Let That Be Enough:   Twelve

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"Come on, come on," he said staring at the paper in front of him. He removed the headphones from his ears and hung them around his neck as he took up his pen again to write some more notes. He was almost done, but the last verse was killing him and the middle one seemed a little shaky.

It was almost whole, almost that Frankenstein kind of creature coming to life. He'd never really thought about it that way, but at this point any kind of analogy about music seemed to help. He'd been having troubles anyway so whatever he could do to get his mind on the music and off his troubles writing was acceptable.

When he heard the kitchen cabinet door close in the other room he put down his pen and took the headphones and placed him on the bedspread between his sprial notebook and his music, and his keyboard.

After his call back to the landlord to leave a message about Melinda being the one who would be there to check on the plumbing situation, he'd been up all night thinking about the conversation that he'd started with Farzana the night before and at four in the morning he'd picked up a pen and moved his keyboard into his room. It had taken a while, almost three hours, but he had written a song, something he thought would actually work out, not end up as some notes at the back of his notebook that never saw the light of day.


* * * * *

I've seen the people
As they walk down the street
Smiling and looking so free
As I stand on the corner
With a tear in my eye
Wondering how it would be
If I'd never asked for what I could not have
Always living for things out of reach

Never enough
Forever unsatisfied
Missing a piece of my soul
Never enough
Forever unanswered
Like a prayer that never gets told

Fall away troubles, dreams and desires
And let me escape from myself
If I'd never asked for what I could not have
I could live just like everyone else


Never enough
Forever unsatisfied
Missing a piece of my soul
Never enough
Forever unanswered
Like a prayer that never gets told

Fall away troubles, dreams and desires
And let me escape from myself

* * * * *

When he heard more noise in the other room, something that sounded like she was loading up the coffee maker, he pushed himself off the bed and headed out to see what she was up to. When he got to the door he thought about it and went and grabbed his notebook and headed into the other room. He wasn't sure if what he'd written was any good, but he was going to at least see if she could pull any good out of what he'd written.

"Hey Zana?" he called out as he walked into the kitchen.

"Yeah?" she asked turning to look at him. She'd opened up the door outside and a breeze was blowing into the room. A strange expression crossed her face, "Have you been up all night?"

"Umm," he said, "Yeah." With a thwacking noise he dropped his notebook down on the counter. "I wrote a song last night. I think you'll..." He watched her grab out a coffee cup before she came back over to where he was standing. She barely glanced at the notebook as she filled her coffee cup. "I wanted to know if you thought you might want to use it."

"I'll look at it," she said glancing at him for a moment before she added sugar to her cup.

As her head dipped to read the scrawled out words on the page he watched her. She wore her pajamas and looked happy, despite the way she'd been acting the night before. He shouldn't have been so brutal, but it was the truth. He was just out of a relationship and didn't need to get into another one that he'd probably mess up anyway. He'd told her once and she hadn't gotten it into her head so last night had been necessary.

"Do you want to go to Orlando with me?" he asked impulsively.

She didn't look up. "What?"

"To work on the song," he said instantly seeing how his comment could be taken wrong. "I've got access to the studio at WEG and we can schedule some time to get in there and record it."

"I guess," she hesistated. "Maybe I should get together more stuff so we can throw together more than one song."

"Do you like this one?" he asked tapping his fingers on the counter next to where she was reading. She didn't touch the notebook, didn't move it or barely even breath on it. He wondered about that. It was a spiral notebook, not his journal or anything. She should have taken a pen to what he'd written or something, not treated like it was something that should have been in a glass case or something. "Its not perfect, but I've got an idea on how we can arrange it to fit your style."

"I like it." Her tone was too casual for his liking. He wanted her to have some kind of reaction to it, but she didn't as she walked over to the fridge.

"You like it?" he questioned looking at the words on the paper with a critical eye. "It's horrible isn't it? I should have just chucked it last night when I started it. I should have just gone to sleep like every other person in the world. It's really bad isn't it? That's it isn't it?" He took a breath and moved the book a little. "You know you can tell me if it sucks or whatever."

"Sing it for me," she said with her back to him as she pulled the milk out and set it on the counter. "You wrote it, you should sing it." She turned and stared at him and he felt like he'd just gotten himself in trouble. It was one of those "do your homework" kind of motherly looks.

"Sing it?" he asked. His throat immediately dryed up. "I can play it for you...you can sing it for me...it'll sound strange coming from me."

It was unexpected to see her frown at him. Was it that obvious that he didn't want to sing or couldn't sing for her? He hadn't meant to be mean about it, but he really didn't feel like singing for her at the moment. He wasn't even sure that he could do it.

"What?" he finally asked when she wouldn't stop staring.

"Why haven't you sung since you've been here?" she asked, "I mean I never hear you when the radio is on, when the tv is on, and not even in the shower did you sing."

"You were listening to me in the shower?" he asked pausing for a moment to consider that she'd been listening to him the night before. Normally any person might be flattered by someone who had a crush on them telling them that they'd been trying to hear them even in those most private moments, but for him things were different. After being on the road for so long having someone be listening to him in the shower wasn't something he liked.

"You know what I mean," she stuttered out, "Usually when people sing in the shower you can hear them."

He could have said something else, but she decided not to. It wasn't worth the argument. "Whatever."

"So what is it?" she asked with a serious expression. "Why don't you want to sing?"

This wasn't what he wanted to be discussed. Anything, any other place in the world, would be better than this. He'd rather be in the middle of an interview on Barbara Walters. He would talk about the lawsuit, about the rivalry with the Backstreet Boys, his underwear--just not this. "I told you," he said, "I'm on vacation...besides...this song is supposed to be for you."

"Well how am I supposed to know what it sounds like if you don't sing it for me?" She put a hand on her hip.

"I'll play it for you and tell you."

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

The smell of coffee began to fill the room and JC's mouth started to water. He was addicted to caffine and even standing there in the midst of that smell was already getting his adrenaline running. He took the moment of silence after her last question and went to grab a coffee mug. He went to the machine and filled his mug.

His back was to her as she asked, "Is something wrong? I mean is something wrong with your throat?"

"Nothing's wrong," he said angrily. "I just don't want to sing. I sing for a living and for once in my life I don't want to do it." He took a deep breath and turned back to her, and took a drink of coffee. "I just don't want to sing."

"But why?" she asked.

JC took his mug and walked passed her, taking a moment to reach around her to take his notebook with him. "Nevermind. I don't need this stress. I knew I shouldn't have even mentioned it," he said biting back tears. He couldn't do this. He couldn't sit there and have this out right now. It wasn't her place to be his problem solver. "I'll be in my room."

He stalked across the room, slammed the door shut and paced back and forth across the room. Damn Bobbie. Damn her for causing all these troubles. She was out of his life, but she was still there with him, putting her little two cents in long distance.

Picking up the phone JC dialed her parents number before he could stop himself. He didn't know why he was calling, maybe to bitch at her, maybe from old habit, either way he had the phone to his ear when she said hello.

"JC I know this is you. There's caller ID."

"Shit," he sighed out, "I dialed the wrong number."

There was a long silence.

"JC, what's wrong?" she asked, "I can hear it in your voice."

"Nothing," he said, "Everything is fine."

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, "I'm fine. I kinda wanted to tell you something." He wanted to just spill his guts, tell her everything like he used to. Half the time in the past she hadn't even listened to him when he would tell her things, but at least she was someone to talk at.

"So?" she asked.

It was strange that she wasn't asking about the situation and about their break up. He expected that she'd at least question him leaving town and disappearing. He couldn't tell her that he couldn't sing beacuse of her and he couldn't talk to Farzana because of her.

"I'm dating someone new," he said, "I just wanted to tell you that before you heard it from someone else."

"Really?" she asked. Now he could hear the emotion in her voice. He wanted to smile. It gave him a little pleasure to hear that she was upset. It was wrong of him to be that way, but he couldn't help it. If he was suffering he wanted her to suffer a little too.

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JC's song lyrics: NEVER ENOUGH --by Shannon Curfman/Kevin Bowe" -- Published by Miscreation Music/Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp./Bashti Music, Trio Music Company Inc., adm. by Leiber & Stoller Music Publishing (BMI)

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