Under a Silent Moon

21

Chapter Twenty-One: The Promised Land

LANA

Zack pulls a couple of guitars out of his closet and hands me one. I sit on his bed cross-legged while he takes a seat at his desk's chair. Fumbling with the strings for a moment, he assures that his instrument is tuned and I follow suit. Although I'm excited to be with someone else who shares my affinity for music, I also find myself a little nervous to play in front of Zack. Or anyone for that matter.

As a warm-up, I strum a few simple chords.

"Do you know any scream-o?" Zack asks with sincerity, and I have to look up at his face to see that he's joking. "Play me something you wrote," he urges, and I feared this would happen.

"I'm a little rusty."

"I couldn't care less."

Digging into the backlogs of my memory, I pull out a simple tune that I used to strum over and over again when I needed to drown out spiraling thoughts. I would play until my fingers bled. I make a mental note to not let that happen today.

"I sailed the ocean blue for days, I swallowed all my pride, I drifted longingly for miles, and waded in the tide." As I sing, Zack begins to sway rhythmically beside me, joining in with his own soft strumming. Although my voice quivers slightly, I'm surprised at how comfortable I feel.

"I scavenged islands near and far, I pirated the gold, I could not find the promised land, it wasn't where I'm told." It's been some time since I've played this song, but the notes come to me as naturally as breathing. Inhale the inspiration, exhale the meaning.

"I raised my flag for all to see, I surfed upon the waves, but all around was nothingness, as far as I could gaze." Zack accompanies my lyrics with a low hum, and despite his usual coarse voice, it's as smooth as velvet. Like a warm blanket you want to wrap yourself in during the coldest months.

"I shouted out into the storm, it made it hard to steer, and all around no sign of life, to prove that you were near." His eyes are closed now, and all I can focus on are the little shadows his lashes cast upon his face. They're long and thick. Pretty.

"I searched for islands all my life, and never stopped to pause, I thought I found one now and then, but it was a mirage."

As the last of the notes dissolve into the air, Zack opens his eyes again with a half-smirk. I have to look away from him before I start thinking about things that I shouldn't.

"You're definitely a talented lyricist," he tells me, setting the guitar aside.

"My songs are structured more like poems and less like songs. I don't usually write a bridge or a chorus. Just a linear story from start to finish."

He nods in understanding. "Flows nicely."

I set the borrowed instrument next to me on his bed, and inform him that it's his turn to share something with me. It's as though he's prepared for this, because it only takes a moment for him to decide what he wants to play. I'm not as good at improvising on the guitar like Zack is, so I hum along to his tune once I think I've got it down. Eventually there's a light tapping on the door, and Julia joins us, claiming she wants to be a part of our "band."

We sing a couple of her favorite kids songs with her, and laugh late into the night. Before I know it, my eyes are fluttering open to focus hazily on a dark ceiling. I prop myself up on my elbows and realize that it's Zack's ceiling--I'm still in his room.

He and Julia are passed out on his floor, Julia's small head resting on Zack's chest with her legs sprawled out to the side. Zack is snoring softly, and I find his alarm clock next to his bed that's blinking 11:30 PM at me in glowing red digits. Panicking only slightly, I fumble around for my bag and phone, and quietly make my way to the door.

A rustling behind me causes me to glance over my shoulder before departing, and I see Zack sitting upright. "Hey," he whispers with a wave.

"Hey," I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Thanks," he says, and I don't ask for what.

I smile. "Good night, Zack."

I'm singing on my way home that evening. It's Zack's song, and despite not remembering the words verbatim, the tune dances gracefully through my head like fairies in a garden.

Approaching my house, I find myself smiling. Smiling like an idiot for no apparent reason. I don't even feel like reaching for the bottle stashed under my mattress to help me fall asleep tonight.

But as my musings slip hazily away from me, a startling thought makes itself known. It shines brighter than any star, the most prominent rumination that I simply can't ignore:

How could I have ever wanted to kill myself?

I feel lighter, weightless. Despite my fucked up family, I still feel happy. I don't feel like going to bed, I want to call Carly and Sebastian. I want us to take a plane to California, to dine at coastal restaurants where the wind whips your hair in your face as you try to eat. Where the seagulls flock alongside the dock, waiting for leftovers forgotten by tourists. I want to parasail over the blue expanse of ocean and feel my heart pounding in my chest, exhilarated by the rising altitude.

For once, I don't want to hide in my fucking room anymore and wait for the end, like a bear in permanent hibernation. The end will come anyway, and when it does, I want to be sure I've done everything I've ever wanted to before saying goodbye.