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Laine

Soundtrack To My Life

Iwanted to go to sleep. I wanted to escape the pain that sits on my heart and strangles the breath from my lungs.

It worked for a little while.

Memories of childhood road trips flash through my mind until the soft lulling of a car engine leaves me straddling that line between awake and asleep. I remember the way Jess’ fingers would twine with mine while we sat in the back of the family station wagon with Luc. I remember the hypnotic purr of the engine and the radio playing low, or Luc’s humming, because he wrote music since before I can remember. Even when he was dumb and noisy, since he’s the drummer in his band, he still knew how to write music and make it soft and pretty.

He wrote music for his band.

He wrote music for me and Jess;his favorite girls in the whole world,according to him.

He wrote music about stars, teddy bears, love, devotion.

My life comes with a soundtrack written entirely by the band my brother formed with Scotch, Marc, and Angelo.

I remember piano recitals, and strings plucked on a guitar.

But now, while I straddle that awake-asleep line, all I hear are beeps.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“BP is low. Artery was nicked.”

“Want a vascular surgeon in for consult?”

“No. I think she’s okay. Blood flow is good. She didn’t open it all the way up. We’re gonna put it back together ourselves.”

“Laine? Lainie!?”

“Lenaghan! Get him outta here!”

“Baby? No, let me go!”

“Security!”

“Let me in to observe! That’s my family!”

The beeps grow faster. Louder. My big brother is sad, and that’s not what I wanted for him. I was supposed to go to sleep, and my family was supposed to move on.

“You’re not scrubbed up, idiot! Get. Him. Out!”

Beep. Beep. BEEP. BEEP!

“Get him out! Patient’s in distress. We need three units of whole blood. We also need packed cells, platelets, and probably some plasma.”

“Laine!”

That awake-asleep line fades. The sounds of scuffling, arguing, tools clanging, and the incessant beeps dim until I step firmly into sleep.

Much better, and no dreams of Graham.

Dammit. Now I’m thinking of Graham.


Tags: Emilia Finn Checkmate Dark