Rotary Park is in the center of town. On quiet afternoons during our teen years, Melanie and I often came here to play. The grounds are lush with green grass and beautiful gardens. There is a fountain in the center and various little kids stand around it, throwing in coins and making wishes. The park isn’t large, only spanning about a half a block, but there are benches scattered around and lots of green space for lounging. In the center of it all is a large gazebo bandstand, used for concerts in the summertime. It’s where Melanie and I will be performing together in a few weeks. We’ve spent many an afternoon on the steps of the gazebo, strumming away. I pause when I see it, closing my eyes as memories envelop me.
Melanie’s head falling back as a melodic laugh escapes her. Melanie strumming her guitar, a glint in her eyes as she watches me sing my verse. Melanie leaning over to kiss me, not caring who sees.
“You okay?” She elbows me now, bringing me out of my trance.
I glance her way, a wistful smile pulling on my lip. “Yeah. Just…nostalgia.”
“Lots of memories here,” she agrees, nodding. “Come on, let’s walk.”
She holds an open palm out to me.
I sling the strap of my guitar case higher on my shoulder and grasp her hand. We start slow, walking the beautiful gray brick pavers, silently people watching.
“It’s changed so much,” I murmur, looking around.
“They’ve re-done it a couple of times in the last two decades, yeah.” Melanie playfully nudges me with her shoulder.
“I can’t believe I’ve been away that long,” I mutter.
“I can. You had a dream, and you chased it,” Melanie says, looking up at me. “I’d have expected nothing less.”
“What about you?” I ask, and my voice comes out more emotional than I expect it to. “What’s your dream?”
Melanie pushes her lips together in a tight line. “I’m still figuring that out,” she says quietly.
“I know you will.” I stop as we near the end of our first lap. Before us is the gazebo. People are sitting scattered on the steps. Others walk around the park, some sit on benches with coffees, others reading in the shade of an oak tree. A group of twenty-something women sit on a picnic blanket in the grass, drinking iced coffees.
“So, this is where we’ll play on September sixth,” Melanie says, one corner of her mouth turned upward. “It’s pretty full circle, isn’t it?” Her eyes glisten with wonderment.
I scratch my jaw, looking at the gazebo. “It is pretty crazy. We played here nearly every afternoon that spring.” I glance at her. “Now we’ll be playing here for real.”
Melanie grins. “It feels like serendipity.”
I nod, feeling myself relax. “Should we sit and play? For old time’s sake?”
Melanie grimaces. “I don’t know,” she says, looking around. “There are a lot of people out this morning.”
My mouth quirks into a crooked smile. “Think of it as practice, come on.” I move to the steps in front of us, sitting on the top one and unzipping my guitar.
Melanie bites her lip, pausing for a moment before finally sitting next to me. “Well, what are we going to play?”
“‘Every Song,’ of course.” I grin, strumming the first few chords. I play through the first verse with no words, waiting for Melanie to get comfortable with the idea of singing in front of a crowd. “Come on,” I murmur in her ear. “You have a beautiful voice, and no one is even paying attention.”
I strum a little louder as I approach the second verse. The sound of my guitar gets the attention of the twenty-somethings, and a few of them move toward us, lingering on the benches just outside the gazebo.
“Oh my god,” Melanie says under her breath, tensing beside me.
I turn and whisper in her ear. “How will you do this in a few weeks if you can’t do it now?” I let my breath linger on her ear for a second before I move into the intro again. Melanie’s voice catches me by surprise.
As soon as she starts singing, attention turns to us. Several in the group of women, who I’ve now figured out is a bachelorette party, whip out their phones and start recording. When Melanie notices, she glances at me, but she doesn’t falter.
I join her in harmony on the chorus, taking the third verse for myself. By the final chorus, we’re grinning at each other, singing together, looking into each other’s eyes. I’ve forgotten everyone around me but Melanie.
We sing the last line in unison. As soon as the note ends, the crowd of onlookers erupts into cheers. Mel and I wave and smile, but we don’t move to play anything else.
“See, you did it,” I say, giving her a peck on the lips. “It gets easier every time.”
We’re immediately interrupted by an excited voice. “Oh my gosh, itisyou. You’re Josh Cote.”
