Page 103 of AMS.TER.strum

But can always scorch your heart

That asks why we’re not together.

Eyes proud of the man I’ve become,

Of my string strokes that mend aching hearts

Asking how can mine mend,

When waiting for what will never come?

But tonight, different eyes are taking me in

Bursting with love gone and found again,

In three smiles, lips singing their song

Their voices joining the ones that are gone.

These eyes, these smiles right in front of me

Mending by just looking, filling the hollow

Blend with those faces I’ve been seeking

Wherever they go, I’ll follow.

Now my whole world is three sets of eyes.

Theirs.

There’s silence after the last note fades in the dark, broken only by a few sniffles, while the lit-up screens are starting to switch off. I swallow hard, press my thumb and index against the inner corners of my eyes and swear that I can see those two smiles, my parents sitting together, looking at me with overflowing eyes. Then the claps and cheers and whistling explode, as I barely whisper, ‘Thank you.’

To them, to the audience, to Corrie and the kids who I know are holding their breath.

‘Thank you all. That was…you are wonderful. There’s one more song, and I know that at least two little people here tonight can’t wait to listen to it.’

‘Our boots!’

Everyone laughs when Otto’s voice pops in the silence, right before I start strumming and singing. Soft voices joined in one fill the rooftop as the crowd sings under the star-dusted sky. I remember the first time I held two little bundles six years ago. How my heart got hooked, after my life changed forever when I heard that whistling that was calling me home.

‘Totally fried,’ Corrie says, as we leave the guest room, converted into the kids’ room. ‘I wonder what time they’ll get up tomorrow.’

‘They’ve got the rest of the holidays to recover. How are you doing, by the way?’

Corrie stifles a yawn. ‘Slowly starting to decompress.’

She heads for the couch, but my arms have this constant urge to hug her now that she’s here, wanting to make up for the weeks we lost while being apart. Time slows as she nestles against my body, and we stay there in the dim light of my living room, above Nashville’s streets, our breaths the only sound breaking the quiet. I bury my face in her hair like an addict, that scent of baby powder making me want more of her.

She laughs softly when I murmur, ‘I can help with decompressing.’

My hands brush against her back, fingers plunging into her hair, tips pressing lightly against her scalp. Her soft hum vibrates against my chest. When I move to the back of her neck, my lips refusing to leave their spot, the hum turns into a moan, barely a breath. But then I slide lower, feeling my way down her back, pressure met with her pushing closer, encouraging me to keep going.

Corrie’s hands languidly mimic my move, her hot breath against my body fanning the want slowly burning since I saw the three of them at the airport

‘Not having touched you for so long physically hurt,’ she whispers the thought in my head when I cup her butt and push her against my pelvis, the feel of my throbbing erection making her gasp.

I walk back towards the couch, lower my body and bring her to straddle me. The long skirt of her floral wrap dress lifts as she sits on my lap, eyes glued on mine, pebbled nipples responding to the touch of my thumbs. Silky strands of hair spill on my shoulders as she leans to kiss me. Her soft lips barely touch mine as her tongue goes for a playful taste, then retreats. I’m dying to be inside her, but I just want this moment prolonged, almost unconvinced that my wish has come true.