Out of Tune: The Original 2015 Draft

epilogue

Life is one grand, sweet song, so start the music—Ronald Reagan

8 Months Later

The Acacia Cemetery on Liberty Avenue was particularly empty on the last Friday of the month. That is, it was empty if you didn't count all the permanent residents buried six foot under. There was a fine layer of snow covering the ground and the red roses I'd brought with me bore a violent contrast to the extreme white blanket the ground was currently sporting. They looked like scarlet drops of blood on an empty canvas.

The marble headstone in front of me was simple:

Elijah Henry Prince

Beloved Father

Underneath that was my father's favourite quote: Where words fail, music speaks.

Hans Christian Anderson had said that. I'd heard my father say those five words more times than I could count. It was his answer whenever I asked him why he was writing a certain song. Whether it was happy or sad or angry, he would always say the same thing. Where words fail, music speaks.

This was the first time I'd been to his grave since the day he'd been buried. It would be easy to say that the reason I hadn't been back was because I hadn't been here, in New York, but if I was being completely honest with myself, that had absolutely nothing to do with it.

The real reason I hadn't been back was because I hadn't been able to face it. For so long, I'd been running away from his death. I'd left everything about my life with him in the past. My style. My personality. My music. I'd hidden from the girl I was for so long to make my mom happy but that chapter of my life was officially over. I was done hiding.

"Hi, dad," I whispered.

I'd never really understood before why people talked to the grave markers. It confused me as to why they thought staring at a slab of rock and pouring their hearts out to empty air made them feel better but in that one second I finally understood. It wasn't something I could put into words. It just felt...right. And though I'd never been that big of a believer of Faith, I just knew that my father was there with me.

"Sorry it took me so long to come see you," I continued. "Things have been pretty busy lately. Good. Great, actually. But busy."

I shuffled my feet, brushed a strand of my hair over my shoulder, and crossed my arms. My breath blew out as a white cloud. It was so cold it looked like I was smoking heavily. The wind whipped across my face but I hardly noticed the sting.

"I got that record deal. The one we always said that we'd get. I didn't get it alone though and I know you'd like the guys who I'm working with. They're a lot like you. Like me. They love music and they're the best friends that I could have ever asked for. They're family. I wish you could have met them. You would have really liked Spencer. He's a good guy and even though you would have pretended to give him a hard time for dating me, I know that you would have been buddies within a few minutes."

The wind picked up again, blowing through my hair and across my face, almost like an answer to my words. I closed my eyes for a moment before reopening them and crouching next to my dad's headstone. My gloved fingers rested on the cool marble.

I released another pent-up breath. "I found that song you were writing when you got sick. In behind the felt of your guitar case. We're singing it tonight and I really wish that you could be there with me. But since you can't, I'm going to make sure that we kill it."

My face was suddenly very wet. Tears leaked out the corners of my eyes and I brushed them away absentmindedly.

"I miss you, dad. I miss your jokes and your smile and your pieces of napkins and toilet paper that had lyrics and chords written on them. I just hope that you're happy wherever you are." I sniffed and rose to my feet shakily. "I'll see you soon. I love you."