Rock Radio - By Lisa Wainland Page 0,17
song, no words. Maybe we could be an instrumental rock band.”
Harper threw some papers at him. “Yeah, that’s a brilliant idea.”
“The words’ll come.” Cody was trying to make them feel better.
“Listen Cody, you don’t understand. Alex, Harper and I...we got tons of songs. Some with words, most not, but the truth is the ones with the words are crap,” Bobby explained.
“Hey I resent that.” Alex stood up.
“Listen, dude, you don’t need to get all sensitive writer on me.”
“Bobby’s right, Alex,” Harper chimed in.
Bobby began strumming his guitar. “Oh Jade...we had it made...you should have stayed...” he croaked out in mocking tones.
“I’ll get there.”
“When you’re sixty?”
“Give me some credit.”
“I am. Hey...there’s hope...isn’t Mick Jagger gonna be sixty in a few years?”
“Yes, yes he is,” Harper said, “and Keith Richards.”
“So, what are you worried about? You’ve got plenty of time!” Cody chimed in.
They all collapsed in laughter.
On his way home, Cody couldn’t get the song out of his mind. He hummed it to himself as he walked back to the dorm. His hands tapped absentmindedly on his jeans. The melody haunted him. He went to bed with the song running through his head and by morning the words were there. He scrawled them on the first piece of paper he could find, a semester guide for spring, ran to the house and banged on the door.
A sleepy Alex opened it. “Cody? What the hell are you doing here? It’s not even nine o’clock.”
Cody waved the booklet in front of Alex’s face. “I’ve got the words to your song.”
Within five minutes all the guys were up and with their instruments, clad only in boxers and bathrobes.
“Alex,” Cody motioned to him.
“Five, six, seven, eight.”
The song started echoing the melody that ran through Cody’s head all night. He began to sing. His voice was strong, but dripped with sincerity. The words were captivating.
“All you were is all I was,” he sang, letting the words flow freely, they matched the rhythm perfectly. This time when they finished the song, it was Alex, Harper and Bobby that applauded Cody. They looked knowingly at each other.
“So Cody,” Harper started, twirling his drumstick, “ever think about being a singer in a band?”
Chapter 8
Dana got off the air two hours ago. It was now midnight. She was sure Sam was done packing.
She was sure he was gone by now.
She waited at the station as long as she could, but she was tired and sad and wanted to go home, just not home to the one she shared with Sam.
Dana packed up her stuff and shut down the computer. One could only surf the internet for so long. She closed the door to her office and saw Vincent the janitor vacuuming the floors.
“Goodnight Miss Dana,” he said, tipping his cap.
“Goodnight, Vincent.” Dana forced a smile and went downstairs. She looked around and found George, the night security guard asleep in the kitchen. Great security, she thought, waking him up.
She tapped his shoulder. “Hey, George.”
He shook in surprise. “Musta dosed off. Yes, Dana, are you ready to go to your car?”
“You know the routine, George.”
George was an older, ex-cop who did night patrol. Since Dana got off the air so late, she always had George walk her out to her car. She was scared to go alone.
He took her to her sleek red convertible.
“Thanks George, see ya tomorrow.”
“You drive safe now,” he replied, closing her door for her.
Dana started the car. Its soft grumbly engine was reassuring. She’d had the car for five years. It was one of the only stable things in her life. She drove home slowly, dreading entering her empty apartment.
She was right to feel that way.
The silence that greeted her when she opened her front door was a heavy reminder of Sam’s absence. Dana was used to the hum of late night TV coming from the bedroom and Sam’s sleepy hello. The silence she encountered was overbearing.
Dana slowly walked into the bedroom, not quite ready for what she knew would greet her. Half the walls were bare, Sam’s photos gone. She opened the closet. It too was half-empty. Sam hadn’t left a shred of evidence that he had lived there. Dana sunk into the bed. On her pillow was an envelope with her name printed on it. Perhaps he wanted to say one last goodbye. Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside were his keys.
Two copper keys.
It was as cold a goodbye as one could ask for. She had expected more from him. After all they had been