Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [52]
He cuts me off. “—but that one acoustic song—‘Iron Band’—damn. I mean, it’s amazing, start to finish. So beautiful. I’d say it’s close to perfect.”
There’s a beat of silence between us, then he says, “So what happened? I mean, ‘Broken Clock’ and ‘Little Prince’ … those songs didn’t come from nowhere.”
No, they didn’t. Both of those are about Truman. And I don’t want to talk about him or what happened. Not with Virgil. Not with anyone.
“Andi? You still there?”
“Um, yeah. I’ve got to get going, though. Big day at the library, you know? And I don’t have a thing to wear.”
Another beat of silence, then, “Sorry. Guess I’m the asshole now.”
For some reason, this makes me laugh. “Thanks for doing your share,” I tell him. “It takes the pressure off.”
We talk about getting my iPod back to me. Virgil says he can give it to me Sunday. If I’m at Rémy’s. I remind him I’ve got a flight home that night.
“Okay, well, we’ll figure something out. Maybe I can drop it off on my next shift,” he says. “I’ve got to get going, too.”
I suddenly hear weird music coming from his end of the phone. “What is that?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. Some purple guy with a big fat ass.”
“What?”
“He’s in my living room.”
“Have you, like, been drinking or something?”
“On the television, I mean. It’s my little brother’s favorite show. He’s American. Maybe you know him.”
“Who? Your brother?” I say, totally confused now.
“No, the fat boy. He has little arms and big white teeth.”
“This is a kids’ show?”
“He’s always saying that he loves me. And that I love him. When the truth is, we’ve never even gone out. He’s a lizard, I think. Bernie.”
I start laughing again and can’t stop. After a minute or so, I get a grip. “You mean Barney? He’s a dinosaur.”
“Sorry,” Virgil says. “I’m tired. I’m not making sense.”
He sleeps during the day. I forgot that. I realize that his shift probably ended about an hour ago. He must be exhausted after driving a cab all night. He probably just wants to crash, but even so, he called me so I wouldn’t lose it when I discovered my iPod was gone. And then I realize something else—it was a nice thing to do.
“You sound tired. I’ll let you go. Thanks for letting me know about my iPod,” I say.
“No worries. It’s nothing.”
“Okay, well, bye,” I say.
“Andi, wait. I have an idea. For ‘Little Prince.’ I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s important. You need a different chord. After the second verse and before the chorus. You need a counterpoint to F minor. Something to lighten it up. Otherwise it sounds like a dirge.”
“Um, yeah, that’s because it is a dirge,” I tell him, bristling again.
“Fine, but make it rock. A rocking dirge is way more interesting.” And before I can say anything, before I can shut him up, he’s singing the melody, shifting to C after the second verse. And he’s right, damn it. I listen. Not thinking about Truman. Or the sadness. Just thinking about the music. And feeling it. And losing myself in it.
We keep talking. For a long time. With few words. With sound and rhythm. With notes and beats and the silences between them. Until his voice grows quiet and low. So low it’s almost a murmur. There’s no more Barney music in the background.
I look at my watch. It’s nearly ten. “Where are you?” I ask him.
“In my bed.”
“I’m keeping you up. I’m really sorry. I—”
“No. Keep singing,” he says.
“What?”
“Your voice. Your songs. They’re really nice. They’re better than Barney. They put me to sleep.”
“Wow. I’ll make sure to put that on the cover of my first CD. ‘Better than Barney! Puts you to sleep!’ ” I joke. Because I’m nervous.
Virgil laughs softly. “Come on, sing,” he says.
I don’t want to. It feels weird. But I do it anyway. I sing him “Iron Band.” I wrote it for my mother. I’ve never sung it for her, though. I’ve never sung it for anyone. Not even Nathan. I only added it to Plaster Castle after he’d already listened to the CD.
“If I had coal and fire
And metal fine and true
I’d make an iron band
An iron band for you
I’d pick up all the pieces
From where they