Sing To Me

Dalton dwells to his favorite Elvis song because he just had to open his mouth earlier that day.

In the quiet room--so quiet that even the footsteps of the smallest insect could be heard--Elvis Presley’s invigoratingly deep voice began singing, “Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you.” The song was Dalton’s favorite, ever since he heard it in Coyote Ugly. Not that he’d ever reveal that particular fact to anyone.

          His room felt calmer now with the potent sound waves swimming through the air. It was peaceful as well. As he lied on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, Dalton felt the familiar rush of emotions filling his chest, almost with a solid strength. His eyes scanned his pale white walls, the messy stacks of books covering a large portion of his wooden floor, and his laptop computer sitting safely on his black desk in the corner. The song ended, but the magic of the repeat setting on iTunes was priceless.

          Dalton couldn’t keep steady, and at the same time, he wanted nothing but to stay motionless in bed, and never again step outside of his house--no, outside of his room. Tomorrow would be a better day. Any day would be a better day.

          The obnoxious ringing of his cell phone interrupted Dalton’s train of thought and Elvis’ singing. Dalton reached blindly for the phone in his pocket, and frowned at the unknown number. That was always shady. The countless amount of times he’d answered an unknown number before had proven his theory that as soon as he answered this call, he would hear from a sorry person with a wrong number, or an automatic machine trying to talk to him about filing his taxes.

          He silenced the phone instead, closing his eyes as the song continued. He thought that if he waited a little bit more, he would fall asleep and into a much needed unconsciousness.

          It happened again: his phone cried for attention, and the same unknown number appeared on the screen of his cracked smartphone screen. He finally decided to answer, his voice sounding groggy as he spoke a greeting.

          “Hi,” a timid voice said at the other end of the line.

          Dalton shot up and sat on his bed, eyes wide open. “Alice?”

          “Yeah,” she said.

          Dalton’s mouth opened, but he closed it again. It was a simple rule he had for himself, and he wasn’t planning on breaking it: Think before you speak. Of course his stupid rule didn’t save him earlier today when he decided it would be a great idea to tell the girl in his Sociology class how she could inspire the greatest poetry. He’d thought about it at the time, though he never prepared for himself walking swiftly away from her right after.

          “Aren’t you going to ask how I got your number?” Alice asked. Dalton realized there’d been a long moment of silence between them and it was pretty awkward, but then again, the only history between them had been that unfortunate incident.

          “No,” Dalton said, his throat feeling raspy. “I remember in class when the teacher told us to exchange numbers with at least two people. I only picked you.”

To his defense, he’d run out of time in class to walk up to anyone else. Then again, that was due to him trying to calm down after gaining up the courage to talk to her.

          “Right,” she said. There was another moment of silence, and it was getting to the point where Elvis still singing in the background became their source of comfort. “Dalton, can we talk about today?”

          Dalton frowned, aware that Alice couldn’t notice, but maybe she could hear the nervousness in his voice. “What about it?”

          “You told me something out of nowhere,” Alice explained unnecessarily. “Something I wasn’t expecting from you.”

          “Sorry about that.” He wasn’t really that sorry.

          “Why?” Alice asked, and Dalton could hear the genuine confusion in her voice.

          “Why what?” Dalton nearly slapped his forehead. He sure knew how to drag things long enough to make himself all the more miserable.

          “Why did you say what you said today?”

          That was a very complicated question. There was a long backstory to any answer he could give this brave girl from his Sociology class who wanted nothing more than to clear things up.

          Dalton sighed. “Poetry requires a muse to be complete and elegant.”

          “Oh-kay,” Alice said slowly. “Am I, by any chance, your muse?”

          Ah, yes, that was the true foundation of her curiosity. She wanted to know whether he’d written poetry about her, inspired by her. Would she be disappointed if he hadn’t?

          “You have inspired a few of my poems,” Dalton confessed. There was no more fear in his voice. The weight on his shoulders had been lifted. All those months he’d spent worrying sick about having a full conversation with the girl in his Sociology class had vanished from his vault of memories.

          “Really?” Alice asked, and he could have sworn she was smiling.

          “That doesn’t bother you?”

          She chuckled. “Only if you don’t let me read them.”

          Dalton smiled, walking up to his desk to pause the song. “You can read them. That would only be fair.”

          “Thank you,” Alice said, earnestly. “I’m glad I called you.”

          “Some things are meant to be,” Dalton said bluntly. His sudden confidence surprised him. He didn’t dwell on the fact that he was singing to the girl in his Sociology class whom he thought of whenever he listened to his favorite song.

          “Take my hand,” Alice said in return, her voice quiet and velvet. “Take my whole life, too.”

          Dalton blinked where he stood, his heart speeding wildly in his chest.

          He had it wrong before. This day was better than any other.