Claire's Song

by Ashley King

  I've built these walls, made them tall

  But with one look from you, they threaten to fall

  My icy heart begins to thaw

  What is it about you that sets you apart?

  I'll tell you one thing, you've captured my heart.

  It's the way you move, the fact that you have no clue

  That you're the most beautiful girl in the room

  I keep hoping, praying I can make a move soon

  Life is hard, a tough dealer of the cards

  But I want to be the one to pick up the shards

  And kiss your every scar

  I want to know who you really are,

  Who's the girl, deep inside, the one so intent to hide?

  What is it about you that sets you apart?

  I'll tell you one thing, you've captured my heart.

  It's the way you move, the fact that you have no clue

  That you're the most beautiful girl in the room

  I keep hoping, praying I can make a move soon

  There's no doubt in my head

  I want nothing left unsaid

  I think about you at night and in the morning when I get out of bed

  How could you see anything in me?

  That's the question and it's beyond me

  But I swear I'll try

  I'll make myself worthy enough to fit in your life

  What is it about you that sets you apart?

  I'll tell you one thing, you've captured my heart.

  It's the way you move, the fact that you have no clue

  That you're the most beautiful girl in the room

  I keep hoping, praying I can make a move soon

  When I'm finished I hear Claire sigh as if she's sad it's over. She opens her eyes and offers me a smile, a brilliant one that lights up all the dark corners of her face.

  "That…that was beautiful," her voice is softer than a whisper. "Absolutely perfect."

  I shrug, not sure what to do with her praise. I want to tell her that I wrote it for her.

  "Did those words just come to you?" Claire continues.

  When I'm finally able to speak, still disbelieving that someone could be so in awe of anything I do, I answer, “When you're inspired words just come."

  Claire nods and gets up to switch her Ipod back on. When she comes back to the bed she falls onto the pillows. She's still smiling as she turns her head to look at me. "I'm guessing you were pretty inspired when you wrote that. I'd love to hear more of your stuff sometime."

  I put my guitar down on the floor and join her. "Maybe one day." I pause. I'm about to be a total pansy, but she's worth it. "Truth is, Claire, playing the guitar and singing one of my songs for you is like giving you a piece of my soul, letting you look in way too deep. I've never played for anyone before."

  "No one?"

  "No one."

  "Hmmm…" She answers slowly, chewing on the words. "And you still want to play in front of a crowd? Because you do realize then you'd be giving out tons of pieces of your soul, one to each person in the audience who hears it, really hears it and relates to what you're saying." Claire turns her head slightly so that she's looking at me.

  It's sad and disgusting that my dream is tied to my death. That's one thing I refuse to go back on. Things with my mom are crazy; idiots at school are picking their crusade back up again. But then the world is quiet and there's Claire, perfect Claire, looking at me so full of hope.

  It's not the same as what I just gave you," I answer simply and meaning every word of it. I gave Claire my heart and soul. Hell, I just gave Claire everything.

  She stares at me for a long time, her eyes studying every aspect of my face. Tears begin to build and I wonder if I've really screwed up. She reaches out and smoothes a hand over my face and then allows it retreat back to her side of the bed. I miss her touch already.

  "I know you did, Ryder. And you're right." Claire exhales loudly before speaking again. "I guess it's my turn," she says, her eyes never leaving mine and I know, actually I can feel things changing between us.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CLAIRE

  Ryder's music moved me in ways I'd never imagined. His words made me feel safe, his voice wrapped around me encasing me in warmth. I could go on for days listening to him, my own modern day Orpheus.

  The lyrics touched my heart and I could only hope that one day somebody would feel that way about me, a love so powerful that you need words and music to try to express the exact emotion. I don't know much about his past, so I don’t know who inspired him, or if anyone did. But I know that in the here and now, that song, his voice spoke to my soul. Ryder gave me something precious, irreplaceable and I know I have to give him something in return, something he's been asking about for a while now, to which I always replied, "Not yet." I wasn't ready then, but now I know I'm more than ready.

  "I'm ready to talk about Jamie," I whisper. My eyes dart to his photo shrine on my dresser.

  Ryder's hand reaches out and grabs mine. His thumb traces gentle soothing circles on my palm. It's distracting and comforting at the same time. He remains silent, but I find strength in that.

  “Jamie was my best friend." I pause, the words harder to say out loud than I thought. Ryder squeezes my hand and I continue. I push past the pain of the memories of the boy who shattered everything I'd ever known, because that's all I can do. "We met at the record store downtown. Now that's a day I’ll never forget,” I say with a sad smile, the memory flitting back to me.

  “When are you going to get a record player of your own?” Rick, the owner of Spinners teases. He asks me that every time I step foot in here. Sometimes I'd buy a record just because I liked the look of it, the idea of it.

  “One day,” I smile as I continue to browse through the aisles. I don’t have a lot of time because Mom is next door. I can’t wait to get my driver’s license so I won’t have to rely on her anymore and have to wait on her to do girly things like manicures or whatever it is she does.

  I move to the older stuff, like Led Zeppelin, The Pixies, and the Cure. I can almost feel the approval coming off of the long haired owner as I start to flip through that section. The door dings and I look up and my eyes land on the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I mean the lead singer of Taking Back Sunday has nothing on this guy. Nothing. He’s tall, muscular, dark hair that’s perfectly ruffled like all the rock stars. I can almost feel the drool start to puddle at my feet as I take in the stretch of his navy blue v-neck shirt across his chest and the low-slung jeans on his narrow hips.

  My hand is still poised between two records as I openly check him out. His head snaps and suddenly his gaze is on me, as if he can feel me looking at him, assessing him. He gives me the cockiest grin I’ve ever seen as he saunters over. Eyes averted back to the records, I act as though the hottest guy on the planet is not standing next to me.

  “Hey,” he says simply.

  I look up and offer a small smile, but am instantly drowning in his mocha colored eyes. “Yeah?” I snap. I snap in defense. I'm in total defense mode. What is wrong with me?

  “Are all the girls in this town as nice as you?” The boy asks as he leans against the rack I’m looking through.

  I stifle a laugh and continue to push through the remaining albums. “New here, huh?” I ask.

  “Just finished unpacking today. And I’ve got to say, this is quite the little hellhole,” he gestures to everything.

  “Ah, yes. Our lovely small town certainly is. Welcome,” I mock. I’m finished with that rack and try to move to the next section but the boy steps in front of me, determined to be seen and heard.

  “I’m Jamie,” he says as he looks at me carefully.

  I smile at him, at his brashness. I like it. It’s a nice change from all the phoniness around here. “I’m Claire,” I answer.

  “Well, Claire, since I’m new around here, how about you show me around? By foot, of course, since I still don’t have a license yet,” he says as
he runs a hand through his hair giving it that sexy bed head look.

  “You’re a freshman too?” I ask, way too excited, showing my cards too fast.

  Jamie nods, a gorgeous display of perfection spreading across his face. “Yeah. You know what Claire from the record store? I think we’re going to be pretty good friends.”

  “You think so? Cocky to assume, isn’t it?” I smile and almost do a happy dance inside at finding the perfect record and the perfect guy.

  “The Replacements?” Jamie looks at the album.

  I nod, clutching the Don't Tell a Soul album to my chest like a long lost child. “Yeah, been looking for this one for a while,” I admit as I make my way to the counter.

  “Here, let me get it for you,” he insists when we get to the counter. Rick looks at me questioningly, but has a smile on that aged face.

  “Rick, don’t let him,” I try, but Rick doesn’t listen. Jamie buys the record and gets his way because he’s Jamie and that’s the way it’s always been and always will be.

  “That’s the perfect way to meet someone,” Ryder smiles, finally speaking.

  I nod, my heart constricting at the memory. “But what breaks my heart the most is the fact that he left me. You have to know he…he killed himself,” I stutter, the words still feeling like knives on my tongue.

  Ryder nods.

  “I had no idea it had gotten that bad. I knew that in those last few months that he was different, but I thought he was just being moody or going through something he didn’t want to talk about, because he got that way sometimes. But when that happened, I would just give him his space and things would work out, but that last night…” Tears start to fall one by one down my face, each one a memory of Jamie. “I felt it, I think. I felt it and I tried to go after him and I couldn't get to him…” My voice is choked up, the words a mangled mess. Ryder reaches his fingers out and brushes each tear away, his eyes the only thing bringing me back to reality, to feeling okay.

  “If it’s too hard Claire, I won’t ask this of you, okay? You don’t have to tell me anything else. I just thought that it might help in some way to talk about it,” Ryder whispers, his hand still touching my face so gently that it makes my heart flip.

  I shake my head because I know he’s right. Talking to a therapist is great, of course, but sometimes you just need that human connection with someone who is close to you. In this case, it’s Ryder. And if we’re going to do whatever this is, then he should know these things about me. I would want to know these kinds of things about him.

  “No. It’s not that. It’s just hard, that’s all. Losing someone you love is already difficult, but to lose them like that, it’s like…it’s like a kick in the stomach. I feel like I wasn’t enough to make him want to stay. And then there was so much I didn’t know about him, which kills me because he was my best friend.”

  Ryder shifts and pulls me to his chest, his heart thudding furiously beneath his shirt. He gently strokes my hair, whispering comforting words in my ear. “Don’t ever think that you’re not enough, Claire. You’re more than enough, always.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut because more tears threaten to spill forth. Ryder’s words move me and make me feel cared for for the first time since Jamie left. But I’m not done. “You know Lindy says it’s my fault. She blames it on me. And I blame myself too, because apparently he’d been taking pills for a while and then he mixed them that night. I thought for sure that it was an accident. Actually, I knew it was an accident until I got that note.”

  “Screw Lindy first of all. Second, people change but it doesn’t mean he didn’t care about you or love you. Did he tell you why he did it in the note?”

  I nod. “He did, but it still hurts. It doesn't fix anything. He's still gone and I'm still here, alone.”

  “I think you should read that letter, again, Claire. I mean really read it.” Ryder pauses and gently kisses my forehead, “Besides, you're not alone. I’m here.”

  RYDER

  It's three in the morning when I finally leave Claire's room and my shirt is soaking wet from tears, but I don’t care. All I can think about is how open Claire was with me, what she told me about Jamie.

  So many things are racing through my mind as I step inside my room that I don’t even know where to begin. I wanted to kiss her, to ask her where we stood, but it didn’t feel right. I don’t want to kiss her when she’s so vulnerable and sad. The next thought that races through my head is what she said. I feel like I wasn't enough or wasn’t enough to make him want to stay. I’m a no-good, piece of crap for what I’m doing to her. Her words ripped through me, echoing exactly what I feared I'd leave behind. But it didn’t make me want to stop holding her as she cried. It didn’t make me want to tell her that we couldn’t keep on doing this. It only made what I feel for her stronger, even if deep down I know I’m going to do exactly what Jamie did to her. And who will be there to help pick up the pieces then? Will she even care? Why do I care if she cares?

  All the panic and anxiety that I keep bottled up inside comes rushing to the surface, the onslaught making it hard to breathe, the thought of Claire crying like that about me nearly doubling me over. I race for the black bag and sneak to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet lid, I steel myself, hoping that relief will come. The razor connects with my skin, shredding, slashing, my red blood dripping onto the tile letting me know I’m alive. I am still alive. Claire is on repeat inside my head, over and over again, and I try to erase her with each slice. The panic barely subsides, but I know I have to make it until I play for a crowd, but another voice begs for me to end it now. Why not? I have the razor in my hand. One slice over the right vein and it would all be over, all the thoughts, the panic, the torment, everything would disappear. I would disappear.

  My breath is coming faster now, too fast and I almost feel dizzy, so I stop, realizing that for once it’s Claire that calms me and panics me at the same time. The razor does little to shed the anxiety, but I still cut, knowing this is what I’ve always done, what I’ll always do.

  After awhile, I’ve calmed down and manage to clean up my mess. As I leave the bathroom I dart a look towards Claire’s bedroom door, no light spilling beneath it, her world gone completely black. The shame and guilt from what I’ve just done settles on my shoulders and I try not to think about it even though it’s there all the time, always there. I try to think about the fact that tomorrow is Thursday, tomorrow is another day with Claire, another numbered day with her.

  Four o’clock races around, then five o’clock. Six follows too quickly on its heels and then I hear the Watkins' up and bustling around like it’s any normal morning. For me, it’s anything but normal. I feel rough and once I get a good look in the mirror, I realize I look like it too. Bags have formed underneath my eyes and they almost look bluish. I still feel dizzy and don’t really want to go to school. When I open my door, I see Claire writing feverishly in a journal, a perfect smile across her face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so happy, so calm. I hope getting that off her chest last night helped. Anyone could see that she carried this enormous load and she did it alone. Her parents are great, but they don’t know how to help her. She tells me she visits her therapist, although that's not frequent enough to be of any real help. I stop and almost wonder if a therapist would help me. Could they help me? My mind feels so screwed up that I doubt they could unravel the mess they'll find there.

  I do know that as I watch Claire, I realize I’ll have to do more than leave her a letter after I leave. She deserves more than that, she deserves more than anything I could ever give her, truthfully. But I know what it is I should leave her and I head back into my room to begin it. I title the page “Last Song.” Not creative, but it will be by the time I'm finished with it. This will be a goodbye song for her, everything I feel about what I'm doing, what I feel about this life, about her, all wrapped up in music and melodies. I’ll even play it at the concert, my final farewell to her. Nausea kicks up again at the thought of l
eaving her behind. But I quickly shake the feeling and keep working until Claire calls that it’s almost time to go. I brush my teeth and head down stairs, but not before carefully tucking the song beneath my mattress.

  Claire smiles at me when our eyes meet, although she says nothing. We walk to her car and get in. Her music is loud, as always. It makes me crack a smile. This girl loves her music and I keep wondering if I’m falling in love with her. I wouldn’t know. Never been in love and always thought it was for idiots, saps, and pansies. I was always in relationships for more…physical gratification. Even with all that put aside, no girl ever really made me feel the way Claire does. She trips me up, makes me feel like a kid, makes me actually feel happy. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like that, that I'm not even sure if it's the right emotion.

  I think about my Dad. He always smiled. Always. He’d walk around the house with this huge grin on his face and now I think I know why. It was because he was screwing his twenty-something secretary and my mother was too blind to see it. My mother. My piece of crap mother. I should feel bad that she’s in jail because of me, but I don’t. I’m just…tired. Tired physically and mentally of crap like this all the time. In this car with Claire and those brief moments in her room, those are my reprieves from the insanity that is my life. I crave those moments like a crack addict wanting their next hit.

  “Thank you for last night,” Claire breaks the silence and my pity party. The automatic reaction is to be a prick to her. To keep her away, but I stop myself. There’s no way I’m doing that to her again. Not after last night. Last night was something huge, even though we didn’t kiss or declare undying love for each other or anything like that. No, it was different, just like everything with Claire is. It was about human connection, I think, human pain, all these things that make us human, that make us tick, that make us alive.

  “I know that song probably put you over the edge with your crush on me,” I manage to joke. I like joking with Claire. I’ve never liked it before, but I like seeing that twinkle in her eye when I say something like that, seeing the determination on her beautiful face.