“You’re ridiculous.”
He sang the first line, holding his arms out in a devil-may-care challenge. Hewasgoing to sing. He was going to sing the truth of the world straight to the stars, and maybe she’d start to believe it.
“I’m not doing this.”
And the second.
“I don’t like it! You can’t make me like it.”
“There’s no one here but us, Sam. It’s you and me and the stars. Sing. No one has to know.”
“But I don’t believe it. I don’t believe the song. It’s bullshit.”
“You don’t believe ityet,” he said with a self-assured wink.
He no longer entertained the idea this wasn’t going to work, the idea he and Samantha weren’t meant for each other or her heresy was going to keep them apart. This was true love. Something as small as her not believing in forever couldn’t keep them apart.
“This isn’t a good idea.”
“Just sing!” he shouted.
This moment they shared was a freight train barreling through the night, cutting through the darkness. The brakes were broken.
“I don’t know how!”
“Like you didn’t know how to dance?”
Daniel clambered up to the top of his old car, as he’d done a million times before. But this time was different. This time, his singing wasn’t some unanswered prayer to invisible gods and twinkling stars for human contact and affection. This time, he was Aladdin on a magic carpet, asking Jasmine to trust him. This was either the beginning of a whole new world, or the end of everything. And he had his eyes set on the horizon of fresh adventure. Sam sprinted to the hood of the car from her place on the hilltop’s edge, jaw practically dragging along the grass.
“What are you doing up there? You’ll get yourself killed!”
“C’mon, get up here,” he offered. “Get as close to the stars as you can.”
“No way! You come down here!”
He stood his ground. Or roof. He was in his own personal heaven, surrounded by stars and music. The only thing missing was her.
“You’ll have to come up and get me.”
A final challenge. Daniel sang to himself, waiting for the chorus to properly kick in and for its wonder to vibrate the trees at the same rate as his heartbeat.
“You’re impossible,” she huffed.
Nonetheless, a minute later, they were on the roof of the car, halfway between heaven and earth.
“Not so bad, is it?”
“No.”
He took her hand, partly to calm his own speeding pulse and partly to make sure she stayed put and didn’t run off on him. She was such a mystery, such a complex puzzle to solve. He always feared one day she would slip away like a pleasant, hazy dream. Daniel let the Beatles’ words and melodies fall out of him, line after line, until he realized there were only male voices slicing the night. She wasn’t even trying.
“Sing, Sam.” He gave her a squeeze, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her head dip.
“I can’t.”
The chorus barreled into them, the famous chorus sung on the rooftops of London, but still, Sam did not sing. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “What are you afraid of?”
Those were the magic words. She squeezed him back. And began singing. It was slightly off-key. Rusty as the Tin Man. The voice of a baby bird trying their warbling tweet for the first time. Uncertain at first, then progressively stronger and stronger, until they were dancing on the rooftop, singing in perfect unison.
