Closure
By: Gina - gina1175 at yahoo.com
He stood at the threshold of the door that hadn’t been opened in two years. His hand held tightly on the door handle. It wouldn’t be opened today either.
Two weeks had passed and he found himself again outside of the entranceway. A world he’d all but left was on the other side. Would he find the courage today? No.
The calendar showed it had been another month. The room seemed to beckon him. His friends encouraged him. The fear was too much.
Eyes closed, breath shallow, it was the day after Christmas. It’s been too long. We need new stuff. The world is waiting. He’d heard them all the day before. Well, he thought, they’d have to wait a bit longer.
The birds chirping outside the window told that spring was near. He certainly couldn’t begin then. What about his allergies? His voice wouldn’t cooperate.
The sweltering heat of August and it was just too hot to think about.
The warm summer air had turned to a brisk fall wind. Another year had passed. His eyes scanned the calendar. It was November 8. Four years to the day. Success sometimes doesn’t breed confidence. Sometimes it makes you insecure. The door remained locked.
New Year’s Eve. Alone. Not that he had planned it that way, but his girlfriend had been called away to do something. He wasn’t sure what. He’d stopped listening half way through her explanation. Bottom line, she wasn’t around. He could have gone with her. He didn’t want to. Dick Clark was on tv. The crowd was raucous. The countdown had begun. The numbers ticked away and memories from another time flashed before him. He was surrounded by four others. He was happy. It may have been the last time he’d felt such elation. The celebration broke out on the screen before him and his phone started to ring. First it would be Joey, then Chris, then Lance. He’d talk to JC tomorrow. JC never made it to midnight. He smiled at the thought.
January 1. Still no desire to do anything. The offers covered his desk each one more ludicrous than the last. Even after all this time, he was sought after. He picked them up and tossed them in the trash.
April 14. An unexpected phone call brought him to the door. He thought back.
“Hello.” He had answered, annoyed that his afternoon nap had been disturbed.
“J.” The voice had been muddled by the bad connection, but he had known it was JC. He’d have recognized the voice anywhere. His annoyance had faded.
“What’s up, man?”
“I’m in a real jam and need your help.” He had sat up listening as JC explained. The words had tumbled into his ears. Lost a producer on this project. Need someone to remix this stuff. Needs an urban feel. You’re the only one I trust. I’ll email you the files. I need it by tomorrow. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life or death. It’s life or death, J. Can you do it?
His heart had pounded in his chest. His mouth had gone dry. “Yes.” It was the only word he could say.
Now the room he been in for more years than he cared to remember was before him. There was no way he could turn away today. He lifted the key to the knob. To his amazement, there was no resistance. The lock unhitched and the door opened.
Stale air greeted him and dust covered the equipment. Otherwise the room was just as he had left it.
Within four hours, he’d emailed JC back. A few minutes later, his notification beeped. He had a new message. The sentence was simple. The meaning clear. “You were the only one.” He smiled.
Six months passed. He came out of the room only to shower and eat and most days he even forgot to do that. He spent his days plucking at the guitar, strumming the keys on the piano, learning how to play the drums. He wrote in his notebook. He sang. He recorded it all. After 187 days, he emerged holding an envelope containing a disc. He mailed it that afternoon.
Two weeks later, the phone rang. It was JC. You have to send this in. Another package. More waiting. The phone again. This is genius. We’re going to release it.
Dressed in a suit and tie, he stood before the audience. The statue rested on the podium before him. Once again, he’d been rewarded for his work. They didn’t like this album as much as they liked the last one. They liked it more. The fear that had eaten at him for so long had been replaced by their words and accolades. His eyes met JC’s.
He cleared his throat and began his speech.
“I’ve stood before you in the past and I’ve thanked God and my mother and all the producers I’ve ever worked with but what I’ve failed to do is to thank the one person who’s always given me the confidence to do what I needed to do, the person who’s supported me and urged me and inspired me since the very beginning. The person who is more deserving of this award than I could ever hope to be. JC. You were the only one.”
He walked off the stage to huge applause. It mattered little. The stunned silence of one was all that he saw. All that he heard.
Returning home, he placed the record player replica trophy with the others. He was complete. The door to the room never opened again.