Speechless: REWRITTEN

14. Marigold

Gianna

To say I was just nervous is a wild understatement.

I've never written an emotional body of music before, much less performed it in front of someone whom it was directed to. And here I am, performing this vague piece to my longtime crush. My stomach is in complete knots and I'm leaving sweaty fingerprints on the wood of my guitar waiting for him to wake up. We're supposed to be going to Mordecai's for Christmas, but my gift to him is so personal that I just didn't want anyone else hearing it. So I'm just going to present it to him before we leave.

I get through half a gallon of water before the man in question exits the bathroom, fully dressed. Maybe preoccupying myself with cleaning my vocal cords will settle my nerves, but now my stomach turns with all the water and I feel overhydrated.

"Morning," I greet him, first and foremost.

"Good morning." He pauses for a moment. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"You look like a deer caught in headlights right now."

I swallow, hoping to dissipate some of the anxiety I'm feeling right now. "I'm fine. I just...I have your present ready, but I want to give it to you here. It's...kind of personal."

"Okay," he chuckles. I pat the seat next to me on the couch and he moseys to me, taking his seat. I set the guitar on my lap, my dominant hand on the neck, slicing the skin on my fingers with the strings.

"I wrote you a song," I rush out. His eyes meet mine, a softness in them.

"Really?" he smiles.

I nod. "Yeah. It's called 'Boomerang'."

I adjust the sheet music on the table to refer to, and start finding the melody on the guitar. I find my eyes sticking to the music and my own hands once I start singing, unable to meet his gaze on me. I hope the lyrics don't come off as too romantic or anything. The song is primarily about how despite being a pain in each other's asses, we always come back and make things right. A sort of chaos in a good way. Sometimes, I wonder how a dynamic such as ours has made it this far, and the truth is that it shouldn't have. But it has, and it's good. Nothing about it feels wrong or out of place. It's like we're supposed to be this stubborn with each other because who else will put up with it?

I get to the end of the song and take a few calming breaths, now feeling better, but having this overwhelming urge to pee. Why did I drink all of that water? But before I go and handle that, I look up to gage his reaction. I expected him to be staring at me, at his lap, at...I honestly didn't know what to expect or what I wanted to see. But what I saw was...unexpected.

He's staring at my sheet music on the table, a noticeable blush painting itself on his tan skin. His hands are clasped tightly in his lap and he seems like he's entranced in something. Maybe caught up in his own thoughts. I reach over my guitar and set one of my own hands on his clasped pair. This puts his attention back on me, and I catch my own breath. I suddenly feel like the same sixteen year old girl who idolized the talents of her teacher, thinking he was a certified genius. Half of me feels pathetic...but the other half is filled with nervous energy, like a sparking wire.

Touching him felt like electricity on my skin, so I withdraw my hand. I swallow hard, my throat incredibly dry all of a sudden. Setting my guitar on the table, I clear my throat. "We should probably head to Mordecai's."

"Y-yeah," he agrees, recollecting his bearings.

The silence between us following that moment is palpable. We make sure the house is good before getting in the car and leaving for the day. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, my mind swirling with thoughts. Did he like the song? Did he dislike it so much? He didn't exactly give me any indication that he enjoyed it. In fact, what resembled how he reacted was entranced, and I'm not entirely sure what that implies.