Read Online Nashville 2 - Hammer and a Song by Inglath Cooper - Free Book Online
Authors: Inglath Cooper
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lot to choose from. Holden and Thomas agree on a light blue shirt and jeans.
In my room, I stand in front of the mirror and give myself a long hard look. From the corner of my eye, I catch Hank Junior staring at me from his spot on the bed. I shrug at him and say, “You know how I get before I sing. Well, this is like a million times more nervewracking than all the other times put together.”
My sweet dog cocks his head to the right, his long Hound ear lifting like a question mark. “I know all the logical stuff. I’ve sung in front of people before. It’s a waste of energy. You’re right. But I can’t help it.”
I go over to the bed and sit down next to him, rubbing under his chin the way he likes me to. “This could be it, you know. This could be the only shot I get here. What if I’m not ready? I thought I would have all kinds of time to get better before anyone was really looking.”
Hank lifts his head to lick my cheek. I lean over to give him a fierce hug. “I wish you could be there. That would make me feel better.”
Hank rolls over on his side and bats me with one of his big paws as if to say, “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I know,” I agree. “Suck it up, right?”
In the shower, I think about a book I read not too long ago on focus and how it can be the determining factor between people who are good at something and people who are great at something.
I admit it. I want to be great at singing.
I would never say this out loud because I know how it would sound. But deep down inside, I feel like I already am. Intellectually, I know how much growth I have ahead of me. But the depth and breadth and scope of my love for singing is so immeasurable that it feels like the very best part of me. Something that’s good and pure. I’ve actually worried about what would happen to my love for music if I don’t make it here. If I reach a point where I have to admit I’m never going to be able to make a living with my music. Concede defeat.
I haven’t let myself think this very often because it’s really too painful to consider. But I know it happens all the time. Every day in places like this, in L.A. and New York City. Kids who are drawn to the lure of fame, giving the dream everything they have. Only to find that the dream was only that. A dream.
Realizing that my thoughts are not exactly fuel for focus, I drop my head back and let the water pummel my face, beating the negativity out of me. I force myself to look at this as a gift, dropped from above, at random, perhaps, Holden and I the lucky recepients.
Something my pastor had said once in the church Mama and I went to when I was a little girl comes to me then. A gift is a wondrous thing. But it’s the ways in which we share it that can give it wings.
I think about this in light of all the reasons why Holden, Thomas, Sarah, and I are such an unlikely match. And I know that if I let myself think about that for even a second longer, I’m going to waste something I may never be offered again.
And that’s when I decide that no matter what happens on anyone else’s part tonight, I’m going to give this everything I’ve got. If we fail, at least I’ll know I gave it the very best I am currently capable of giving.
AS A GROUP, we clean up pretty well.
We leave the dogs at the apartment and the four of us ride church-pew style out of Nashville central and into the countryside.
Thomas is driving and I’m sitting next to him, Sarah wedged in between Holden and me.
We’re breaking the seat belt law. Holden had insisted he be the one to go without, even though I had argued without success to share one with Thomas. Admittedly, it would have been an interesting position necessary to make that work. Thomas and Holden had both laughed while Sarah merely rolled her eyes.
Once we table the seat belt discussion, we drive the remainder of the way to Case’s house in silence. I think we’re each doing what we need to do to get our best game
In my room, I stand in front of the mirror and give myself a long hard look. From the corner of my eye, I catch Hank Junior staring at me from his spot on the bed. I shrug at him and say, “You know how I get before I sing. Well, this is like a million times more nervewracking than all the other times put together.”
My sweet dog cocks his head to the right, his long Hound ear lifting like a question mark. “I know all the logical stuff. I’ve sung in front of people before. It’s a waste of energy. You’re right. But I can’t help it.”
I go over to the bed and sit down next to him, rubbing under his chin the way he likes me to. “This could be it, you know. This could be the only shot I get here. What if I’m not ready? I thought I would have all kinds of time to get better before anyone was really looking.”
Hank lifts his head to lick my cheek. I lean over to give him a fierce hug. “I wish you could be there. That would make me feel better.”
Hank rolls over on his side and bats me with one of his big paws as if to say, “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I know,” I agree. “Suck it up, right?”
In the shower, I think about a book I read not too long ago on focus and how it can be the determining factor between people who are good at something and people who are great at something.
I admit it. I want to be great at singing.
I would never say this out loud because I know how it would sound. But deep down inside, I feel like I already am. Intellectually, I know how much growth I have ahead of me. But the depth and breadth and scope of my love for singing is so immeasurable that it feels like the very best part of me. Something that’s good and pure. I’ve actually worried about what would happen to my love for music if I don’t make it here. If I reach a point where I have to admit I’m never going to be able to make a living with my music. Concede defeat.
I haven’t let myself think this very often because it’s really too painful to consider. But I know it happens all the time. Every day in places like this, in L.A. and New York City. Kids who are drawn to the lure of fame, giving the dream everything they have. Only to find that the dream was only that. A dream.
Realizing that my thoughts are not exactly fuel for focus, I drop my head back and let the water pummel my face, beating the negativity out of me. I force myself to look at this as a gift, dropped from above, at random, perhaps, Holden and I the lucky recepients.
Something my pastor had said once in the church Mama and I went to when I was a little girl comes to me then. A gift is a wondrous thing. But it’s the ways in which we share it that can give it wings.
I think about this in light of all the reasons why Holden, Thomas, Sarah, and I are such an unlikely match. And I know that if I let myself think about that for even a second longer, I’m going to waste something I may never be offered again.
And that’s when I decide that no matter what happens on anyone else’s part tonight, I’m going to give this everything I’ve got. If we fail, at least I’ll know I gave it the very best I am currently capable of giving.
AS A GROUP, we clean up pretty well.
We leave the dogs at the apartment and the four of us ride church-pew style out of Nashville central and into the countryside.
Thomas is driving and I’m sitting next to him, Sarah wedged in between Holden and me.
We’re breaking the seat belt law. Holden had insisted he be the one to go without, even though I had argued without success to share one with Thomas. Admittedly, it would have been an interesting position necessary to make that work. Thomas and Holden had both laughed while Sarah merely rolled her eyes.
Once we table the seat belt discussion, we drive the remainder of the way to Case’s house in silence. I think we’re each doing what we need to do to get our best game
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