My eyes open when it’s my turn to join Westley for the first time, and I look into his eyes. “Lucky to have been where I have been…”
It’s meaningful to me, on a personal level, for the first time. With Jeremy, it was just a pretty song to sing, cute, familiar lyrics and sweet harmonies with my friend. But singing it with Wes, I really hear the words, taste the lyrics and feel the weight of them. The gratitude, the appreciation of what I have.
It’s been a fairy tale, thus far, with Wes. The man of my literal dreams, my crush, my fantasy—he showed up at my door and swept me off my feet. He’s given me my first kiss. The first blush of nakedness under his hungry, waiting gaze. Touch, lust, need…all the firsts, with him. And he’s not just everything I could have hoped he’d be—he’s more.
I sing it out, all of this, into the song.
“As the world keeps spinning round, you hold me right here right now,” and I feel my fortune, my luck, this incredible experience of finding this man, at this time in my life.
As the song ends, I expect him to let his guitar go silent, to talk about another song, or to ask me a question…instead, he transitions immediately into a new tune.
I recognize it immediately.
“Come What May” from Moulin Rouge, Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman.
Of course he’d know this song. And of course, he’d assume, correctly, that I know it, too. I mean, the lyrics of the chorus? I will love you until my dying day. Come on. Obvious choice for someone like me, right?
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to this song. The whole movie, of course, but this song in particular. On repeat, during chemo. I know every note, every word, forward and backward.
It’s a little too on the nose, suddenly.
Fortunately, Westley’s part is fairly long, which gives me time to get myself under control. I don’t have to play, or try to recall the lyrics. Just close my eyes and push down the shakiness in my soul.
All too soon, it’s my turn.
My eyes open.
I’m singing to him, somehow. Is it love, between us? I don’t know. What is love, anyway? How do you define it? How do you know?
I’ve known Westley for days. We’ve talked about this a dozen times already and I’m no closer to an answer, to understanding. But I know, as I sing this song to him, that this is real, between us.
It means something.
Our harmony fits naturally. In this song, he can let the real depth and power of his voice really explode, hitting the long holds easily, and he never looks away from me. Never flinches. At some point, his guitar goes silent, one hand clenching the neck, the other flat on the bridge, and he just sings with me.
My soul vibrates with the weight of this moment, singing this song with Westley.
If you sing, or if you’ve ever performed with someone, you know what I’m talking about.
When you’re in the zone, when you just know you’re hitting your notes perfectly, when the music isn’t just in you, but IS you. You are this moment, this song, these words, this pure and perfect harmony. It’s like the whole world narrows, and becomes a tuning fork, and it’s humming to a secret, specific vibration and you’ve matched that frequency and every single last atom of your being is awash and afire with truth and beauty and music and soul and meaning and harmony. You could cry for the beauty and significance. Your soul is on the cusp of detonation with the expansive heat and volatile beauty of the experience.
There’s silence, when it’s over.
“Would you sing me something, Jo?” Westley asks, after a long moment. “Anything. Whatever comes to mind.”
I nod, and it may look like I’m thinking, but I’m not. I don’t have to. I’m just deciding if I have the courage to do the piece.
For him, with him.
In this studio, being recorded.
I swallow hard. “I…there’s a song I’ve been working on.”
He sets his guitar down and pivots to look at me. “I’d love to hear it.”
I hesitate. “It’s…” I sigh. “I wrote it, and I’ve been working on putting music to it for…well, a long time. I wrote the words when my leukemia came back the last time, and I’ve been tinkering with the music ever since. I don’t know if it’s any good, but…”
He holds my gaze. “Jo.” It’s a scold.
I smile, laugh. “Okay, no apologies or explanations. Got it.” I swallow again. “I should warn you though, it’s…it’s not exactly a feel-good song.”
He nods. “Understood.”
I breathe in slowly, deeply. I have the lyrics on my phone, and I bring them up and set it where I can see it, just in case. I know them by heart, but I’ve never actually played the song for anyone, not even Bethy.
I’m not much of a songwriter, so the melody is simple. Slow, lower on the ukulele’s register. I was aiming for haunting and sad.
I play the melody through once, so my hands remember the movements. Read through the lyrics until they’re running through my head, matched with the melody.
“Here I am again
alone in this dark cold room
lights dimmed
head braced
it’s happening, it’s too soon
hold still, don’t be scared
try not to move
or we’ll have to start again
Start again
the cancer’s back again
don’t need the MRI
tell me the truth, don’t need to lie
I know it’s back again
Back again
Can the MRI see my soul
Can it see that I’m afraid
Can it see that I feel old
That I feel weak
Can it see my despair
When the pain is at its peak
Don’t need thirty minutes in a tube
Can’t move, barely breathing
Clank-clank-clank, Bang-bang-bang
Hammering my head
Banging on my heart
Don’t need thirty minutes in this room
To tell me what I already know
It’s back again
Back again
Just hold still
Don’t be scared
This won’t hurt a bit
It doesn’t hurt a bit
But it’s not the machine killing me
It’s me killing me
My blood and my bone
And I can feel it coming back again
I want off this merry-go-round
Please tell me I’ll be fine
Sure I’ll know you’re lying
But just this once
Lie to me
tell me I’ll be fine
I can see it, I’m not blind
It’s in me, I can feel it
But lie to me anyhow, I don’t mind
Lie to me
tell me you can heal it
lie to me
tell me I’ll be fine
I know it’s back again
But lie to me
Lie to me.”
The silence when I finish is fraught, thick, and tense.
Westley’s eyes are wet, and so are mine.
He stands up abruptly and goes into the mixing booth, stops the recording. He doesn’t come right back out, though.
When he does, he’s dry-eyed. “Jo, that was…” He shakes his head. “You’re amazing.”
“It’s rough. Still a work in progress.”
He shakes his head again. “No. It’s perfect as is.”