Night shifts black

He returns it, almost shy. “How do you know there’s a but?”

“It’s all over your face.”

He grins and shrugs. “No, not so much a ‘but’ as a caution about the ending of your story.” He has my attention.

“Oh, you don’t like the ending.”

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t. You make it sound like your value is in your identity, and your identity is something that doesn’t exist unless it’s concrete.”

“Concrete?”

“Definable. I don’t like you defining yourself by what you’re not, and therefore concluding you’re no one. What about what you are?”

“What I am?”

He nods. “Your identity shouldn’t be an occupation or a status. Hell, it’s not even dreams and aspirations. Those things will flow out of who you are once you embrace it. You have to stop looking at what’s missing and focus on what’s here.”

“Now, who’s a walking motivational poster,” I tease. I can’t help myself, and he tosses back his own sheepish grin.

“Well, you need to hear it, that’s all. You know why I’m here?” he asks suddenly. “Because when I was sixteen, Elena Barrett told me that our dad was a liar. That I wasn’t a worthless piece-of-shit just because I didn’t meet his expectations. That I was smart, and caring, and a talented musician, and even though I was just a kid fooling around with drums in a stupid band with my friend Luke, it was important because I loved it.” He quiets, and I can see the emotion rising in him. “That’s why I’m here, Callie. Because she told me what I was when everyone else in my life was telling me what I wasn’t. Once I started focusing on what I was instead, that’s where my identity came from, my dreams, the drive.”

“It all starts with believing in yourself,” I echo dryly.

His eyes narrow. “No, that’s a lie. It starts with accepting yourself. You can’t believe in what you don’t understand. And if you’re still telling people you’re no one, then you don’t understand yet.”

I don’t respond. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I have too much to say. And yet, I realize he’s given me even more to think about, and that’s what I need to do with his words right now. Tuck them away and consider them with the same care and insight with which they were offered.

“Can we work on our song again?” I ask after a long pause.

He glances at me, clearly pleased. “Which one?”

It’s my turn to be surprised. “What do you mean?”

His grin turns mischievous as he picks up the guitar.

“Fire up that laptop.”

 

∞∞∞

 

We work into the afternoon, taking a break for some food at one point when we realize we never even ate breakfast. I choose the meal this time and force him to eat a salad.

“What?” Casey asks, his fork stalling in mid-air as he observes my satisfied smirk.

“Nothing. Just enjoying the moment.”

He looks skeptical and shakes his head.

“And what moment is that? Enjoying a meal with a super hot rock star, or watching me eat vegetables?”

I grin. “It can’t be both?”

“You’re acting like my mom again,” he warns, and I shrug.

“Good. You need it. Vitamins, Casey. You need vitamins.”

“There are vitamins in fries.”

“What would TJ say?”

Casey almost drops his fork and laughs. “TJ…don’t remind me. Please.”

“What? You know I’m right.”

“Right about what?”

Casey and I glance over at Luke who does his magical appearing act at the presence of food. He grabs the extra salad and joins us at the table. We went formal for lunch.

“TJ would want you to consume a well-balanced meal,” I explain, and Luke glances at Casey in surprised amusement.

“TJ Barringer?”

Casey nods and rolls his eyes.

Luke laughs. “How does she know TJ?”

“I don’t,” I defend. “Only by reputation.”

“Oh, really? Interesting,” Luke responds.

“She was with me when TJ called about the new tracks.”

Luke seems to understand and starts on his salad.

“Not to mention you guys talk about him. I remember stuff.”

“Don’t we know it,” Casey mumbles, and Luke smirks.

“Heard you kids working again,” Luke comments, surprising both of us.

Casey nods. “Yeah, Callie has a lot of good ideas.”

“Oh, please,” I scoff. “I sit there and offer moral support while you work your magic.”

Casey gives me a mock glare. “Those aren’t my lyrics.”

“They’re not lyrics, they’re verses. It’s a poem.”

“Not anymore,” Luke counters, and I turn on him.

“Wait, whose side are you on anyway?”

Luke shrugs. “Sorry, hon, but poetry set to music is called a ‘song.’”

I roll my eyes, but my grin breaks when his does. “Fine, whatever.”

“Accept it, Callie. You’re a songwriter now,” Casey echoes.

My eyes widen. “No, I’m not. Wait. Really? But…”

He just shrugs and gives me that smile that always seems to calm me and excite me at the same time.

“I’m having trouble with the hook into the chorus, though,” Casey continues, back to business, and I can see that means more to Luke than it does to me.

Luke nods. “Let’s hear it.”

I’m sure Casey is as startled as I am at the request, but he does a better job hiding it.

“Ok, yeah, sure.” He pushes back from the table and retrieves the guitar.

Luke continues eating but watches Casey intently as he plays through what we have of our mirror song. I can see the music working its way through Luke’s head as he listens, concentrating, evaluating.

Casey finishes, and I sense this moment means more to him than I can possibly understand. He rests the guitar on his lap and pretends to pick at a scratch, but I’m pretty sure he’s just distracting himself as he waits for the verdict.

After a long silence, Luke nods. “It’s good, Case. Really good. I see what you mean about the hook, though. Try throwing the F# minor in after the A and add an extra two beats to the break.”

Casey’s eyes light up. “You mean, bring the chorus back in late on the offbeat?”

Luke nods. “Exactly. Plus, the minor at the end of the bridge will give it a bigger cut. Hanging on the 4 was fine, but I think the 2 will give you more depth.” His gaze turns serious as he studies his friend. “Case, the chorus is killer. Really, really good.”

I can’t help but smile at the look on Casey’s face, the pure relief and joy. The moment is so beautiful, I’m almost a

“You, too, Callie. I know those are your words.”

“Mostly. Casey changed them around a bit and added some.”

Luke shrugs. “Yeah, but you understand that’s not because there was anything wrong with the original. They just have to flow with the music. It’s all a give and take in the process.”

I nod and smile. “Of course. He made it better, there’s no question.”

Then, suddenly, Luke’s eyes change, and I see something there I’ve never seen before. A light, a spark. I’ve seen it in Casey many times now, but never Luke.

Surprised, I can only watch as he turns back to Casey and asks for the guitar. Casey is just as shocked and hands it to him, almost reverently.

Luke pushes back his chair and examines the instrument in his hands for a moment. Casey and I watch in awe as he holds it, his fingers touching the strings like they might break if he applies any pressure. I can’t even begin to guess what’s going through his mind, or Casey’s for that matter, but I’m so happy I feel ready to explode.

Finally, Luke seems able to accept the fact that he’s holding a guitar again and begins picking out a string of notes that flows into a seamless melody. It’s beautiful. I don’t know much about music, but I know whatever this is would sound perfect with what Casey just played. Casey seems to understand the significance of that even more than I do.