Shy (16 page)

I don't know what to say, but my smile blooms like an unfolding flower. I love the effect Granville has on me.

“Okay.” He gives my forehead a kiss. “Let's get started.”

He familiarizes me with his marvelous digital piano. It allows so much creativity for songwriters, composers, and arrangers. Granville teaches me how to record piano parts on a flash drive, in different audio formats, and he explains the uses and practicalities of each format. After only a couple of hours, I'm more well-versed in recording than I'd ever thought I could be. Granville is a great teacher. I'm feeling warmer and warmer toward him, and not just as my friend. We share so much. I love how he helps me believe in myself, in my talent, and in my capacity to grow and learn.

I thrill to how I can record a piece of piano music—snippets of Bach, Chopin, and Beethoven—and add other sounds to them, such as strings, woodwinds, or even choral voices. I knew such things could be done, of course, but I figured it would take a major recording studio or at least a big-time electronic set-up and a heck of a lot of technical knowledge. Granville has a tremendous amount of technical knowledge, sure, but to do what we're doing today, the most important item is his digital piano with its serious recording capabilities. The piano must cost some serious bucks, but not like a million-dollar recording studio.

“How about we record you playing piano for one of your songs, and we'll play around with extra instrumentation?” Granville says. “Then we'll burn it to CD and sing it on your karaoke machine.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, grinning. Somehow, I'm forgetting to feel shy. The enthusiasm I feel for learning these wonderful new musical skills is trumping my tendencies to feel on the spot, self-conscious, and timid. Of course, a lot of that could have to do with Granville himself. He has a wonderful knack for making me feel appreciated and comfortable.

I choose the grand piano sound for my song, and Granville kisses me again on the forehead. I glow like he's flipped a light switch. I suppose, in a way, he has. I know which song I'll record. “A Little Bit of Home.” He liked it in the practice room, and over the time we've spent in there, he's heard it several times. The lyrics are easy to remember, and I think I can do it justice.

Singing it as a duet with him will be cool, too. After all, I wrote the song with him in mind. It's only fitting.

I flush at the thought and swing my hair over my shoulder, turning it into a curtain between us as I start to play piano for the song. Granville pushes the record button, but I soon get nervous and stumble. Granville rubs my back and says it's okay, that the flash drive has plenty of memory, and that if I want to do a lot of takes, he can simply delete the ones we don't want. We have all day, if we like. His words are comforting, and they set me at ease. After three takes, I have a nice recording of my song on piano.

Since “A Little Bit of Home” is a rock-style song, Granville helps me add an incredibly cool drum beat. I'm stupefied by how it enhances my song. He then changes the sound to a subtle string section, and we add bits of strings to the music. It sounds super cool, and I'm pleased. Then he burns it on the CD and puts the CD into the karaoke machine.

He plugs in the two mics, keeps one, and hands the other to me. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Shyness swells in me, but it can't compete with my excitement. I'm having more fun than I've ever had in my life. And as Jake might say, that's the plain truth.

The intro comes on. Granville and I stand together in front of the karaoke machine and raise our mics, looking at each other. Our gazes feel locked in a warm bond, comprised of everything we've shared and of my appreciation for the time he's taking to teach me, care about me, encourage me.

To love me, maybe?

I flush a bit, just as it comes time to sing. But I'm smiling. I feel great. I'm able to sing the first verse with a fairly strong voice, though it quivers with emotion. But it's more excitement than shyness.

Outside of time we ride

We ride the wind together

And it feels like

A little bit of home

What a rush. What an incredible rush!

Granville joins with me on the chorus. He harmonizes with my melody line. Again, I'm struck by what an outstanding tenor voice he has. Our voices sound great together, bolstering my confidence even more:

Home is in your eyes and in your arms and in your touch

I never would have thought that I could need someone so much

Home is in your eyes and in your arms and in your touch

I never would have thought that I could need someone so much

By the time I get to the second verse, I'm singing with more confidence than I would have thought possible, short of transforming myself into Nikesha Sloane. Granville's eyes glow with happiness and admiration. Our gazes meld together, and I feel so joyful I think I might just bust right out of my human suit:

Come into my warmth

And push me to my limit

Oh, it feels like

A little bit of home

We sing the chorus again, together. When I sing the third verse, I feel like I've blossomed into an entirely new person. It's unlike anything I've felt in my life. I'm sizzling from head to toe with energy and confidence that's similar to the times I have felt confident when alone, but it's so much better and more powerful, because it's shared with another person.

Come with me, my love

To a place we can be free

And there we'll find us

A little bit of Home

Granville and I wrap up the chorus, singing together again. The piano plays a final flourish, the song ends, and we come together in a spontaneous, joyous hug. I can't believe I've done this. Am I still Frannie Forsythe? I have the strong urge to find a mirror, to check. This feels almost surreal, but I know it's real. With everything in me, I know it's real, and I'm still me.

“You were amazing,” Granville says, chuckling softly, wonderingly, cupping both my cheeks with his slim-fingered hands. “You simply blew me away. What energy, what fun. What talent!”

Now that the song is over, I start getting shaky from the excitement and stimulation, but my shyness remains at bay. Granville is chasing away its shadows with all the light he shines on me. He says I'm amazing, but he's the one who's amazing. His kindness and encouragement is like a supernova that drives anything that looks like darkness thousands of light years away.

Sudden tears sting my eyes. “Thank you so much,” I say, hugging him again and burying my face against his shoulder. Jake comes, unbidden, back into my mind, and I think about how I'd be rubbing my face against his chest if it were his arms around me, since he's quite a bit taller than Granville. Then, I come back to the reality of Granville's arms around me, his solid shoulder against my cheek, the warmth and comfort of his presence, and how easy I feel around him. “I've never sung like that before, and certainly not when I've been around another person.”

“I didn't do anything except help you realize what you can do,” he says. “You've had it in you all along. I saw it the first time I met you. You've got star quality.”

Star quality
. I never would have dreamed I'd hear someone use that phrase in connection with me. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” He kisses my cheeks, then my forehead. He gazes into my eyes, and what I see there makes me feel that never, a day in my life, have I ever been Fucked-Up Frannie Forsythe, but rather that I've never been anything but gifted and filled with my own unique potential, that I can bring that gift into the world and express it in my own way, not according to what my mom thinks right, but in a way that works for me, and indeed, that I'm empowered to make it so, that there's never been anything wrong with me, and perhaps at this moment, I'm finally realizing it.

I just hope I can remember it after the post-performance high passes. I know a little bit of this feeling. When I've done well in a competition or a recital, I get a performance high and feel my confidence riding on a better keel. Then it passes. But it's habit, isn't it? I've played piano for competitions and recitals since I was a little kid, and despite my shyness, it became an ingrained habit long ago. If I do this regularly, singing with Granville and then perhaps singing in more public ways, it, too, could become habit. Despite my shyness, I could become consistently confident, consistently good, and consistently sure of myself. No more nerves. No more choking. No more freezing. No more what happened at the Old Grind yesterday.

Did that really happen yesterday? In light of today, it seems as though it happened a hundred years ago.

God, I hope I can hold onto this feeling.

“Granville, this has been the best day of my life,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

“I'm glad,” he says. “But it's you who made it possible, with your talent and your courage.”

He's touched me even more deeply. He understands what an act of courage it is for a very shy person like me to put herself out on the line, share what's in her heart, her passions, skills, and abilities, with other people.

So few people understand shyness. Many think those of us who are shy lack confidence in our abilities, making us frightened to share them or express them publicly. The truth is a lot more complex. Shyness isn't logical. I
do
have faith in my abilities, but my shyness, with its illogical, irrational nature, makes me fear sharing my gifts, even though I know they're good, and under my own psychological pressure, I psych myself out, leading to terrible episodes of messing up, choking, and freezing. It doesn't make sense, but shyness is like any other irrational fear. It's like a person who is irrationally terrified of insects throwing a bowl over a cricket in her living room, and then, in sheer terror, stacking a heavy dictionary on top of the bowl so the cricket can't escape. It's madness.

But it's a madness I've had all my life.

With warmth and kindness, though, with encouragement that never criticizes or judges, I see a light leading me out of the maze.

“You really understand a lot about what it's like to be shy,” I tell Granville. “But you aren't shy.”

“Growing up with Hetty taught me a lot. Shyness is a predisposition that a lot of people are born with. Like you, taking after your dad. Dispositions and personality types run in families. And there isn't anything wrong with being shy. The only problem with shyness is when there's something you want to do that involves getting up in front of people or putting yourself out there in a personal way. It takes more courage for a shy person to do that than it does for a person who isn't shy. Your courage is something to be proud of. Never let anyone tell you differently.”

My eyes fill with tears. “Thank you. It's so rare that someone really understands what it's like, being... shy.” Wow. I've realized something else. The word
shy
isn't hurting me so much. It's always been my worst insult, to hear someone call me shy. Now, it's as though we're talking about any other attribute or characteristic. Just a neutral thing, not a judgment on me for being hopelessly lacking or doomed to be a failure.

He opens his mouth as though to ask me something, then closes it again as though he'd thought better of it.

“What did you want to say?” I ask.

“Has your friend Jake ever given you a hard time over being shy?”

I shake my head. “Oh, no. Never. He's always been very kind to me about it. Like you, he doesn't have a shy bone in his body, but he's not as relaxed and outgoing with people as you are.”

“I got a weird feeling from him yesterday. He seemed like an angry sort of guy.”

“He can be kind of angsty. But he's never been mean to me.” I think about the passionate kiss we shared in his apartment yesterday, and despite feeling so close to Granville, I feel a quiver of longing deep inside for Jake. He confuses me, frustrates me, but he makes my bones feel like melted butter when he touches me.

I can't think about that now. There's a wonderful guy standing right here in front of me, and he isn't filled with tumult and conflict over whether or not he wants me in his life or whether or not he's good enough for me. I don't have to talk him into feeling good enough for me. And oh, the things we can share together! A comfortable, happy relationship filled with mutual interests, no angst over the differences in our family backgrounds.

I like that. I've never held it against Jake that our backgrounds are different. I kind of like it. But Jake doesn't like it, and he's spent years filled with turmoil over it. Maybe I'm ready for a relationship that's considerably more angst-free.

“I've never known anyone like you,” Granville says. “You're what I think of as an old soul. Someone who's wise beyond her years. I'm so glad we met.”

I nod. “Me, too.”

He leans in toward me. One of his hands cups the back of my head, and his other hand smooths my hair away from my face. He kisses my forehead, then he gently nudges my face up to where our gazes meet again. His eyes are filled with warmth and a simmering intensity. He moves closer and brushes my lips with his. Then he kisses me. Softly, gently, as though he's waiting for me to give a signal of approval that I want him to continue. And I do. I soften my lips under his and open them a little. He increases the pressure of his lips on mine, becomes more insistent, though still gentle, and we kiss more deeply, our lips moving together as though we were playing a duet. It's as if we understand each other's rhythm, each other's style, as if we've kissed before. It's hot, sexy, and comfortable all at the same time. The intensity builds for a beat, but then he feathers soft kisses on my cheeks and pulls back.

“I'm sorry about last night,” he says. “I never dreamed Rowan would show up.”

I nod. “It's okay. It isn't your fault. She does have an amazing voice. What, exactly, is her problem, anyway?”

“Not just one problem. Lots of them. She's addicted to prescription drugs, she drinks too much, and she was diagnosed bipolar when she was a senior in high school and got into trouble playing gigs around town. But even though she's addicted to prescription drugs, she won't take the medicine her doctor prescribes for her bipolar disorder. She claims she tried it for a while but says it made her unable to be creative with her singing. I don't know about that—maybe it's true—but she really ought to take her medicine because when she doesn't, she's a mess. She does anything and everything she can to be the center of everybody's attention. And when you showed up as my friend, I guess she thought she had to try to get my attention again.”