April 11, 2013
Day 11: Write a scene where one of the characters is a musician.
"You pay more attention to that guitar than you do me," Chantelle's teasing voice floated through my subconscious as I strummed my guitar absently, trying to add some more notes to a piece I was trying to compose.
"Hey Xan- oops!" Caitlin had barged in on me and retreated immediately, shutting the door behind her just as quickly as she had opened it.
"Wait!" I called out to her.
Caitlin opened the door again and popped her head in.
"Yeah?" she asked tentatively afraid I'll snap on her or something.
"Come here," I called her, beckoning with my guitar pick-holding hand for her to come closer.
"Why?" she asked suspiciously but she put one foot in front of the other, approaching me anyway.
I stood upand handed her my notebook, the black one she had found before. She reached for it and took her hand back again, raising an eyebrow at me. I rolled my eyes at her pointless caution.
"I won't snap at you," I told her and shook the notebook a little, "Just take it."
Caitlin took the notebook and just held onto it without browsing. She gave me a quizzical look that I paid no heed to. I walked over to the window and pulled up the panel, my guitar slung on one shoulder. I swung my legs out and used the window sill as leverage to climb to the roof as I had done countless times before.
Caitlin ran to the window and followed me with her wild, wide eyes.
"Are you crazy?" she almost shrieked.
I shrugged and grinned at her, offering my hand down to help her. Caitlin looked at it unsurely.
"Oh, what the hell!" she muttered in surrender as she positioned herself out the window. She slid her body out in the cold of the night and I reached down and wrapped my arms around her waist, taking her up to the roof, my refuge.
I set her down on her feet, firmly planted on the slanted surface.
"Have a seat," I told her, gesturing around.
She sat crosslegged right on the spot, my notebook placed on her lap. I sat right across from her, took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and said a silent prayer. When, I opened my eyes, I took a leap of faith and I started playing my music for her, the one I had written just for her, my annoying, frustrating, amusing, and unavoidably endearing wife.
She watched me carefully as she listened, a smile suddenly forming in her lips.
My heart beat faster as I saw the gleam in her eye.
She sat quietly as my voice carried out in the night, but her smile conveyed volumes.
So under the stars in a cool evening of October, I poured my heart out to my wife.
