I spent the afternoon totally demolishing my office. I tore down the cubicle-style dividing wall I’d put up and tossed it into the dumpster in the alleyway behind my building. I cleared my desk and moved it away from its spot so that the floor-to-ceiling window was completely open and free, and the clear, blue sky could take up the entire wall of my condo. I stood back, my hands on my hips, and admired the wide and spectacular view in front of me.
This is how I’ll work, I decided. Screw the confines of the mini prison I’d made for myself in my home office, or the rigid-ass schedule I’d been following for years. I’d start over from scratch, and go at this thing free form.
After finding a set of dry erase markers, I pulled a step stool up to the window and wrote in big, bold letters across the top of the glass, “PROJECT FREESTYLE.” Below that, I wrote “Crawford Mobile Operating System, workflow ideas.”
I drew a large circle and labeled it, “Guidelines to follow.” Then I pulled out a big pad of sticky notes and started to write elements I knew I wanted this project to have. “Intuitive use,” “free-flowing interactivity,” and “a rhythmic experience” were the first things to form in my mind. I realized that I didn’t just want this software to be extremely functional—it needed to be as intuitive as someone freestyling on the drums, allowing them to jump seamlessly from idea to idea, desire to desire. BluTech’s software was utilitarian and perfect for business, so I would design something that fostered a creative, organic, and
artistic experience.
I knew that this would be a new experience for me—organic and artistic wasn’t exactly my natural state. I wasn’t an artist, I fully recognized that this would mean leaving my comfort zone and abandoning all the foundations I’d built for myself in order to reach a new way of thinking. Such a crazy task would’ve probably left most people feeling overwhelmed, but I was confident that I could do it. That had always been one of my strengths—I had complete certainty in myself.
There was one critical element that I’d forgotten to put up on in my guidelines circle. I wrote “LOVE” in block letters on a post-it and placed it right in the middle of the circle. Then, rolling up my sleeves, my dry erase in hand, I set to work brainstorming ideas for the project.
It was late afternoon when I’d filled up the entire wall of glass with my notes. Kendra had texted me to tell me that she’d be playing another show at Shadetree, and I was excited to see her once she finished work in the evening. I took several photographs of what I’d written, and then picked up my eraser and started to refine my ideas, wiping away things that on second glance seemed unnecessary.
My phone chimed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see Kendra’s name on the screen. I smiled and answered it.
“Hey, you,” I said, continuing to wipe away at my idea board. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Melany,” Kendra said. Her voice was thin and distant.
“Kendra? What is it?”
“Can I come over?”
Kendra sat glumly at the dining table, her chin in her hands. Everything about her looked down and depressed; even her adorable ponytail seemed to be drooping. I retrieved my bottle of Yamazaki 18 Year from my liquor cabinet and poured us both generous portions, and then took a seat across from her.
“Try some,” I said. “It’s my favorite. Single malt from Japan is the best in the world right now, they say.”
“I can’t believe they fired me,” she muttered, and took a long swallow of whiskey. She looked at the glass. “This is good.” Then she sighed. “I mean, I can. I totally fucked up the inspection, so it’s my own damn fault. Not to mention all the other times I screwed up. Fuck, I’m useless. Can’t even keep a job at a shitty restaurant.”
“Hey,” I said, tapping the table with my knuckle. “You are not useless.”
“I needed that job, and I dropped the ball,” she said. “Everything was dependent on that job. My performance money was only supplementing it.”
“You said it yourself. It was a shitty restaurant. You can do better than a place like that. Besides, someone as skilled as you should be making money playing music. There’s no reason why your performance earnings aren’t going to go up. Especially now that you’re playing with Kaitlyn and Brianne. Keep performing. Put all your time into that. Let it become your full-time job, like it should be.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Melany, I can’t afford my rent based on what I’ve been making playing music. Monica is a nice person, but she’s not the type to let me stay rent-free. She’s already giving me a really good price on the room, probably the best I’d be able to find here. I’ll have to move back home to Manchester, and live with my piece of shit dad again.” She looked up at me, her dark eyes deep with distress. “Melany, I’m going to have to leave. Leave Rosebridge and everything behind. I’m going to have to leave you.”
I stood and came over to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and pulling her tightly against my stomach. She buried her face into my shirt and squeezed me around the waist. I could feel her warm tears through the fabric, and I stroked her hair.
“Shut your face,” I said, giving her ponytail a playful tug.
She looked up at me, her eyes puffy and red. “What?”
I smiled. “Come on, Kendra. Do you think I’d let that happen? You might not have noticed, but I own this huge-ass condo all to myself. You’re not going anywhere. Move your shit out of Monica’s place, and move in with me.”
She blinked at me, and I saw that Kendra had honestly not even considered this option. At that moment, I realized I understood her personality and way of thinking a little better than before. I’d known that Kendra was a very emotional person, it’d been obvious from the beginning, but now I realized just how emotional she could be. It was what fueled her passion for music, and it was also what had crushed her after her last relationship and caused her to spiral into anxiety, to the point where she physically couldn't even play music. She was also extremely proud, and when her mentor had rejected her, it’d shattered her perception of herself. This pride was also what prevented her from even thinking about asking if she could live with me. She had to take everything on herself.
“I couldn’t do that,” she said. “I’d feel shitty about it. I don’t want to freeload off of you.”
“Kendra, you wouldn’t be freeloading. First off, I love you. I want you to be here with me. Second, you’re working on your career. Eventually, you’ll be making bank, and if you want to move out or whatever, you can.”
She looked hesitant—her stubborn pride again.
“I’m deciding for you,” I announced. “We’re moving you in. In fact, we’re going to do it today.”
“Wait, what?”