Hayden's Shelter

Chapter 5- Tank Me a Higher Love

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I dig my guitar from the back of my closet. I didn't think much when I tossed it back here that night we moved our things into the shelter. It was just another artifact of a life we'd never have back, not to the level we used to.

I'd named her Lucy because my dad insisted she needed a name when he gave her to me. Charlie Brown Christmas was playing and Lucy happened to be the one on the screen so that became her name.

I spend fifteen minutes tuning her up. She's not an instrument that sits well. I go through some of the classic stuff I always play for my parents.

Years ago I'd found a mix CD my dad made for my mom back when they were going out. It was full of cheesy love tunes and he'd written "Ali Needs Lisa" in red marker with a heart around it.

I'd learned the first five songs on it without telling them and then I played through them for their anniversary party last year. They'd rented a restaurant in Newport harbor and all their friends were there. It was just a few months before everything went to awful, before the lights went out.

I still remember that smile on my dad's face. It always ties back to my mom. When I do things that make her happy he amplifies it. When I do things that make her sad it destroys him. Her approval matters most to him and mine to her and his to me. It's just all a weird triangle with one stake now missing and the other two trying to hold down the tarp. Flap, flap, flap.

I'm not playing any of those songs. They're too old for this crowd and that was another time. I need something fresh.

I open up my youtube and navigate to my friend Lily's page. She's back in Irvine and I haven't kept up with any of my friends. Ignored messages turned into no messages shortly after we crossed the Arizona line.

Lily always has the bops. She has a great ear for music and is truly gifted on the cello. Her playlist has stuff that's already played out on the radio, but then I come across a new one.

It's a Kygo remix of an old song from my parents' generation, but it's done so soulfully. I do a search and see the artist who made it famous died a few years back. She's gone and new artists are pilfering through her remains.

I play the song again and now there's a layer of finality and sadness. I find a few different covers and versions, each with their own twist. The dance beats versions bring out the passion of someone on a mission with unwavering resolve, and the slow acoustic versions bring out the poetry of the lyrics and sadness that they'll never find the love they seek. It's perfect.

I go down the youtube rabbit hole and hear every version I can find before I start to work it out on my own guitar. I adjust the key and add my own touches, but it's doable and works for my voice. I look up a few mormon songs and pick one that is simple enough. It's a kid's song about a stream and how every little thing we do can help others. It's happy and light enough plus there are hundreds of versions so it must be a popular childhood song.

I take a break before lunch. Mom is at another interview and I'd shrugged off Tank's invitations to hang. I decide to unpack some of the boxes. We won't be here long, but I know it'll cheer mom up if she sees I put out some of the family photos.

Something about spending the morning with my guitar has cleared my head. The therapist my mom took me to had said doing normal routine things would help me work through this. It works and I lose track of time setting up things.

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My mom bursts through the door as I'm finishing folding up a box and putting it away in the closet for the next move. She is beaming like she has something to tell me.