Sing of the Moon - 2.
Harlan woke again at 7:29 AM, one minute ahead of his alarm and being blinded by the light of the sun through the window. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten back to bed, yet there he was anyway, tangled in the blanket like he’d never gotten up at all.
His morning was slow and quiet, something that would be considered peaceful had anyone else been experiencing it. Get up, make a cup of coffee, feed the cat, stare out the window, scribble a few new notes or lyrics down on a page of sheet music—it was the same every day. But he was itching to go somewhere, to do something, to get away from this house as soon as he could.
He knew he should love it. He wanted to love it. It had been his home for years, after all, and the place he first wrote the songs he still played each night during his conversations with the Moon. Not to mention—
His train of thought was derailed by a knock at the door. He smiled faintly and glanced down at his watch: 10:30. He knew who this was.
“You can let yourself in, Clem,” Harlan called, not bothering to get up from his seat.
The door opened and a head poked in. Sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed. This was his next door neighbor Clementine, a friend of the building owner, sharp as a tack, and perhaps the only person he’d let hear his music since…well, let’s not bring that up now.
He hadn’t actually meant for her to hear it, but a combination of her unusually sharp ears, the building’s thin walls, and Harlan’s own pride had led him to allow it. Now, after so many weeks of her simply showing up in the mornings, he’d come to expect her. And to be entirely honest, he almost enjoyed it.
“How goes it?” Clementine said, her voice sing-songy as she crossed the studio.
“Well, it…goes,” Harlan replied with a sigh. What can you say when you’re so restless you can’t even think?
“Just goes? No big breakthroughs? It sounded like you were doing pretty spectacularly from my perspective.”
“I’m flattered, but no. That one was an old song, definitely not my best.” That was a lie.
He’d written it the night before, something he noodled out to soundtrack the night’s conversation with the Moon. Tell her the truth, he could almost hear her saying. She’s heard your best. She deserves it.
“Well, I think it’s perfect. You should make that your first single.”
“I appreciate the confidence, Clem,” Harlan almost laughed out loud, then deflected. “How are you doing? Besides, you know, coming to bully me into putting myself out there. No chance you’d be interested in coming to Lola’s tonight and letting her join you?”
Clementine grinned, suddenly looking ten years younger. “You know I love your sister, but I’ve a date tonight. My first in ten years, if you can believe it. Maybe I’ll hire you to play our wedding, yeah?”
“Maybe that’ll be the start of my career then,” Harlan said, winking, and then it was Clementine’s turn to laugh.
“I have high expectations for you, young man,” she said as she turned to leave. “You’d better get a move on!”
“Have fun,” he called to the closing door. As it shut, he sighed.
You know she’s right, Harlan.
“Or not. It’s not her decision to make anyway. Or Lola’s, or anybody else’s.”
But will you ever make a decision yourself?
“You sound like them,” Harlan scoffed quietly. “You’re not even here, are you? It’s too early for that.”
He nearly smirked when, as expected, there was no response. At the bright, sunny hour of—he checked his watch: 10:45—not even 11, the sky only held clouds and sunlight.
And with that, he decided, he wasn’t going to think about it again, at least not until that evening when Lola inevitably brought it up. For now, it was time to get out of this stifling apartment.