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Carrie Wilson was seven years old when she decided she wanted to be a musician.
Music had always been apart of her life. From when she was a child, scared of a nightmare, listening to her dad sing her back to sleep while wrapped in the softest blanket he could find, to the same CD that her dad would play while watching the sunset with tears in his eyes, Carrie was no stranger to music. Even her aunt Rose, who taught her and her best friend Julie how to play the piano, even if it was never Carrie’s favorite instrument. Music was Carrie’s first language, it was how she learned to express herself and figure out how she was feeling when the words got jumbled in her throat.
So her childhood became filled with piles of notebooks she collected, filled with lyrics and melodies and the countless nights she spent working on dance routines. Her dad always kept a close eye on her and was always there to force her to take the breaks her body and mind needed, always there to catch her before she collapsed from how much she was pushing herself. It was second nature to him, almost like he had done it before.
And when her friendship with Julie crumbled in her hands, Carrie never really hated her. Not really. How could she hate someone who was practically family? Her dad and aunt Rose had worked desperately to get the girls to talk to each other but there was no use. Julie didn’t want to talk to her and Carrie didn’t even know what to say. And for the first time, Carrie’s music failed her.
She tore through notebooks working on lyrics for song after song but nothing worked. Every cord she played on the pastel pink guitar her dad had gotten her years ago sounded so wrong. She had even sprained her ankle during a dance routine. Everything around her was falling apart and it was only going to get worse.
At fourteen, Carrie had her first experience with death and the grief that came with it. Even with a broken friendship, Julie still fell into her arms at the funeral, Flynn holding her from her other side. The Wilsons stayed in the Molina home for a week after the funeral. Carrie and Flynn both piled onto Julie’s bed with her, holding her through every sleepless, tear-filled night. She still didn’t know what to say, so she stayed quiet, offering Julie the space to sit and cry in silence.
It was during this week that Carrie found out just how much aunt Rose had meant to her dad. She had wandered downstairs to get Julie some water when she noticed that the lights were on from the garage, and her dad wasn’t laying on the couch in the living room. She had found her dad and Ray sitting together on the leather couch, that same CD she was so used to but still knew so little about was playing again, and they were just talking. About Rose and how she was stepped into Bobby’s life the very night he had lost everything.
Carrie knew of the three uncles she never had the chance to meet. Luke and his neverending ocean of passion, Alex and his calming presence that could affect anyone but himself, and Reggie that poured out the love he had never received growing up. Her dad had taken her to their graves only once before decided it was too depressing for her and she didn’t need to be apart of something so heavy when she hadn’t even known the boys. Carrie went back a few times on her own though, just sitting under a tree nearby while trying to imagine who they had been.
After that week, Carrie went back home and after being thanked for her support, Julie was back to wanting nothing to do with her. Carrie didn’t care. She didn’t let herself care. Once again, Carrie Wilson threw herself into her music that was now coming out in waves. Sure most of the songs she wrote for months would never be heard by anyone but her dad, but she was finally writing again and she could feel the pain of losing someone loosen its grip from around her heart.
Watching Julie try and fail to heal was painful but it wasn’t Carrie’s place to try and help her anymore.
Her dad had said that people process grief differently and just because Carrie was able to write out her feelings, it didn’t mean that Julie could. He had slipped and mentioned he had gone through the same thing. For nearly five years after his band’s death, Bobby couldn’t even try to play his guitar without breaking down.
So when a beautiful piano filled the gym followed by Julie’s voice, Carrie couldn’t help the surge of happiness that shot through her. She had always had faith that Julie would overcome her pain and start to heal. What she didn’t understand where the three boys that were standing on the other side of the gym and how in a flash, they appeared on the stage with instruments that hadn’t been there before. There was something about the music, about the one boy’s voice that tugged on something in her heart. So Carrie bolted, pushing her way through the crowd until she was as close to the stage as she could get and that’s when she saw it.
They were splitting images of the boys her dad had lost those twenty-five years ago.
And Carrie could feel the raw emotion coming from all four of them, something that her dad had told her about. The wave of adrenaline and excitement and how easy it was to lose yourself in the music that his band had once made. She didn’t understand how it was happening and she didn’t understand why once the song was over, everyone started asking questions about where they went. The boys were still right there on the stage with Julie. Or, they were but then they were down in the crowd, the boy in the leather jacket dancing on the stairs to the stage, and yet, no one was saying anything.
Kayla asked if they were holograms and Julie jumped at the excuse that everyone seemed to will themselves to believe. What else were they going to do?
Carrie had stopped Julie in the hall, eyes wide and words dying on her lips. What was she even trying to say? What could she say?
“It was nice to hear you sing again.”
That hadn’t been what she wanted to say but it was all she could get out.
It wasn’t fair. She could see how happy those boys had been performing with Julie and somewhere, deep inside her heart, Carrie remembered what it was like to sing with her and Flynn in their bedrooms, how it felt to collapse in a fit of giggles with flushed cheeks and the feeling like that moment was going to exist forever. That must’ve been what her dad felt too. So she let Julie continue with the excuse of holograms and Carrie watched from the sidelines, trying to figure out why those boys never disappeared from her view.