had seen them before. Each was of a fairy, clearly a scene from his long-forgotten life, most depicting a little girl. Sometimes she overlooked a pond; other times she ran through fields of tall grass. Over time, Colby had pieced together some of their inspirations from his own memories. He knew the girl, but he’d rather not remember her.
On the floor was a collection of battered secondhand guitars, scattered around a warped, tin ashtray, and the clutter of shuffled notebook paper, covered front to back with hastily scribbled lyrics and sheet music. A single dim lamp lit the room, making it seem dingier than it actually was. Against the wall languished a soiled couch, no doubt reclaimed from a curb, and beside it a rickety old bookcase. Atop that bookcase—perched precariously upon a teetering pile of books and papers—was none other than Colby’s old companion, Mr. Bearston.
Colby ran his fingers over one of the bear’s outstretched arms. For a moment, he felt eight years old again, ignorant and innocent. He stared into Mr. Bearston’s one remaining eye—cataracted with years of grime—and smiled; it was just as he remembered it. Its fur was matted from years of night sweat and frayed from as many years of play. A single round spot lingered where an eye had previously been, revealing something only a few shades off from the bear’s original color. “Have you been keeping a proper eye on him, sir?” Colby asked wistfully of the bear. “I sure hope you have. You have a very important job, you know.” Reaching up, he took the bear’s head in one hand and made it nod. “Good. Keep up the good work, sir.”
“What are you looking at?” asked Ewan from behind him.
Colby turned around. “Mr. Bearston.”
“Who?”
“Your bear,” he said. “Mr. Bearston.”
“Oh, that? His name is Dithers. I’ve had him since before we met. Got me through a lot, when I was a kid, you know?”
“Dithers?”
“I have no idea. You know how stupid kids’ names can be.”
Colby nodded.
Ewan handed him a stained pillow and a ragged blanket. Colby looked askance at the couch, but took a seat anyway. “What are you still doing up?” he asked.
“Writing. Working on a few songs.”
“A few?”
“Yeah, I’m dizzy tonight. I don’t know what it is—I mean, yeah, I know what it is—but I’ve got all of this music bouncing around in my head, louder than it’s ever been before.”
“Louder?”
“Yeah. Louder. Clearer. I’ve always heard music, deep down, but it’s always been fuzzy, you know—out of reach. Like it was waiting for me to fill in the blanks. But it doesn’t have holes anymore. I can hear the music. I’m just trying to get it right. It’s still not all coming out.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
“Well . . .”
“Well, what?” asked Colby with a hint of concern.
“There’s this girl.”
“This girl?”
Ewan smiled, bigger and brighter than Colby had ever seen him. It was a goofy, almost embarrassing expression, like something out of a comic book or a cartoon. “Nora,” he said, sighing silently after he said her name.
“Nora?”
“Nora. She was at our show tonight.”
“You had a show? Why didn’t you call?”
“It was last minute.”
“But this dream girl somehow knew about it.”
“I’m not entirely sure she was there for our show.”
Colby’s eyes lit up. “So what’s her deal?” he asked. “Tell me about her.”
“Her name’s Nora.”
“Got that. Nora what?”
Ewan’s mouth hung open to answer, but his memory turned up blank. Instead: Silence.
“Okay, skipping the last name. What does she do? Is she a student?”
No answer.
Colby grew ever more frustrated with Ewan. “Can you at least describe her to me?”
“Oh! Yes! She’s small. Very small. With big brown eyes and wispy short brown hair.”
“Okay, that’s a start.”
“She’s very . . . different, you know? She’s got this way about her that isn’t like other girls—unconventional, without trying too hard, if you know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“She has me writing music, man.”
“I can see that.”
“No, good music.”
Colby laughed. “Are we sure this girl is even human?” He was only half joking, though Ewan wouldn’t know it. “No last name, no job to speak of . . .”
“She’s beautiful and her touch is like . . . fireworks.”
“Jesus, man. This sounds serious.”
“I know,” said Ewan, a bit stunned by the idea. “You know how people talk about meeting the one and just knowing right then and there that they’re the one?”
“Yeah, everyone has that. They feel it every time they meet someone they’re excited about, and then when that goes south, they forget that they ever