Sing it, Sam

by Jennifer Ryder

  “I’m not about to move into a sprint.”

  I roll my eyes. “Ha ha. Seriously, just give me a couple of minutes. And close your eyes.”

  “’Kay, but I can’t guarantee there will be any doughnuts left when you get back,” he says, dangling the brown paper bag which already bears the stains of the oily goodness within.

  “Don’t you dare,” I warn with an outstretched index finger.

  Once my little oasis in the park is set up, I wheel the walker over to the front passenger door, and open it.

  Sam’s jaw stills mid-chew. White crystals rim the outside of his lips. A morsel of doughnut is held in his sugar-crusted fingers. The stunned look in his eye is much like Butch’s when I catch him destroying a roll of toilet paper, which happens far too often for my liking.

  “What?” he says around a mouthful of dough. “You left me alone with them. What’d you expect?”

  I want to scowl but end up laughing. He’s right. I never should have left them alone. I would have done exactly the same thing.

  Sam takes my hand and wraps his arms around my shoulders, his mouth moving dangerously close to my face. “How you goin’?” he drawls in my ear as I help him to the walker. The warmth of his lips teases at my skin.

  “Just dandy. Be better when I get my share of doughnuts, though.”

  “S’okay, I saved you some. That’s just the kind of stand-up guy I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Small children race around the old park, squealing and laughing in the distance. It’s hard to believe it’s the same equipment I played on as a child. I would’ve thought that the council would have replaced it by now. The see-saw squeaks with the same up-and-down motion that saw me skyrocket to the ground, and break my wrist when I was seven.

  “This is some picnic,” he says on an exhale as he settles himself amongst the pillows.

  Breaking thoughts of my childhood, I cross my legs, straighten my back, and give my full attention to Sam. Now that I’ve pepped him up with sugar and caffeine, it’s time to talk. I want to know more about Sam outside the four walls of his room. I want to know what makes him tick. What used to drive him. What he hopes for now.

  “Do you wanna talk about your music?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he says, relaxed. “I used to play acoustic guitar, and—”

  “What do you mean, ‘you used to’? You say it like you won’t play again.”

  His brows pull together. “I had to admit to myself that that was the way it would be. My hands may never be the same again.”

  I know he continues to have issues with his hands, but surely that won’t be forever? Maybe I should change tack. “Did you have a band or play solo?”

  “Most of the time I was solo, but I had a friend, Felicity, who played violin. She used to do gigs with me occasionally. Otherwise, it was just me.”

  “Where did you play?”

  “Here and there, but I had regular gigs at this Irish pub in the city, not far from Chinatown. It was such a good joint to play. I had a following, and had my own music for sale on CDs after the show. Ten bucks a pop. I would always sell out.”

  Only ten dollars? He might as well have been giving them away for free. “I’d love to listen to one.”

  “I’ll see if Ben can get his hands on an album next time he goes to the storage unit.”

  I clasp my hands in front of my chest and grin. “I can’t wait.” I wanna hear his music so bad. “Tell me what it was like. Everything: the crowd, the setup, the people who would buy your music.” I nod like an eager student.

  Sam angles his head back and gazes up at the clouds. His eyes flit about as if he’s remembering every little detail. A smile slowly curls at his lips before he shifts focus to my face. “Thursdays and Sundays—they were the best days to play by far. You’d get a mix of people, but most of them were pretty laid back—tradies having an after-work beer, backpackers and tourists making the pub their local for however long they were in town. I’d set up late arvo and continue on after dark when the dancing would start. I used to love watching people let loose, set themselves free. Music is so powerful like that.”

  “I love to dance. It’s good for the soul. You know, after I saw Dirty Dancing when I was a teenager, I wanted to take dance lessons.”

  “It wasn’t the whole Swayze thing that made you do that?”

  I shrug. “It might’ve been. May he rest in peace, but he had some pretty incredible moves.” Who wouldn’t want to bump and grind with that?

  “Yeah, yeah,” Sam grumbles, shuffling his legs as if he’s uncomfortable. Oh god. Have I put my foot in it with talk of dancing?

  “What was your favourite part about performing?” I say, to shift focus back to him.

  A wide smile meets his eyes. “When I’d pick up my guitar and sit on the worn leather stool in the corner. The publican, Damo, used to call out across the pub, ‘Sing it, Sam’. The crowd, no matter how small, would clap and whistle, and then I’d start playing.”

  My hand rushes to my chest as a chill runs through me. “Oh my god, Sam. I just got goosebumps.”

  I picture it now: the atmosphere and rumble of the pub in the evening filled with jolly and eager patrons, wolf-whistling and cheering him on. There’s Sam, sitting on a stool, ready to gift the crowd with his music and angelic voice.

  He shakes his head from side to side and sighs. “God, I miss hearing those words. Talking about it, and remembering what it was like on the stage, I realise I miss it ... more than I thought I did. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

  I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “Would you sing for me?”

  He blinks a few times in quick succession before he opens his mouth. “What would you want me to sing?”

  “Anything. I’m sure you’d make a gold record singing ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’.”

  “You’ve never heard me sing, though. My voice ... it isn’t the same as it was. When I had the tube”—he motions towards his throat—“it did some damage.”

  “I have heard you, remember? That first day we met. Your little Katy Perry rendition.”

  He narrows his eyes.

  “‘I Kissed a Girl’?” I remind him.

  “Oh yeah, right. Sorry. My memory.” He shrugs.

  Of course. Another side effect of GBS. “Don’t worry about it,” I say, and wave it off.

  “You wanna know what I do worry about?” He smirks.

  “What’s that?”

  “When I’m gonna kiss her again.”

  I move onto all fours and shuffle my hands and knees closer to him. “Sing first,” I challenge, raising my brows.

  Sam sits up on his elbows, lessening the gap between us. His breath tickles at my lips. “Kidding me, right?”

  “Nope.” I brush my nose against his and sit to the side of the rug once again, my legs crossed. I clasp my hands in my lap and wait patiently.

  Sam stares at me for a moment but his gaze seems to look straight through me.

  “Sing it, Sam,” I whisper. “Sing something—anything. Please.”

  He leans back against the pillow. “I need a beat. Can you clap for me? Like a second hand on a clock.”

  I bring my hands together, pausing for a second between each clap.

  “A little faster,” he coaches.

  “Okay.” I speed up.

  “Good.” Sam draws in a deep breath. “Okay, so this is one of my favourite covers, ‘Wherever You Will Go’ by The Calling.”

  He closes his eyes and places his right hand over his chest, tapping his fingers to the same beat I clap.

  His voice is gravelly to begin with, but once he’s a few lines in, his tone smooths out. There’s a youthfulness to his voice, yet a world of maturity in his tone and in the way he sings the lyrics. Sam sings, asking who will be there to take my place, and the shadows on your face.

  Immediately, my heart takes a dive. This song could be taken in so many ways. I take it as if Sam is singing it to me. The thought of him no
t being around and watching over me has tears flowing down my face, like a dam bursting its banks. Could GBS kill him? My skin turns to gooseflesh as his sweet, soft words fill my ears and my heart.

  When he reaches the chorus with talk of running away, I choke back a sob and sing with him.

  I throw myself into his arms. He coughs and weaves his arms around my back. “Janie,” he whispers in my ear.

  A chill drives up my spine. I squeeze him hard, compressing his labouring chest to mine. “Never stop singing, Sam. That was just … ”

  I lean on my side and press my palm against his flushed cheek. Tears well in the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill. He coughs.

  “Fark,” he growls under his breath as a tear trails down his face. “Janie made me cry.”

  Laughter bubbles up my throat as I battle my own tears. He takes my hand and brings it to his mouth, placing a kiss on my curled fingers.

  “I’m sorry. You just … your voice is so beautiful.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he soothes.

  “You’re beautiful,” I say, and melt into his arms once more. “I’ve never said that to a guy before. I don’t mean it to sound like you’re feminine or anything, but you are. Beautiful. Not feminine. God, I’m rambling. Sorry. I’ll shut up now.”

  A comforting silence surrounds us as we hold each other close.

  “I was living in the dark,” Sam sings and then hums a beat. “Then in came Wonder Woman.”

  A wide smile stretches across my lips. “Awwww. Did you just make that up?”

  Sam nods.

  A dog barks loudly in the distance. I glance at my watch. Right on time.

  “Let me try,” I say and clear my throat, starting the same clapping pace as before. “Two friends torn apart too so-on … now will finally be unit-ed.”

  Sam frowns.

  The barks grow louder. A dog with a mass of strawberry blond hair flowing behind it darts towards us. It’s mesmerising watching each pounce of its legs, its long pink tongue dangling to the side.

  I turn back to look at Sam. His jaw has dropped, and his eyes are fixated on the approaching animal. “Ed?” he whispers in amazement.

  Seconds later, the ginger dog is licking at his face. His tail whips around every which way. Something between a growl and a high-pitched whine breaks free from the dog’s mouth.

  “You did this?” Sam says, choking on his words.

  A tall lady in the distance with long dark hair waves to us. I nod, and blow her a kiss. Kim returns to a nearby white four-wheel drive and vacates the car park. It won’t be long before she’s back. I’m just grateful for any time she was willing to give us.

  “We only have him for an hour. I hope that’s okay?”

  Sam ruffles the hair behind Ed’s ears and kisses his head. “Hey, I’m happy with anything. Shit. I thought I’d never see him again.”

  “He lives close. The owner is really nice. I’m sure seeing him again wouldn’t be a problem.”

  I must get Kim a bunch of flowers and some wine for this. And hugs. I’ll be hugging the crap out of her later. That’s a given. There’s an award-winning smile on Sam’s face. I don’t think Kim truly knows how much her kindness has affected him.

  “Well it’s not like I can walk him or anything. Maybe someday, but I can dream.”

  Seemingly over the excitement of seeing his former owner, Ed rests his head in Sam’s lap, and Sam and I snuggle into the pillows. Birds chirp overhead and the breeze skirts around us, sending the occasional discarded autumn leaf to blow onto the rug. Today couldn’t have been more perfect.

  “This. This makes me wanna write songs again,” Sam says, and stares deep into my eyes. “You. You, Janie, make me want to put pen to paper.”

  I have that effect on him? I press a soft kiss to his lips. “What was the last song you wrote?”

  His brows draw together causing a V to form between them. “It was for Felicity … my ex. We were supposed to be forever. That’s what I wrote about. Didn’t end up being too accurate.”

  “Oh, that sucks.”

  “Ha. Yeah. It did. I’ve learnt to dealt with it though. I figure if the woman I was planning on proposing to couldn’t handle this”—Sam motions his hand up and down his body—“then we weren’t meant to be.”

  I swallow down the growing lump in my throat. Wow. That’s tough. What a way to learn someone’s true colours, when at the time he would’ve needed all the support he could get. I press my hand against his chest, revelling in the feeling of his heart beating.

  “You can handle this, though,” he whispers.

  I raise my shoulders and drop them. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I? I mean, GBS doesn’t define who you are. It’s just a setback.”

  He closes his eyes for a beat. When he opens them, they’re glassy. His smile wavers. “Yeah, well not everyone sees it that way. When I was diagnosed, everyone except Ben pretty much left me for dead. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t write, and had trouble singing. Didn’t do much for my confidence, hey.”

  “Getting better slowly, right?” I say, and bump my fist against his shoulder.

  We continue to talk and laugh as we lie together, occasionally throwing a stick for Ed to retrieve. Most of the time though, Ed is happy by Sam’s side. It’s sweet the way he’s protective over him. I take a selfie of the three of us to send to Sam later. I’ll send a copy to Ben too, as I’m sure he’ll get a kick out of it.

  Kim is late returning, which suits us fine. I’m in no hurry to return to work. Especially when Kathleen said I could make up the time later.

  “Okay, so think about all the songs in history, the millions out there,” I say to Sam.

  “Random, but okay,” Sam says, toying with my silver Pandora necklace, which sits at the valley of my boobs. If we weren’t in public I’d be praying for him to cop a feel.

  I clear my throat, remembering we’re in out in the open and that small children and their parents are close by. “If you could’ve written one of them, any song at all, what would you choose?”

  It doesn’t take long for him to open his mouth. “‘Forever Young’ by Bob Dylan. No question.”

  I’m not familiar with the song. It must’ve been written decades ago. “I’m not sure I know it?”

  “Bring it up on your phone,” he bosses me, waving at my bag.

  I take my phone out and open YouTube. It doesn’t take long to find a Norah Jones version of the song. I hover my finger over it. Sam nods.

  I snuggle into Sam’s warm chest as the melodic tones of Norah’s dream-like voice fill the air around us. Each word resonates with me, sending a ripple of goosebumps over my skin.

  “Good, huh?” he whispers in my ear.

  Good? That word doesn’t even comprehend how powerful the lyrics are. I close my eyes for a beat and take in a steady breath. Don’t turn into an emo mess.

  Tears well in my eyes, against my wishes. I want this to be a happy time between us. When the song reaches the chorus for a second time, a sob bursts from my mouth. My hand rushes to my lips as if doing so will take it back. “Every word … it’s just so perfect,” I say and sniff. “What would you pick for number two?”

  “’I Think I Love You’,” Sam says, staring deep into my eyes.

  A weak laugh escapes my mouth. “How can The Partridge Family even rate? My dad used to listen to them. They’re horrid.”

  “I’m not talking about the song, Janie. Talkin’ about you.”

  He thinks he loves me? My skin prickles all over.

  Sam juts his chin upwards. “Come ’ere.”

  I move onto my side, hook my leg over his, and climb farther up his body.

  The first kiss is soft, sweet. The next our tongues meet in the middle, slowly moving in time with one another. Warmth bursts throughout my body and a deep-sitting ache radiates from my chest. My heart pounds harder, thrashing in its cage as if it wants to escape to be closer to Sam. Is this what it feels like when you fall in love with someone? You can’t get close
enough? Your heart goes psychotic, liquefying one minute and bashing about the next, aching when they’re not around?

  I pull back, focusing on the glint in his eye and the satisfied smile stretching across his face.

  “I think I love you, too,” I say softly.

  Sam lets out a mammoth sigh.

  Kim appears beside us and reaches down to pat Ed on top of his head. “Were you a good boy?” she asks him, sending his tail to whip around and flick my leg.

  Sam sits upright and extends his hand. “Thank you so much for this,” Sam says, his voice thick as they shake.

  “My pleasure, Sam.”

  As Kim walks Ed to the car park, he keeps turning around and looking at Sam. It’s both heartbreaking and heart-warming.

  A face-splitting smile doesn’t leave Sam’s mouth the whole drive home.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Two weeks fly by. In that time, Sam has made some serious progress. Paige and Kathleen are both thrilled with his recovery. I’ve stopped counting the number of times I’ve seen Sam in the dining hall, socialising. More often than not, he’s with Frederick. It melts my heart to witness the bond the two of them have forged.

  Each day Sam and I have spent more time together. For the first time, I’m really connecting with someone of the opposite sex. Slowly, Sam and I are building a foundation for our relationship.

  I haven’t written much lately, and I feel guilty for not giving my novel the time I should, but when I listen to Sam talk, or sing the occasional impromptu verse from a song he loves, that guilt leaves me in an instant.

  Shirley has been my biggest fan lately, having devoured every title by Violet J. Rhynehart. I gave her a chain for her reading glasses, so they are always within reach. Gloria has given me dirty looks ever since, but I suspect it’s got more to do with the fact that I took Mr Ryan’s teeth back. She should be thanking me.

  Mrs Lee’s sobs have echoed the hallways ever since the day her sons broke the news about her husband. Yesterday, I braved a visit with her. I took her out to the courtyard, where Pauline brought us a pot of Chinese tea. At first, we barely spoke, but when I mentioned the word ‘bingo’ her eyes lit up and the makings of a smile pulled at her thin lips. It was all I could have hoped for.