You Have Seven Messages, page 20
I think that might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. We stare at each other, and our eyes water with affection.
On our way back to his house he says, “Oxford was pretty cool, but really intimidating.”
“Yeah, and performing classical solos at sold-out concert halls in Paris is such a breeze.”
He smiles and motions for me to follow him inside.
We go upstairs to his room. He walks up to the window facing my house, and when he turns around, his smile seems so real, his eyes shining with truth. There are long angles of sunlight shooting over each of his shoulders. He moves out of the way and the rays blind me for a second. We both move into the shadow of the room and slowly walk toward each other.
He puts his arms out, and I let myself sink into him.
For the first time since my mother died, I don’t feel the giant hands pressing around my heart. Instead, I feel weightless, as if someone has untied a knot inside me and I am slowly unfolding.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stewart Lewis is the author of the novels Rockstarlet and Relative Stranger. He is a singer-songwriter and radio journalist who lives in New York City and western Massachusetts. For more information, visit stewartlewis.com.
Stewart Lewis, You Have Seven Messages
