Be still, my loveI may or may not have recorded Lochlan while he was running through his nightly piano exercises. I did it in my free time, ostensibly while he presumed I was off being a jerk to him through no fault of my own. Instead I was tucked around the corner from the living room, in the little no-man's land between the kitchen and the dining room, a place that affords a good view of the piano but doesn't alarm the player.
I will return to you
However far you feel from me
You are not alone
I will always be waiting
And I'll always be watching you
And I taped him because I love it when he sings to me, even as he doesn't want or mean to. I have precious few memories of him commited to permanence. They're in my unreliable head, a format I don't trust for a second. What if it changes the content? Or brings it out of context? What if it forgets? What if it wipes itself completely?
That's probably the part I fear most, that I'll wake up a blank slate one day, alone and unable to recall. It's a weird new kind of fear newly sprouted, just poking up above the surface, a hint of green. A promise of a whole new thing to worry about. An invasive weed.
Just what I need.
So I've begun to keep things, now able to listen to them on demand instead of having to beg him to sing. He's a performer at heart but so stubborn at will. This is unabashed belting out of the high notes and it makes my heart soar.
Even better is using Ben's big headphones just to listen, without the visual of watching Lochlan's shoulders move ever so slightly as he finds the keys, watching his curls crest his shoulders, leaving the back of his neck exposed as he bends his head to get those notes, watching them sail back as he flips his hair away from his face again. Watching him turn and check for an unwelcome audience and finding none, singing louder still. I have that saved now. I just want to hear him forever.
But Ben's headphones crackle and pop, distracting from the sound of Lochlan's falsetto on those notes and I'm forced to abandon my secret errand. This is why he gave me these ones. They're almost worn and it takes me far longer than it takes Ben to hear these defects. It's like listening to a vinyl record, popping and hissing through the vocals, enveloping the sound in a staticky fog cover.
Daniel comes through. He's coming to church with us and is making sure I'm ready in time instead of lying in bed in my slip listening to music.
That's what you're wearing.
Just to be difficult, yes.
Well grab a sweater. It's time to leave.
Listen to this first. I pass him the headphones.
Ah, Bridge, these are blown.
Listen.
He closes his eyes and listens for several minutes before taking the headphones off and passing them back. Is that Lochlan?
Yeah, I smile.
I see why the busking worked so well.
I put the headphones back on and indicate to Daniel that I'm not coming with them. I changed my mind. I want to stay here and listen a while longer.