Page 28 of Your Play to Call
Tripp’s schedule is always packed. It could be that mine feels light since I’m getting back into album mode, it feels that way. We haven’t been successful in making plans. It makes me wonder if he’s into me the way I’m into him. The idea of chasing someone who doesn’t want me flips my stomach.
tomorrow night? I’ll move things
I’ll be around :)
I don’t let on how excited I am. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s to keep your cards close. I don’t lay them down unless I like my odds to win.
As I browse the racks, I'm struck by the sheer variety of the designs. There are classic styles that exude elegance and sophistication, as well as more daring pieces that hint at a sense of adventure and allure. Every garment seems to tell a story, each stitch a line and every detail a twist.
It kind of reminds me of music. Every word, beat, instrument a piece of the story. Honestly, it makes me think of why I wanted to get into music in the first place. I wanted to tell stories. I’d spend my days daydreaming before putting pen to paper—getting lost in an empty notebook was an ideal way to spend free time.
Once I figured out I could sing, it was over. I remember putting on little skits and shows for my parents and since I didn’t have any siblings, it was always the three of us in the living room. The day I sang a song I wrote, I’ll never forget my mom’s reaction.
“Willow Jo. Where did you learn to do that?” Two little tears slid down her face.
“Holy shit,” my dad says.
“Alan!” My mom hits him with a couch pillow. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Kath. Did you hear her?!”
“Of course, I heard her.” My parents always got along. They sometimes bickered but always made up before things got out of hand.
“I don’t know. I just tried to do it. Wrote a song and tried to sing it.”
“You wrote that?!” My mom lightly takes the paper out of my hand, looking at my scribbled lyrics.
I nod and my cheeks turn pink.
“Honey, this is lovely. Do you want to try singing or music lessons?”
And that was it. Everything was music after that. My parents never pushed me but always gave me a chance to try new things. Ultimately, I landed on learning the guitar and the piano.
“Tell me this stuff isn’t gorgeous,” Emilie interrupts my thoughts while her friend stands next to her.
“It’s all beautiful. I can’t get over the intricate details.” I’m holding a few pieces in my size.
“Let me wrap those up for you,” the shop owner says. I feel like she’s going to try and give them to me for free.
“Thank you but you are not giving these to me. I’m paying full price.” I follow her to the register.
Emilie and I areat dinner. She picked a Thai spot I could never get sick of. We order a bunch of dishes to share and I’m already drooling about the leftovers we haven’t even eaten yet.
“That didnothappen to you.” I try to cover my mouth before my laugh disrupts the whole restaurant.
“It totally did. I thought I was showing up for an assistant interview. They thought I was there for the backup dancer audition.”
“So, they handed you a black sports bra and spandex shorts and you did what?”
“I put them on and spent the next three hours pretending I knew what I was doing,” she says like that was the only logical option.
“Why didn’t you tell them you got it wrong?” I can barely get the words out.
“I was nineteen! It was one of my first big opportunities. I had zero backbone then.”
“Are you a good dancer? Did you get picked?!” I ask, eyebrows raised, trying not to laugh.
“Willow. Do you think I got picked for one of the largest rap and r&b tours to date? I did hold my own but no. No, I didn’t.”