Yeah, not the best I’ve ever written, for sure. Additionally, I skip one verse, the one about running away from home, because it hits too close to River’s story.
Still, I see Dad’s face grow thoughtful, a faint sadness settling in his expression.
He absentmindedly plays with the end of his long platinum braid. I almost don’t want to ask, but I do anyway.
"Did you like it?"
"That’s a really good song, son," he says, his eyes still distant. Then he pulls himself together, smiles at me, and nods. "You’ve got real talent."
"Thanks, Dad."
"I’m so glad we signed you up for those extra music classes. You should keep developing your skills. I hope things work out with the band."
When we chose Jackson High, my parents made sure my schedule included plenty of music-focused electives, even if not all of them are what I’m interested in. I know the school has a band, and there’s also a choir. I plan to try out for both.
My brothers and I have always been enrolled in every extracurricular music program we could find throughout middle school, so I just nod.
"I’ll give it a shot, Dad."
He stays quiet for a moment, then tilts his head and studies me. I start scratching my forearms again.
"Tomorrow’s your first real day of school. A new chapter in your life, son. How do you feel about it?"
I stay silent for a bit, watching him. He doesn’t usually talk like that, so formal and serious.
"That sounded way too official, Dad," I mumble, brushing my fingers across the strings.
Dad gets that distant look again before suddenly saying,
"I just want you to be happy, Bay. I want you to always tell me if something’s wrong in your life, if you’re upset about anything."
Silence hangs between us for a moment. I know exactly what’s going through his head. The song I sang brought back his guilt about River, how he blames himself for not listening enough, for ignoring River’s rebellion, for not seeing how overwhelmed and unhappy he really was at home.
Now he wants to make sure he doesn’t make the same mistake again. And yeah, I appreciate that. But I’m not River. I almost say it out loud but bite my tongue just in time.
"It’s all good. I got fifty views on the video I posted yesterday, the one with my cover of ‘Let It Snow’. And a dozen likes, too."
Dad smiles warmly. "That’s great. Even though it’s not exactly the Christmas season, people still appreciate the artistry. Your voice is really promising, son, low and rich, kind of like Snow’s. He just doesn’t use his much."
I grimace at the comparison. Sure, Snow has a beautiful voice, but he never sings. He prefers playing the piano and composing songs.
"We’ll see." I shrug. "I’ll post a few more videos online, maybe things will start to take off."
My fingers leave the strings, and I start scratching my forearms again without thinking. Dad’s gaze follows my hands as they move restlessly up and down my arms.
"Do you have some kind of rash, Bay?"
"I don’t know. Everything’s been itchy lately. I keep scratching and scratching."
I roll up my sleeve and show him my skin. There’s nothing there, everything looks normal, maybe just a little pink.
He studies my arm for a moment before saying, "I’ll give you an antihistamine later. Could be a reaction to detergent. I switched brands recently."
Dad checks his phone. "I’ve got about ten minutes before I need to go."
"Alright. I’ll head back down to the lake, play a little more. Maybe I’ll upload that song tomorrow or the day after."
"Wait," he says, "don’t go anywhere far; I have this strange, unpleasant feeling."
