The Songs of Leslie Orange
Press to Record
Leslie Orange walked down the sidewalk in a suburb in a small Florida town. She passed by dozens and dozens of houses, some with families playing outside, some with dogs and their owners, and some in need of a good mowing. There was a thundering sound above Leslie. It was hurricane season in Florida, and it always rained a lot during hurricane season. She seemed unfazed. She wasn’t even sure where she was going. At least, she didn’t, until she saw an open garage door and a teenage boy with a guitar in his lap in the garage. It looked exactly like hers. She crossed the street, and walked up the boy’s driveway. The yard around his house was in horrible shape. She thought this was ironic, after she noticed two lawnmowers in his garage. He looked up as soon as he heard her flip flops flopping. She just stood, looking into his eyes. He did the same to her.
“Hi,” she said. The boy’s expression didn’t change.
“Hello,” he said, almost robotically. Leslie continued looking into his eyes. He had very nice eyes. She took off her backpack and placed her guitar case on the ground. She found a chair and pulled it up next to him.
“My name is Leslie,” she said. She offered her hand. He grabbed it and shook it without hesitation.
“My name is Aleksandr,” Aleksandr said. He balanced a notebook on one knee. Leslie glanced at it.
“Are you a songwriter?” She asked. Aleksandr closed the notebook.
“No, I’m just a writer,” he said, “I was just writing a story.” Leslie nodded.
“What’s it about?” Leslie asked.
“It’s about this girl who travels a lot, and sings songs, and goes where the wind takes her,” Aleksandr said. Leslie nodded.
“Sounds cool,” she said, “how many chapters have you written?” Aleksandr thought for a second.
“Five, but there are seven altogether,” he said, “I posted it on a website, and a few of my friends have submitted chapters too.” Leslie nodded. Aleksandr began picking the strings on his guitar, tuning as he went along. Leslie watched him.
“May I ask what kind of guitar that is?” Leslie asked. Aleksandr smiled.
“It’s an Epiphone,” he responded, “an AJ-100.” Leslie smiled.
“I have one of those too,” she said. Aleksandr nodded and continued tuning. Les watched for a few more minutes before she pulled out her own guitar. Aleksandr seemed to finish tuning before she got into position.
“Do you want to play something?” He asked. Leslie was glad to hear him ask. He wasn’t much if a talker. She nodded and strummed her guitar. A string snapped, and slapped her in the face.
“Ouch!” Leslie cried. Aleksandr’s mouth dropped.
“Are you okay?” He asked immediately. Leslie sighed and nodded.
“I’m fine,” she responded, “Do you have any spare strings?” Aleksandr shook his head.
“No, no I don’t,” he said. Leslie frowned.
“Aw, how am I supposed to play now?” She asked no one. Aleksandr offered his guitar.
“You can use mine,” he said. Leslie declined it.
“If I take yours, what are you going to use?” She asked. Aleksandr thought it over.
“Come with me,” he said.
Leslie and Aleksandr stood in Aleksandr’s brother’s room. In the corner sat a dusty drum set. Leslie raised an eyebrow.
“Cool,” she said simply. Aleksandr nodded.
“I’m not too good on the drums, but I can produce some noise-rock is need be,” he said grinning. Leslie laughed lightly.
“Perfect,” she said, “let’s get started then.” Aleksandr took a seat behind the drums. Leslie sat on his brother’s bed and positioned the guitar on her lap. She strummed a bit before playing. Aleksandr waited. He had to see how he should play along with her. Her strumming was quiet and soft. He began playing a simple beat, more concerned with listening to her than actually playing. She began to sing.
The memories
Sweep across our mind
And now we’re
Lost in time
And press to record
Press to record
The sandy beach
Beneath my feet
The towels are
Nice and neat
I saw you there
In the ocean
And you saw me
Staring in motion
And press to record
Press to record
Fast forward three weeks
At the Midnight Dive
You and I pull in
After a nine hour drive
You look at me
And I look at you
The waves lapped the shore
But we ignored the view
And press to record
Press to record
Now it’s been a year
And we live together
But we’re a boat in the ocean
And overhead is stormy weather
The lighting rips us apart
And we’re lost to the waves
You storm out late one night
And we’ve sunk to our watery graves
So press to record
Press to record
So press to record
The sun and the sea
And the moments when
You were still in love with me
Now press and record
Press and record
Aleksandr raised an eyebrow as she finished. Leslie smiled and placed his guitar in the bed.
“It’s getting dark outside,” she said, “I should be going.”
Aleksandr waved as Leslie left. She walked at a steady pace down the street, into the night that swallowed the neighborhood. Aleksandr was curious about this random girl who happened to wander into his garage. He had a feeling, but he knew that it was impossible. He continued to watch her and think it over. No, it wasn’t. His writing hadn’t come to life. He shrugged it off and closed his garage door.
“Hi,” she said. The boy’s expression didn’t change.
“Hello,” he said, almost robotically. Leslie continued looking into his eyes. He had very nice eyes. She took off her backpack and placed her guitar case on the ground. She found a chair and pulled it up next to him.
“My name is Leslie,” she said. She offered her hand. He grabbed it and shook it without hesitation.
“My name is Aleksandr,” Aleksandr said. He balanced a notebook on one knee. Leslie glanced at it.
“Are you a songwriter?” She asked. Aleksandr closed the notebook.
“No, I’m just a writer,” he said, “I was just writing a story.” Leslie nodded.
“What’s it about?” Leslie asked.
“It’s about this girl who travels a lot, and sings songs, and goes where the wind takes her,” Aleksandr said. Leslie nodded.
“Sounds cool,” she said, “how many chapters have you written?” Aleksandr thought for a second.
“Five, but there are seven altogether,” he said, “I posted it on a website, and a few of my friends have submitted chapters too.” Leslie nodded. Aleksandr began picking the strings on his guitar, tuning as he went along. Leslie watched him.
“May I ask what kind of guitar that is?” Leslie asked. Aleksandr smiled.
“It’s an Epiphone,” he responded, “an AJ-100.” Leslie smiled.
“I have one of those too,” she said. Aleksandr nodded and continued tuning. Les watched for a few more minutes before she pulled out her own guitar. Aleksandr seemed to finish tuning before she got into position.
“Do you want to play something?” He asked. Leslie was glad to hear him ask. He wasn’t much if a talker. She nodded and strummed her guitar. A string snapped, and slapped her in the face.
“Ouch!” Leslie cried. Aleksandr’s mouth dropped.
“Are you okay?” He asked immediately. Leslie sighed and nodded.
“I’m fine,” she responded, “Do you have any spare strings?” Aleksandr shook his head.
“No, no I don’t,” he said. Leslie frowned.
“Aw, how am I supposed to play now?” She asked no one. Aleksandr offered his guitar.
“You can use mine,” he said. Leslie declined it.
“If I take yours, what are you going to use?” She asked. Aleksandr thought it over.
“Come with me,” he said.
Leslie and Aleksandr stood in Aleksandr’s brother’s room. In the corner sat a dusty drum set. Leslie raised an eyebrow.
“Cool,” she said simply. Aleksandr nodded.
“I’m not too good on the drums, but I can produce some noise-rock is need be,” he said grinning. Leslie laughed lightly.
“Perfect,” she said, “let’s get started then.” Aleksandr took a seat behind the drums. Leslie sat on his brother’s bed and positioned the guitar on her lap. She strummed a bit before playing. Aleksandr waited. He had to see how he should play along with her. Her strumming was quiet and soft. He began playing a simple beat, more concerned with listening to her than actually playing. She began to sing.
The memories
Sweep across our mind
And now we’re
Lost in time
And press to record
Press to record
The sandy beach
Beneath my feet
The towels are
Nice and neat
I saw you there
In the ocean
And you saw me
Staring in motion
And press to record
Press to record
Fast forward three weeks
At the Midnight Dive
You and I pull in
After a nine hour drive
You look at me
And I look at you
The waves lapped the shore
But we ignored the view
And press to record
Press to record
Now it’s been a year
And we live together
But we’re a boat in the ocean
And overhead is stormy weather
The lighting rips us apart
And we’re lost to the waves
You storm out late one night
And we’ve sunk to our watery graves
So press to record
Press to record
So press to record
The sun and the sea
And the moments when
You were still in love with me
Now press and record
Press and record
Aleksandr raised an eyebrow as she finished. Leslie smiled and placed his guitar in the bed.
“It’s getting dark outside,” she said, “I should be going.”
Aleksandr waved as Leslie left. She walked at a steady pace down the street, into the night that swallowed the neighborhood. Aleksandr was curious about this random girl who happened to wander into his garage. He had a feeling, but he knew that it was impossible. He continued to watch her and think it over. No, it wasn’t. His writing hadn’t come to life. He shrugged it off and closed his garage door.