboding. 

"I'll turn it off," I mutter to no-one, making a beeline for the stereo.

"No!"

Sam's voice stops me in my tracks.  His face is twisted with emotion.  The song is totally Michelle.  Fast paced and unforgiving.  All I want to know is why it's coming though the speakers in our house.  What sort of radio station would play a song by someone so nasty and manipulative?

The temperature in the room seems to have dropped.  The brownies are forgotten.  Sam's hands are still on the guitar but he's no longer playing.  Ollie's the same, his bass forgotten in his lap.  Vince is directing a look of hate towards the stereo.

I ignore Sam, cutting the song off just before it ends.  Michelle's voice still echoes in my head.

"She has to ruin everything, doesn't she?" 

I know Sam's question is rhetorical and no-one attempts to reply.  We all know the answer.