Just Like a Musical Read Online Free PDF

first solo album,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear, my eyes fixed on the tips of my shoes.
    “Are you kidding me?” he said. “You’re the only person in this town who listens to Lou Reed! I mean, beside me.”
    “Am I?” I raised my head, just a little encouraged.
    “Of course you are! Haven’t you noticed all these clones in the streets? Look at them, they are all the same!”
    His hands reached for my shoulders and stayed there for one immaculate moment.
    “But I knew you were different,” he said, giving me a complicit smile.
    Did I see all my worrying thoughts delightfully flapping their wings and disappearing on the horizon? Yes, I did. Did my flaming red hair suddenly become pretty, just like Mrs. Wheeler said the day before? Yes, it did. Was I willing to spend eternity in front of that small-town bookstore? I sure as hell was. And just when I thought how he didn’t wink even once, he cleared his throat. A toddler in a harlequin costume grabbed his mother’s skirt and burst out crying. We burst out laughing.
    “I’m sorry for running away like that yesterday,” I said. “I totally forgot that my friend was waiting for me.”
    Then I felt my tongue wrestling with itself, wriggling, and swirling in slow motion, and finally producing these words: “Listen, there’s a party at my friend’s house tonight. I’m not promising fun, but if you’d like to join me…”
    That was by far the bravest thing I had ever done! Asking a guy out was beyond my boldest self-expectations. I once tried to ask Danny Walden to watch Ice Age 2 with me when we were in fourth grade, and I even gave him a giant cherry flavored lollipop as a prelude to my invitation, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. They waited there forever and a day, all jumbled up, until I just gave up. I felt regretful over the lollipop; cherry is my favorite flavor.
    “Sure,” he answered, giving me back my headphones and winking.
    ***
    I can’t tell how I got home exactly, but I suddenly found myself in the hallway. I rushed to my room to try once again the dress that I borrowed from Mrs. Wheeler. It was a beautiful knee-length, sage-green flapper dress with a charming off-white lace hem. A sense of gratitude toward my dear neighbor overwhelmed me, and I felt a jolt of guilt for not thinking of her since I met my throat-clearing guy again. I decided to visit her and see how she was getting through all the painful memories that her daughter’s birthday evoked, but when I knocked on her door, I found out that she wasn’t there. I turned back home, put the dress on one more time, took it off, and then tried to read a book, but soon it slipped out of my hand  and hit the floor. I wasn’t able to focus on anything. For the first time in my life, I looked forward to a birthday party. My lungs were full of sweet expectations – delicate yet strong. I could hardly bear the silent, endless march of time that went on in my head, and I was happy to see my mother back home. Wrapping my arms around her neck, I leaned my dreamy head on her shoulder.
    “Do you want me to make us some coffee, Mom?” I said. “It’s been so long since we had coffee together.”
    We stepped out onto our front porch with coffee mugs in our hands. The invisible clock was still ticking in my head, subdued by the soft, sweet-scented air and my mother’s voice. She was telling me about some funny guy in a yellow tie and sombrero hat that she ran into that morning. Her laugh was resonant, but her eyes were tired and melancholic. I wanted to hold her hand and set her free from that huge burden of guilt she had been carrying on her shoulders for so long, but I knew I wasn’t the one who was able do that. So I laughed about the man in a yellow tie, enjoyed tortillas that she fixed inspired by his hat, and listened to her chatting about new flowers she was going to plant, until my internal clock struck seven. It was a quarter past six in real time, but I had to hurry and