The moment I laid my keys in the dish on the table Graham thrust Alexis toward me. “Your turn,” he seethed. “I haven’t gotten her to stop crying for five minutes.”
Graham’s snarky attitude suddenly had me reeling, and a defensive spark lit up inside of me. I snatched her out of his arms, cradling her against my chest. As I looked into her deep blue eyes, it hit me how quickly my fierce protection of her could ignite. I didn’t have a problem complaining about how difficult she could be, but the minute someone else said anything, the mama bear came out in me. “Did you feed her?” I asked accusingly, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Hell yes,” he countered gruffly. “I fed her. I changed her diaper. I rocked her. I walked her. I did every fucking thing. It’s your turn now.”
Alexis flailed in my arms as she started to wail. I sighed, remembering Jenny’s prayer from the movie, Forrest Gump, and wishing I could turn into a bird so I could fly far away.
The next morning I’d swung through a drive-thru, treating myself to a Venti-sized cup of Starbucks coffee. I had driven away from home that morning, excited to get to work and eager to get to the place where I thrived.
I glanced behind me at the guitar in the backseat. The minute I saw that guitar, propped up on a stand in the window display at a local pawn shop, I knew that I had to get it. It was perfect for Chris and any other musically-inclined kids I’d have in the future. I could keep the guitar in my office to use as a creative outlet. I was giddy with excitement.
Chris had spent countless hours working on new lyrics. I thought he’d enjoy an opportunity to put a melody to his words. To an artist, developing his craft feels like oxygen to his soul. I knew Chris would appreciate this beautiful, black breath of fresh air.
I waited until everyone was in the cafeteria before I presented it to the guys. The cafeteria was the perfect place to hear Chris play. It had the best acoustics. Barry already knew my plan and kept the kids in the cafeteria a little longer than usual.
“Gentlemen!” Officer Blevins announced loudly.
“Yes, sir!” They bellowed, nearly in unison.
The room grew silent. My heels tapped across the cold, tile floor. I’m sure they all wondered why I was walking into the cafeteria with a guitar in my hand.
I heard several guys murmuring as I walked by them.
“Is she gonna play it?” one kid whispered.
I saw Chris in the distance and noted the moment he went from looking at me to recognizing what I held in my hand. His eyes instantly lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Score! As I approached him, I held the guitar out to him.
Chris’s mouth dropped open and he pointed to his chest. “For me?”
His eyes seemed to shine at me with a deeper respect. I bet he was wondering if I was still thinking about what had happened last night.
I nodded, knowingly. I hadn’t forgotten. “For all of us… or rather, for anyone who can play it, but I thought of you when I bought it. I figured you might be getting a little rusty.”
With wide-eyed surprise, Chris beamed, “Oh wow, Mrs. Honeycutt, thank you!” Chris bypassed the guitar and went straight for the hug. The guitar almost went flying, but a kid sitting next to him grabbed the neck of it before it hit the ground. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. “You don’t know what this means to me,” he whispered into my ear. My instantly heart swelled, knowing I’d hit the mark.
I sank into his arms, appreciating the hug that I didn’t expect, and squeezed him back. “You deserve it, Chris. Now play us a song,” I demanded with a smile as I quickly pulled away.
“You got it.” He clutched the guitar, staring dreamily at it as if he couldn’t believe what he was holding in his hands. He lightly grazed his fingers across the strings, strumming a few chords and tuning, as needed.
Shouts and whistles echoed through the room as he hopped up onto the table. Lifting his feet onto the bench seats below, he propped the guitar in his lap and stared at the ceiling, contemplating which song to play.
“Freebird!” a kid in the back yelled.
Several people laughed and more whistled. I couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto my face. I looked around the room, watching everyone. It felt good to bring some joy into this place.
Chris started strumming, getting a feel for the new instrument in his lap.
“Ok guys, I’m going to play you a song.” He looked at me with something new in his eyes, an undeniable reverence. With a nod of his head, he said softly, “This is for you, Mrs. H. Thank you for everything.”
He opened his mouth and his throaty yet velvety baritone almost took my breath away. I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place as I watched him. He was completely confident in his words and with how he played, like he was born to do this. And I wasn’t the only one under his spell. The entire room looked like it was on pause. No one moved a muscle while he poured his heart out. I stood there, wrapping my arms around my waist as tears pooled in my eyes. I was so proud of him. He gave us everything he had through his music—showing us the essence of his soul that moved nearly everyone to tears.