A Song For You, Part 3
She Works Hard for the Money
The bathroom door was open, slightly ajar, light streaming into the room. Adam opened one eye blearily, then came to half-consciousness, wondering. What the hell?
His upside down watch glowed 3:15. In the morning. Adam lifted himself up to his elbows, frowning; he was sure he had closed the bathroom door when he went to bed last night. He was always the last to bed, Kris being one of those people who didn’t really need much to look fresh. Adam, on the other hand, always needed an army of lotions, make-up, nail polish, and what-have-you’s before he considered himself camera-ready. He had needed to wipe the last of his stage make-up last night, a particularly stubborn eye-liner smudge, so it took him well over half an hour, and by the time he had come out of the bathroom, Kris was zonked out on the bed, curled on his side.
Kris.
Adam turned his head, coming fully awake to the realization that his roommate had disappeared. His bed was rumpled, so he was sure he hadn’t dreamed his last vision of him - but where was he?
He sat up, padding softly to the bedroom door. He put his head out slowly, straining to hear. There it was - a soft tinkling of keys. The piano.
The air downstairs was cold, a draft whistling through the slightly open window. Adam paused on the stairs, shivering, listening. Daring to peek out around the wall, he saw Kris bent over the piano, the room’s half-light silhouetting his bare-backed form. He was playing and singing softly to himself, shaking his head this way and that, as if he was trying to converse with the instrument.
With a jolt, Adam recognized the song. Ain’t No Sunshine. Bill Withers.
The song Kris had told him earlier he planned to perform for Top Downloads night.
He was practicing.
Despite the feeling that he was intruding on something private, Adam couldn’t help but watch. He knew Kris battled with his chronic case of shyness, and he wasn’t the most articulate of people, especially when he was flustered (which was most of the time). He was a quiet kind of person, but Adam, being his roommate and now his closest friend, knew that Kris was also amongst the most passionate people he had ever met when it came to music. He was not complete without his music, as he often told Adam. Music, his wife, and God. Not necessarily in that order.
Adam’s heart gave a slight twinge. He remembered how he had smiled at Kris’ little statement, giving nothing away about how he felt on the fact that he was not included in the tidy little list. Stupid, he thought, mentally chastising himself. Of course. You’re just his roommate, his friend. Why, he didn’t even mention his parents or something, and I have to be very much below them, if I had a place at all…
And he continued to watch. Kris had now reached the riff of his song, his back arching off the piano as he strained to catch high notes without being too loud. His lightly muscled body strained, lean and taut, as he breathed his song, sweat pouring off his back.
Then it was done. Kris tinkled the last few bars, then slumped onto the piano, exhausted. He brought his arms up to the baby grand, huddling his face in.
As softly as he had come, Adam tiptoed up the stairs, taking great care not to breathe too loud, which was hard, as he was panting like he had scaled a great height. He had to get away from Kris, away, before he lost himself in his song and his performance and the way his body, oh, his body twisted in the half-light.
Before he lost himself and gave in.
Only when he had himself safely behind their room’s door did Adam realize that he, too, was sweating.