June 8
Andi awoke slowly, her head pounding. She reached for her antique alarm clock, but instead of brushing its worn surface, her fingers smacked smartly into the wall.
“Ouch!” she muttered. What’s the deal? I don’t remember the wall being here!
As her eyes slowly opened and focused on her surroundings, she remembered once again where she was: at the Pad, her new home. My new home. After almost a month you’d think I’d remember.
Across the room Mike stirred restlessly, mumbling something that Andi couldn’t understand--and didn’t want to. She sat up and looked at the clock that sat on his bedside table.
6:33 AM. Andi stared at the display. This is earlier than even I usually get up.
She pushed back the covers of her bed and stood. She silently crept around her bed, retrieving her black pants and black sleeveless shirt from the bedpost. Casting a cautious eye upon her sleeping roommates, she disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later she emerged, pausing long enough to grab her shoes and jacket. She made it to the door and slipped out, never making a sound.
She tiptoed across the living room, afraid to disturb the peaceful silence of the early morning, and slipped out the back door. The sea air was cold and stung her face, but Andi was warmer than she had been in years. She descended the stairs two at a time and loped across the deserted beach. She fell to her knees at the water’s edge and splashed some on her face. It was bitterly cold, but it washed away any traces of sleep that might have been left in her dark eyes.
She quickly shed her jacket and winced as the cold air hit her bare arms. As she had every morning for almost ten years, she began flexing and moving her long limbs in a flurry of deadly attacks.
~*~
Mike awoke to the all-too-familiar sound of Micky bounding out of bed and pounding across the floor. He scowled to himself as Micky disappeared into the bathroom. After a few seconds that infuriating mop of curly hair popped through the door.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Well, you did now,” Mike grumbled, tossing his covers aside. “If you ever manage to get up without soundin’ like a herd of elephants I’ll die of shock.”
He looked across the room, opening his mouth to greet Andi, who surely would have been awakened by the elephantine drummer, but her bed was empty.
“Where’s Andi?”
Micky stuck his head out of the bathroom door and shrugged. “I don’t know. She did come to bed last night, right?”
Mike shrugged. “Yeah, but . . . I guess she already got up.” He was disappointed. She usually waited for him to get up.
He sighed. Oh, well . . .
~*~
Half an hour later he and Micky descended to the living room--Mike walking, Micky sliding. Peter was in the kitchen, busy making breakfast and humming cheerfully to no one in particular.
“Morning, guys!” he said with a broad smile. “Where’s Andi?”
“I don’t know,” Mike said. “When Noisy over here woke me up she was gone.”
Peter looked worried. “Where would she go?”
Micky sat down at the table with a cup of coffee. “Listen, man, don’t worry. Andi’s a
big girl. She can take care of herself--in more ways than one.”
No one had to elaborate on that. The image of Andi, clad in shining silver armor, a flaming arrow nocked to her bow, her face as cold as stone, was not something any of them could ever forget.
Davy staggered out of the downstairs bedroom, barely acknowledging them as he groped blindly for the coffee.
“Late night last night, huh?” Micky asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Davy nodded silently. Date #4274 had lasted until the wee hours of the morning.
The back door breezed open and Andi sauntered in. Her long hair streamed behind her and her face gleamed with a combination of sweat and excitement.
“Mornin’, boys,” she said. “Sorry I cut out on you like that, but old habits are very hard to break.”
“Habits?” Peter asked, looking characteristically confused.
“Yeah. I usually work out in the morning. Been kinda negligent about that lately. Don’t worry if you wake up in the morning and I’m not here.”
“Just as long as you come back,” Mike said, one side of his mouth quirking into a silly grin.
“Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” she purred, winking at him. She reached for the orange juice and paused, fixing them with a very evil grin.
“Actually, I think you should worry. I’m the one who pays the bills around here.” She ducked Peter’s thrown dishtowel with a chuckle.
~*~
After breakfast Mike took Andi by the arm and led her over to the bandstand.
“What is this?” she said, watching them all take up their respective instruments.
Mike just shook his head enigmatically, and the others all looked like they were about to burst out laughing.
“It’s a surprise,” was all Mike would say. Andi raised an eyebrow as she took her customary spot in one of the armchairs facing them.
He counted them off. The song started with a simple nine-note progression, repeated three times, and then he began to sing:
She looked at me,
And the emptiness in her eyes was cruel to see
Then she turned away and said “Once I loved but love is dead”
And I whispered “Sometimes love is only sleeping”
She said “I cannot cry, and I cannot give or feel or even try”
And her voice was hard and cold
Then her sweet young face looked old
And I whispered “Sometimes love is only sleeping”
Through the endless days and nights she could not help but wrap herself in sorrow
Through the endless days and nights we waited for a shining new tomorrow
Love was sleeping, sleeping
She looked at me
And her smiling tears feel warm and sweet and free
And the moonlight kissed her eyes
As it mingled with our sighs
And she whispered “Sometimes love is only sleeping”
And she whispered “Sometimes love is only sleeping”
Only sleeping, only sleeping, only sleeping . . .
As his voice--singing at an unusually high pitch--faded away, Andi just sat, stunned. They all looked at her expectantly, and she cleared her throat nervously.
“What . . . what do you call it?”
“Love Is Only Sleeping.”
Andi was shaking slightly as she pulled her long legs up under her.
“Andi? Is something wrong?” Peter asked.
“No, it’s just . . . a surprise . . . that’s all.” She smiled warmly. “And it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah! High praise!” Micky laughed.
Mike carefully put down his guitar and came over to sit beside her. “You don’t like it,” he said quietly.
“No! It’s just . . . unexpected. It brings up some feelings that I’m still coming to grips with.”
No one had to ask for elaboration on that. Andi had been a truly lonely person with years of accumulated pain when they met her. She had told Mike that she had no more tears to shed, that she had cried them all. “Sometimes love is only sleeping” was something Mike had whispered in her ear the night she had fallen in love with him.
“Did I really look old?” she asked Mike sternly.
“Not physically. But all the stuff you went through made you seem older.”
“Oh. So I don’t have to hurt you after all.” Her attempt to lighten the situation failed miserably.
A few minutes of awkward silence passed before Andi stood up. “Okay, boys, we’ll have none of this today. I’m in too good a mood. I forgot my jacket on the beach. When I get back I expect to see some smiles.” She paused by the back door, turning to face her friends.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
~*~
She returned to the beach, her thoughts still reeling. On the one hand she was very flattered that Mike had written a song about her, but the feelings it brought up were still the source of some pain for her.
She picked up her jacket and was brushing the sand off of it when several shadows fell over her. She turned to see five fairly unfriendly-looking men staring at her. Instantly the hairs on her neck raised, and her muscles tensed.
With no preamble they pounced. With no horse, no weapons, and no armor, Andi listened to her instincts and screamed.
On to Chapter Three
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