The Songs of Leslie Orange

Leslie awoke. The moonlight crept over her bed in the small Miami hotel on a hot summer night. She wiped the sweat from her forehead.
“Hmm,” she moaned as she did so. It was the third night in a row that she had had a nightmare. Always about the same thing. She sighed as she pulled the covers back. She sat up, over the edge of the bed. The heat of the night had left her only in her underclothing and beneath a sheet from the bed. She rubbed her eyes. She tossed on one of her shirts, which was lying on the nightstand, and got up. She made her way onto the balcony. It wasn’t too high up; she was only on the second floor. She looked out at the ocean the front of the hotel faced. The waves licked the sand. Back and forth. Back and forth. She watched them. The sound was calming to her, which she found strange. She had never seen a beach in her life besides today. She hadn’t even planned on staying overnight, but the string of bad dreams had left her in need of some sleep. She noticed and man and woman on the beach, the waves washing over them as they made love. Leslie closed her eyes as she thought. The images from her dream came flooding back.

Leslie stood in the rain. A boy she did not know stood next to her, his arm around her. She looked at the body in the street.

Leslie’s phone rang. Her eyes shot open. The images faded away. She saw the couple was still on the beach, writhing in passion. She turned away. She saw that it was three in the morning. She grabbed the hotel room phone.
“Hello?” She said. The voice on the other side sounded familiar. The lady at the head desk.
“Hello, this is Elaine at the front desk,” Elaine said, “Sorry to bother you Miss Orange, but you called earlier about your air conditioning,” she said. Leslie nodded. She actually called a few hours ago.
“Yes, I did indeed call,” Leslie said.
“Sorry to call you at this hour,” Elaine said, “but I wanted to know if you wanted it fixed now. The repairman has just arrived and is willing to fix it. He apologizes for coming this late.” Leslie looked the around room. She lived out of her backpack, so there wasn’t any mess. The room was spotless.
“Sure, send him up,” she said. She hung up the phone. She grabbed her jeans and pulled them, then pulled some flip flops out of her backpack. She sat on her bed again. Closing her eyes, she saw the scene from her dream in front of her.

The sky was grey with rain clouds. A body lay half in the street, half on the sidewalk. The boy next to her looked at the scene like she did, but there was a distance in his eyes. She stared with her mouth open. A police officer walked up to her.
“Leslie Orange?” He asked.

Her eyes drifted open. Where was this coming from? Was this some sort of message? Leslie wasn’t use to such dark dreams. Besides the last few nights, the worst dream she had ever had was a dream where her guitar was smash beyond repair. She loved her guitar. She closed her eyes again.

“Yes?” Leslie said. The officer had a sad look on his face. Leslie began to wonder where she was. Judging on the body, she assumed she was in Virginia. She glanced at it again. Shattered glass surrounded him. The officer spoke before she could gather anything else.
“We got a call, about fifteen minutes ago,” he started, “An elderly woman in the room below his called us.” Leslie nodded as the officer spoke. She felt it was all she could do. “Are you okay?” He asked. Leslie. She shook her head.

Leslie opened her eyes again. She didn’t realize she was breathing heavily. She saw her guitar in the corner of her eye. It just sat there, blending in with everything else in the dark room. Leslie’s mind began making a song. She couldn’t really help it; it was always making up a song.
“Behind the scratched plastic,” Leslie said. She started to hum. “Behind the scratched plastic,” she said again. She closed her eyes again, and could see the dark plastic.

“He jumped,” the officer said. Leslie shook her head and tears began to slide down her cheeks. The boy next to her held her tightly as she sobbed.

Leslie began to cry. She hoped this dream didn’t mean anything. She hoped her brother was still alive. She hoped that he hadn’t taken his life.

Leslie stared at her brother as she cried. His black sunglasses scraped by the concrete. She wondered if he could hear her. She screamed his named. He didn’t respond. The boy held her closer. The officer started to move her towards his car to be taken to the station. She wondered if her brother could see her. Behind the scratched plastic.

Leslie wiped her face off with her hand. Without thinking, she grabbed her guitar, pulled her pick out of her back pocket, and started strumming the first thing that came to her mind. The sound was a slow and sad one, but she welcomed it. She had to get these feelings out.

Scratched plastic
Oh, the eyes,
The eyes and the lies
Behind the scratched plastic

Listen to what he says
Listen to what he talks about
Listen to the sound
The sound of pain and regret

Behind the scratched plastic
Behind the scratched plastic

The rain is falling down
You see my tear-soaked frown
Oh, they move so fast
So fast

His life washes down the drain
Taking away his pain
Mine grows with every minute
Make it stop

Behind the scratched plastic
Behind the scratched plastic
Behind the scratched plastic
Behind the scratched plastic

But you can’t tell
You can’t see my pain
It’s hidden by the noise
It’s hidden by the rain

The thief says not a word
He’s cracked our little world
He took “me” to the grave
And now I’m dead

Behind the scratched plastic
Behind the scratched plastic
Behind the scratched plastic
Behind the scratched plastic

There was a knock on the door. Leslie wiped more tears from her face.
“Repairman,” a voice said. Leslie sighed.
“Be right there,” she said. She placed her guitar down.