A Song of Life: A Fictional Memoir (Song for You Book 2) Read online

  A Song of Life

  Song for You

  Megan Rivers

  © 2017 by Megan Koomen

  Cover Art by Megan Koomen

  Photography by drippycat at Pixabay. Images released under Creative Commons CC0

  Edited by Katherine L. Zimmerman

  ISBN-13: 978-1541138513

  ISBN-10: 1541138511

  All right reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed of electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  “Remember that you are more than skin and bones. You are one thousand stories of potential. One thousand stories you've yet to see and know and feel and breathe. There's more to come and it's something beautiful.”

  - Victoria Erickson

  For Mom (& Dad) who let me keep writing

  And to Linnie, Julie, & Kat for

  being the Meadows in my life.

  PREFACE

  Before I met Galvin I was a naive and sheltered fifteen year old living in a rough part of Chicago. I was the least likely candidate to be of interest to the young, successful Galvin Kismet―the lead singer of the world renowned German rock band, Prey for Chance.

  I grew out of that quickly and rebelled in my own way, which eventually got me kicked out of Australia and disowned by my father.

  On my sixteenth birthday I found myself back in Chicago with my wonderful, loving mother but also with my ties to Galvin severed. It was a bittersweet moment to be back in my mother's arms, but unsure if I'd ever be back in Galvin's.

  This book, A Song of Life, picks up as I begin to settle back into my Chicago lifestyle. Only this time things are a little different. I barely had time to wonder if Galvin and I would be reunited while I navigated through a new, oh-so-wonderful world my mother was busy living without me.

  NOTE: As you will notice, each chapter of this book is accompanied by a song. I’ve done this because Galvin once told me that life is either the same song you sing day in and day out, or you go out into the world and devise your own soundtrack. While searching my cluttered mind for memories to put in this book, I also uncovered a number of songs that accompanied them. So I’ve listed them for you, the reader, giving you a look at the soundtrack to my life and by listening to the words, feeling the music, or experiencing the emotions on the tracks, you will better understand my story.

  - Christie Kelly

  Book Two

  A Song of Life

  I.

  Memories of Melbourne.

  “Oh!” Eric Hutchinson

  The term “Home Sweet Home” has been taken advantage of; it has become such a cliche.

  Sure, people have hung up those three words in needlepoint in houses all over the world, but it has been used so much that its meaning has dried up in the minds of many people. But when I walked through the doorway that I spent so many years taking for granted and smelled the sweet perfume of coconut and lavender in our apartment, I found the true meaning of home, sweet home.

  After I leapt onto my bed and heard the screeching sound of the springs, I ran to the bathroom and listened to the guaranteed song the pipes produced when I ran the water. I plopped down on the couch and recognized the picture the cracks in the ceiling made, and then I constantly opened and closed the shelf above the sink to hear the thump-squeak it produced. It was the simple, everyday annoyances I had missed about being at home.

  When I stripped off my school uniform, I threw it in the garbage chute and changed into an old familiar outfit I found hanging in my closet. Mom made me my favorite dinner (macaroni and cheese with barbecue chicken) and we sat on the couch and watched the nine o’clock news. I couldn’t have felt more at home than I did at that moment.

  The next day I slept until three in the afternoon.

  My eyes opened to the word L’arbre written on a flash card I made for French class last year. It took me a moment to realize where I was and, when I did, a smile spread across my lips that wouldn’t leave.

  Mom left a note on the bathroom mirror letting me know she was teaching a class and would be back home around four o'clock. After I fixed myself a bowl of cereal, I took a shower to get the Melbourne grit out of my hair and off my skin.

  I was sitting on a chair in front of the patio window watching the cars and people outside when Mom walked through the front door. “Oh, I’ve missed seeing your face when I come home!” she said, throwing her briefcase and keys on the kitchen counter. She slipped off her shoes and sat across from me on the couch. “Tell me about your day!”

  My smile matched hers because we both missed this routine. “Well,” I began, “I woke up to the rare sound of silence and was soon lured out of bed by the forgotten scent of Mrs. Sanchez cooking dinner. And after a rousing battle with the spastic shower head in the bathroom, I hunted down a pair of old sweat pants and pondered the difficult question of whether or not I will ever see my favorite T-shirt again. What about yours?”

  “It can not compare to your adventurous day, that’s for sure!” Mom said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I taught my morning classes and came home for lunch, but you were still out cold, so I went back to teach my two o’clock. And I might have let them out early and neglected to give them a pop quiz in order to get home faster.”

  “Are you home for the day?” I asked, tucking my bare feet below me. It was odd not to know Mom’s schedule.

  She nodded and put her feet on the coffee table. “I have a six o’clock class, but it’s just an exam so my TA is taking care of it. We need to catch up.”

  “Let’s make it a Jammie Day,” I suggested. A Jammie Day was a day Mom and I spend in our pajamas with nothing on the agenda but each other. Mom started it when I was twelve because she didn’t want to lose our close relationship to my teenage years. Sometimes we’d sit around and watch movies, or take quizzes out of old magazines, or have aimless conversations as we folded the laundry… once we even painted an old kitchen chair with three shades of nail polish.

  “Good idea,” she said and then got up to pull something from her briefcase. “Because look what I picked up on the way home.”

  I smiled, realizing it was a box of hair dye. “You mean I don’t have to be blonde anymore?”

  “God no! No offense, honey, but I like you as a brunette better,” she said tossing the box into my lap.

  Twenty minutes later I was sitting on a kitchen chair, on our small cement patio, holding a towel over my shoulders. Mom was shaking a plastic bottle in her hands and I was more than ready to get rid of Penny’s hair color.

  I felt the cold liquid ooze over my scalp and Mom’s fingers travel through my hair. “What I really want to know is how she talked you into this,” Mom said, piling my hair into a river of chemical ooze.

  Rolling my eyes, I reluctantly revisited the memory. “You should have seen me when she finished with me! It was horrible. My hair had never been so stiff before!” I explained as Mom's fingers vigorously sifted through my hair. “It was in long perfect curls and then this lady attacked me with make-up. It was horrifying, I didn’t look like me at all.”

  “It sounds like your own personal torture chamber,” Mom said, catching the cold drop of dye that trickled down my temple with her latex-gloved pinky.

 
Memories of Melbourne seemed so distant, but the emotions were still buzzing around my head like a persistent fly. “Well, it was a nice gesture, but no one asked me. It was decided for me. Oh, I hated that the most, I think. I couldn’t believe Galvin recognized me out of a crowd looking like that. Trey thought I lost a bet! I wish you could meet him. And you would love Trey, I think he would actually challenge you at Beatles trivia.”

  She laughed, flipping my hair to one side of my head and said, “When will I get to meet him?”

  I shrugged and scratched my forehead, watching a pigeon walk along the gutter on the building across the way. My shoulders danced in a shiver as a cool breeze snuck underneath the towel covering my shoulders. “Sometimes I think I’ll never see him again, but I really hope I do.” I paused looking down at my knees. “I miss his letters.”

  Mom didn’t say anything and I liked that. It let my thoughts drift like a balloon in the breeze. Soon thereafter she plopped my hair into a heap onto my head and put a plastic shopping bag over it. “There,” she said, wiping her hands with an old kitchen towel, “in half an hour you’ll be back to your old self.” She collected the empty bottle and box and turned to go inside. “You want some soup?” she asked, one foot inside the apartment.

  The sound of traffic filled the air and I nodded; Mom left me to my thoughts. I put my arms along the cold metal railing and rested my chin on top of them. It was a clear day and I could see the setting sun glint off the buildings on the skyline downtown; I watched them dance in the sunlight.

  “Here you go,” Mom said reappearing through the sliding door a few minutes later and handed me a mug of warm tomato soup. “I was thinking,” Mom started, sitting on the cement, her back leaning against the railing and facing me. “And be truthful because I’m not sure how to approach you with this.”

  She looked up at me and I lifted my eyebrows, encouraging her to go on. “Would you like to meet Kevin? I mean he’s eager to meet you, but I don’t know how comfortable you are with the whole idea. I just need you to talk to me about it. I have no idea how you feel about this and I don’t know where to go from here until you share your thoughts about it with me.” When Mom rambled like that, she was nervous.

  She gnawed on her bottom lip and then blew on the tendrils of steam rising from her mug, avoiding my gaze. It was rare to see her so nervous. Knowing she was worried about my reaction, I smiled; there were no reservations from me.

  “Oh Mom, I think it’s wonderful.” Those words gave her the power to look up at me and her lips curled in relief. “I wanted you to have a life without me when I left, I wanted to give you a vacation for all that you’ve given me. I am so unbelievably happy that you’re happy. I wanted to meet him the moment I read your letter about him.”

  A smile broke across her face when she read the sincerity in my voice. Her smile said everything she wanted to say when the words couldn’t find a way out. “Can I invite him out for a belated birthday dinner tomorrow night?” I offered. “Or is that too much too fast?”

  Mom got up and attacked me with a hug, the sound of the plastic shopping bag on my head crinkled with the sudden movement. “Oh, I love you so much, kiddo. I’ll give him a call while you wash out your hair.” She disappeared inside, bouncing like a child on Christmas.

  The next afternoon, when I woke up, Mom told me I was going back to school on Monday, but I had the rest of the week to ease back into the Central Time Zone. Then she fussed over me more than she did when I was a kid, making me change my outfit three times before we met Kevin for dinner. When I walked out of my bedroom wearing my khaki skirt and brown sweater I said, “I love you Mom, but I am not changing again.” Then I sat on the couch and only crossed my arms over my chest when she said she liked the gray dress on me better.

  We took a cab to my favorite restaurant and arrived around seven in the evening. It wasn’t a restaurant meant for first time meetings or private conversations but Mom chose a place comfortable for me.

  There were several license plates, old tools, movie signs, and rusty car parts hanging along the walls. It was nearly always crowded with families and the parking lot was wrapped in a winding line of cars waiting to get through the drive-thru. Inside, the air permanently smelled of roast beef, hot dogs, and french fries.

  I loved their curly fries with cheese sauce and chocolate malts while Mom’s guilty pleasure laid in their roast beef sandwiches, extra cheese. Pulling open the doors, I smiled and was greeted by the scent of food frying on their grill.

  Mom walked ahead of me, scanning the room. “Kevin!” Her face lit up in a smile as she rushed over to greet him. I followed behind her and studied him as Mom gave him a quick hug. He had dark brown hair peppered in gray and wore trousers and a dress shirt with a tie―the look was natural for him. I couldn’t picture him in jeans and a T-shirt. The three of us must have stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of T-shirt and jean clad customers, some even wearing plastic barbeque rib bibs.

  “Christie, this is Dr. Kevin Langston,” my mom introduced.

  He brushed his hand in the air as if trying to erase his name. “Please, just Kevin. It’s great to finally meet you,” he said shaking my hand.

  “Ditto,” I replied. He had chocolate brown eyes, but the kind of face that looked as though they should have been sporting eyeglasses.

  “I'm sorry for staring,” he admitted, breaking eye contact and pulling out a chair for my mother. “It feels like I’m meeting the Dali Lama the way your mother speaks of you.”

  I laughed as I scooted my chair in and watched his hand linger on my mom's shoulder before he sat down. “I don't think I'm anywhere close to reaching that level of enlightenment.”

  “Shouldn't we go order?” I asked nodding at the line of people at the front of the store.

  “I already did. I hope you don't mind. I got here early and ordered. You still like cheese fries and the chocolate malt best, right?” he asked.

  As if on cue, a waiter had brought over our food and placed a large heaping plate of curly fries in front of me.

  I smiled. “Kevin, you and I are going to get along wonderfully!” I admitted, detangling a fry and popping it in my mouth.

  “Oh! I have something for you! It's a birthday gift.” Kevin handed me a small purple gift bag with silver ribbons curled around the handles.

  “Oh you didn't have to get me anything!” I said after swallowing a spoonful of my chocolate malt.

  “Your mother told me the same exact thing,” he informed, shooting a smile her way, “but I was at the store this morning, and from the stories your mother told me, I thought of you.”

  That statement made me wonder what kind of stories my mother had been sharing and curiously pulled out the tissue paper to reveal my present. There, wrapped in purple tissue paper, was a copy of Prey for Chance’s Quotations on cassette tape. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed and started laughing.

  “You probably already have it, but your mother told me how 'cloudy-eyed' you got with their music.” He used air quotes to emphasize the effect my mother's stories had on him.

  Gripping the cassette tape close to my chest, I shook my head from side-to-side and couldn’t stop laughing. Tears began to squeeze out of my eyes from the intensity of my glee.

  I couldn’t calm myself down to tell Kevin that I wasn’t laughing at him, just at the situation. I was elated to be able to hear Galvin's voice again and found it ironic that my mother's new boyfriend, of all people, was the one who gifted that to me.

  “It’s not you honey,” I heard Mom say, touching Kevin’s hand. She lightly kicked me from under the table. “I’ll explain it to you later.”

  Enthusiastic about my gift, I sprung to the other side of the table and gave Kevin a hug. “Thank-you. I really like it,” I said between giggles.

  Taking my seat again, I examined the cassette tape, beginning to remove the protective plastic from its case. “You’re right, Cindy,” he turned to my mother. “She would get along perfectly with Meadow.”<
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  Remembering he had a daughter close to my age from my mother's letters, I was suddenly eager to meet her. Wiping the last of the tears from my eyes, I took a deep breath and asked, “When will I get to meet her?”

  “When would you like to? I had to beat her away with a stick to keep her from coming with me. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she was hiding in the backseat of the car.” He eyed the front of the restaurant like it was a distinct possibility his daughter could be lurking outside, peeking in through the bushes.

  “Today, maybe? If it’s not too late.”

  Both and Kevin and Mom turned to each other and smiled. “All right, let’s go.”

  After hastily eating our meals, I climbed into the backseat of Kevin’s Camry (not a Meadow in sight) and we drove across town to his house. I laughed nearly the entire way there from the stories he told. He was a great story teller and he put humor in everything he shared. Looking back, that day when I met him I hadn't thought of my father once, which is odd since Kevin became the father figure in my life.

  His house was in Lincoln Park and it looked squished between other houses, but seemed cozy, not suffocated. Everything in their neighborhood looked orderly and elegant, like a mature woman dressed in furs and a brilliant hat. We walked up a few cement stairs to the large brown front door. I could see our reflections in the glass; Kevin fishing out his keys, Mom smiling at him, and me, taking in the scene, jubilant at what was unfolding in front of us.

  The foyer had black and white tile with a lop-sided umbrella stand―one of the umbrella's had a rubber duck on the handle―and the air smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. When we walked in, pop music filled every silent corner of the house. I noticed right away that the rooms were not large and cold like Penny’s house. The rooms were narrow but long, and the walls were painted in warm colors. The coat rack in the front hall was covered in layers of coats, jackets, windbreakers, hats and scarves. The slightest movement might cause it to tumble in an outerwear avalanche. I smiled at it.