Words Have Two Meanings

III

The sound technician is looking at Lydia like she's insane. His right eye is cocked, and he huffs - less than pleased it seems - at Lydia's request. "You're joking, right?" he deadpans.

Lydia shakes her head, mouth set in a firm line. "Absolutely not."

The technician isn't unwarranted in his disbelief. Lydia knows how it sounds, how ridiculous she looks just by bringing it up. That knowledge doesn't stop her, though.

"That song is eight minutes long, kid." The technician still hasn't put the request in, Lydia notes. It's only a little tap of the screen to bring the song up and add Lydia's name to the waiting list, but his fingers haven't moved from the death grip they've got on the edge of the table.

She gets the same reaction every time she so much as mentions her favorite song. She gets jokes on what a burden it must be for her soulmate every time the song comes on the radio, not being able to change it, looking in the music for any piece of whom Lydia could be, and having to wait eight damn minutes before they're allowed to rest. Lydia has heard it all, but it doesn't change anything - can't change anything. It's not like Lydia could call up Led Zeppelin and personally ask them to make the song shorter. She can't go back to when she was twelve and heard that song for the first time. She can't change the way it lit her up inside and inspired her to be the person she is today. She wouldn't want to, anyway.

The technician eventually sighs and adds the song title with minimal enthusiasm. It doesn't hurt Lydia's feelings, though. It'll be a brilliant performance, she's certain, and the technician will wonder why he was ever annoyed by one simple song, and such a beautiful one at that.

When Lydia's name is called later that night, she's two drinks in and feeling a pleasant buzz flowing under her skin.

The first strums of the guitar begin the song, and Lydia keeps her eyes peeled a little, in case of anybody noticing the song in more than casual recognition.

When the lyrics come up, when Lydia begins singing, she pours herself in the song, exposing her emotions in a way that no other song could possibly allow her to do. She makes the performance something to remember - something worthy of being tattooed on someone's body and in their heart.

When the heavier bits of the song come up and the energy in the rooms amplifies, Lydia really gets into it, throwing herself around the stage and making sure no bit of the performance leaves anyone unsatisfied. She wants everyone to see the song the same way he does, wants to peel away the layers and preconceptions and lay the music bare on the floor.

For all that the song is eight minutes and full of complex, ever changing sections, it always seems to go by so quickly, the time flying as though it's just a gentle tune played by the wind and not her entire heart fighting its way to the surface.

Lydia walks off the small stage, smiling brightly at the sound technician as he passes. He isn't any less annoyed than he was when he requested the song, but he looks relieved it's over now, and Lydia takes that as a strike against the song and not herself.

After all, she likes to think she did the piece proud.

"Hey," a voice stops Lydia as she's walking past the bar. She turns around and takes notice of everyone around before her eyes land on a woman standing next to two empty seats with a smile bright enough to light a cigarette on a cold, winter night. "That was really great up there."

"Oh, thank you," Lydia says, confused as to what exactly is happening. She's still a bit disoriented from the high of performing her favorite song, and it's not going away as quickly as it should be. The world is swirling with an iridescent touch that's far more pleasant than anything she's ever felt in this bar before. "Are you going up next?"