Page 16 of Shapes of Love
They’ve rolled up the sleeves of their shirt, revealing thefew tattoos that adorn their deep brown skin as they type something into the computer. They’ve got a new one on the back of their hand, I notice, and it makes me realize it’s been a while since I last saw them. Shirley works all over the world, and I’ve been doing press and shooting music videos for the past few months. But now that my second album is in the works, we can finally spend time together again.
“I’ve missed you, Ley,” I say. The room smells faintly of the peppermint tea in their mug. It was one of the first things we bonded over—our love for tea. They always bring me new ones from their trips, and I do the same.
Shirley turns to me, caught by surprise.
“I’ve missed you, too, little S. I’m happy that we can work together again.” Their smile is warm and familiar as they offer me my own mug. “All right. Let’s go over that sample you sent me last night.”
I sit on one of their rocking chairs with my knees up and take a slow sip.
“Don’t judge it too harshly. It’s a work in progress.” I reach for my phone and hit Play. Notes cascade over the room—it’s a soft ballad with little production, letting my voice and the guitar take the spotlight.
“Definitely worth working on.” Shirley breathes out. “My heart hurts in a good way.”
“Really? You don’t think the bridge is too boring?”
“It could be better, but no, I don’t think it’s boring. The tempo felt a little slow, but if you’re worried about it dragging…” Shirley props their chin under their hand. “Let’s try this.”
They march over to a keyboard, adjusting a few settings before selecting a bright, percussive piano sound. They tweak it for a bit, but their lips purse, unconvinced.
“I was thinking of adding violins? Strings could add some momentum. I’m going for a dramatic effect here, but subtle,” I say. “I think it goes well with the theme of the song.”
We spend the next couple of hours translating our thoughts into notes. There’s an energy caught in the air, a pulse of excitement from knowing we’re about to dive into something new, something exciting (a whole new album!) and for a moment, the world slows. At least today, the centrifuge isn’t trying to spin me out of my orbit.
“Speaking of themes,” Shirley says, taking a bite of their tuna poke during our lunch break. “What inspired these lyrics? It’s quite a sad song.”
The death of a character I love and my inability to sleep thinking about it.
But I can’t tell them that. Or, well, I can. I just don’t know how. I’m pretty sure the other people they work with all have amazing stories that inspire their music.
“Um, I guess I’ve been thinking about death lately.”
Shirley stops eating and turns slowly toward me.
“As in, the death of… moments,” I clarify. “Ever think of the last time you did something, but you didn’t realize it was going to be the last time? Like, when you were a kid, when was the last time you played with your favorite toy, or went to your best friend’s house? Life is full of these last moments, these small deaths, but we don’t notice them until they’ve happened. I guess this song is about that.”
“I see. Like not knowing when it’s the last time you’re ever going to see someone.”
“Yeah,” I say, mindlessly strumming my guitar. “And if you had known, would you have done something different? Would you have said something else?”
When I look at Shirley, their eyes have dimmed, and there is a heaviness to their face, like I’ve conjured up a bad memory.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I put my guitar aside when they tear up a little.
“Why are you apologizing?” They reach for a tissue. “You haven’t done anything wrong!”
“I made you cry!” I didn’t mean to upset them.
“They’re not sad tears! They are healthy tears. The song just brought up memories.” They breathe out and shake their head. “When I was a senior in high school my best friend got into a car accident, and he almost didn’t make it. I kept replaying that moment in my mind, the last time I saw him. I couldn’t remember what I said to him. I didn’t know that I might be saying goodbye. It tore me apart. Luckily, he pulled through.”
“Is he okay?”
“It was years ago. He made a full recovery. He’s fine now. But we’ve lost touch.”
“Why? What happened?” I ask. Shirley’s eyes widen, as if taken aback. I stiffen—did I overstep? Maybe this is personal. “If you feel comfortable sharing it. You don’t have to, though.”
“Nothing happened, really.” They shrug. “Sometimesfriendships are like that. People change and grow apart, but the love remains. We have different lives, but it makes me happy to know he’s happy.”
An uneasy feeling swirls in my gut. Is that what awaits me, too? Is everyone I love going to leave eventually? Friendship has always felt like this permanent footprint in my heart.
