The Songs We Sang In The Fire

Whistle for the Choir [A]

"so if you're crazy, I don't care you amaze me"

♫

____________

♫

ADAM'S MIXTAPE
0:00-3:36
Track 1- Side A

I WALK down Hope Street with the wind beating against my back and the beginning guitar riff to Whistle for the Choir ringing in my ears. The crumbling streets downtown are empty, and I step in a leftover puddle from the storm that had erupted the night before.

I've never been scared of thunder and lightning. When I was younger, I used to sit on my bed and stare out the window, watching the sky break and the streaks of electricity pierce the open ground. I liked to pretend the world was ending.

God, I was dumb back then. Well, not saying I've improved much, but still. I laugh at myself and continue the search.

I peer around at the buildings around me. Everything seems so familiar, yet so distant. Like I've been here in a dream, or experiencing intense deja vu.

There is a swirling sensation of accomplishment for escaping Rolling Hills. Back in high school, people joked that this town was like one of those finger traps; the harder you tried to escape, the tighter the grip that held you was. Thankfully, I had a quiet getaway. I got into a small college that was far enough away that I couldn't get sucked back into the vortex.

But now I'm back. And the pull is tighter than it has ever been.

Despite being the beginning of July, the weather does not seem to be on the same track as the app on my cracked phone. Feeling the threat of chills, I give a deep sigh and try to generate heat by rubbing my arms.

My ears are kept warm by the cushion of my headphones, and I smile as the familiar bouncing vocals of the song begins, sending me back into my past, as so many songs seem to do. If I close my eyes, I can see my mom swirling lemonade behind the sliding door as I build up momentum with my lanky legs, going higher and higher up to sky until I was flying. My father, dragging along with the constant thump of his cane, joining my mother from behind and wrapping his long arms around her waist.

The next song begins without warning; sharp drums, swelling guitar, moaning vocals. I am in a hospital. I am in a nightmare. I am alone.

I quickly click back to the previous song, releasing a nervous breath. Music brings back memories, but not all of them are good.

My mother had said to get a job. She had said, 'college isn't going to keep paying for itself.' I smiled and agreed, because my mother likes pretending and to tear down such an elaborate illusion that she has built would break her.

A job. Hopefully one that didn't involve heavy lifting or a steady hand.

"Maybe find a job where you eat and sleep on a couch!" My sister Jackie, who is sixteen, had suggested, "It's what your best at."

I flashed her a face and she smirked back at me before returning to the screen of her phone.

"There is that one store," my mom said, ignoring my sister, "it's a music store downtown, on Hope Street. You like music, don't you?"

"Yes, mom," I chuckled and adjusted the headphones that were around my neck, giving her physical proof, "I like music."

She smiled and put a hand on my arm. Suddenly serious, she gave a little squeeze. "Call me if you need anything."

"If I've been fine for two years at college, what makes you think I won't be fine for a quick walk downtown?"

My mom nodded, her eyebrows still clinging together in worry. I kissed her quickly on the cheek and opened the door.

"I'll go and visit Dad after," I said, pulling my headphones on my ears.

"Ok. I-"

The loud blast of my music interrupted her, and I walked out.

♫

The store I'm looking for, Orpheus and Ghirardelli, appears on my right. Or, at least, what I think I'm looking for. For the last two blocks, it's been the only building with a red 'open' sign leaning against the window.

It's a small store, shoved between an apartment building and a FOR SALE bakery. There's a spray-painted music note on the front door and a genuinely terrifying gnome in the front patch of flowers. The whole scene is bizarre, and suddenly the thought of meeting a probably toothless old man working here doesn't seem fun.

Oh come on, you pussy.

My hands reach out and push open the door.

A small bell chimes as I enter, notifying everyone of my presence. Wait, not everyone. Just one.

It's empty. Half of the store is covered with racks of vinyl, CDs, movies and turntables. The other half is adorned with different kinds of chocolate and baked goods. My eyes wander over to the counter to my left and catch the only glimpse of movement.

To my surprise (and relief) the person behind the counter is not an old, toothless man. It's a girl.

She looks up briefly, gives me a small grin, and returns to a book that she has in her hands. I'm frozen and watch her dark brown eyes widen at the page, visibly shocked at whatever she is reading.

Realizing I am standing there like an idiot, I walk closer and lean to try and catch her attention. She sighs and puts down her book, licking her lips and looking up at me. I smile.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she asks.

"Yeah. Sorry, um," I clench my eyes and focus, conjuring up the words I need, "I'm actually looking for a job here. I'm back in town for the summer and I figured why not make some m-money?"

She looks up at me, silent, as if waiting for me to continue. My eyebrows furrow and I try again. "Well, I was wondering if you had an application or something?"

At this, her mouth opens and she starts laughing. Her laugh is almost entirely comprised gasping for breath and silent shuddering. And then she snorts.

"An application?" She gives another snort, "Sorry but I don't have one. We don't have many people coming in here looking for jobs."

"Oh," I say and smile quickly, "Ok, no problem. I'll just-"

"But," she says before I can turn around, "If you really want a job, I can ask you some questions and see if your destiny lies behind this counter."

I nod and walk towards the counter as she disappears into a back room and returns carrying a folding chair.

"This is our official interview chair," she whispers. I chuckle.

She reassumes her position behind the counter and straightens her posture, pretending to be a CEO at an important company. She lowers one eyebrow.

"So," she says, "Let's start with the basics. What's your name?"

My chest feels tight for some reason. Why am I nervous? This is ridiculous. I've talked to pretty girls before. Hell, I've dated pretty girls before. My first was even with a pretty girl, I think. I can't really remember that night to be completely honest.

Maybe it's because she isn't just pretty. From the current proximity (about three feet) I can see a small mole near her left eye. Her hair is a dark auburn and pulled back in a bun, revealing her multiple ear piercings. The dark, russet brown eyes stare back into my own, waiting for an answer, daring me forward.

"Adam Alexander," I say, and decide right now that I want this job more than anything. "Next question?"