PARALLEL LINES:
THE BALLAD OF
CRAIG & STEPHANIE
PART ONE (2nd section)
That
fall, Craig and Stephanie adopted silly on-air handles (“Sergeant Stephanie and
Colonel Craig”—upgraded from “Captain Craig” upon Stephanie’s arrival-her idea)
and an ironically self-deprecating title (“Road To Nowhere”). They divided
their three hour shift into a somewhat equal number of music sets, whose lengths
depended on nothing more than how many songs they chose to play on a given
program. In between, since there was no advertising, Craig and Stephanie jumped
head first into their on-air banter, filled with cackles, entertainment gossip,
movie reviews and the like. All of their antics may have been entertaining only
to themselves but such was the artistic purpose of student radio and besides,
as Stephanie joked on nearly every show, “I know no one is listening!”
The musical tastes of Craig and Stephanie
interlocked very well yet there were some profound differences. Stephanie liked
her music to be more straightforward and direct. She had no time for the more
pretentious nature of rock and roll, which included concept albums, side-long
epics, lengthy solos, all of which Craig adored. If it just couldn’t be said in
five minutes or less, Stephanie became extremely skeptical. Craig, on the other
hand, was into music for music’s sake. Aside from country music (“Too much twang!”)
and rap (“All that fake posturing to mechanical beats and no fucking musicians!”), he tended to be quite
musically open minded and he would eventually change his mind about musical
forms he previously ignored (Public Enemy’s “Fear Of A Black Planet” ultimately
resonated deeply) . He loved music’s potential. He loved its’ omnipotence. That
it could encompass all that Stephanie loved about it plus so much more than
either of the two of them could even conceptualize. With that, Craig’s favorite
music was always bound by the instrumentation that inspired, strong melodies
and admittedly, he was a sucker for great background vocals, “ooohing” and “aaahing”
straight from the vinyl directly into his heart. It was not unusual for Craig
to be awed by some piece of music, race over to Stephanie’s Adams Hall dorm
room to tell her all about it just to have her dismiss it as if it were an
afterthought. Sometimes Craig let Stephanie’s reaction roll off his shoulders
and figured that she just didn’t “get it.” Other times, however, her comments
stung and deeply. Sometimes, it felt so personal that it was as if Craig wrote
the songs himself. He just wanted her to either like it or not say anything at
all. The approaching moment on Craig’s cassette was one of those times.
The song was “Silver, Blue and Gold” by
Bad Company. Craig found it by chance in the vinyl stacks as Stephanie
continued to play her set of music. On this recorded evening, there was an
unspoken tension in the air and as Craig listened on his headphones, he
couldn’t (or perhaps, wouldn’t) remember the circumstances of this night. Yet,
once he heard the melancholy piano based opening and the first bars of Paul
Rodgers’ vocals, performed in a tone only lovestruck boys could understand, he
could feel the edge of that night returning to him—and, for some reason, he
kept listening.
Before he began his set of music, it had
been an off night for Craig and Stephanie’s radio show. There had been some
flat conversations and missed musical cues. In fact, it had been one of their
off weeks personally. It was a combination of things, really. The semester
pressures for the both of them, simmering within the soup of collegiate
tensions, gave them no assistance with their relationship and they dealt with
those pressures very differently. Craig liked to talk things out. While it
could be seen as neurotic, Craig needed to talk out his issues as a way of
trying to get his brain to sort out and compartmentalize his tasks and duties
into a way where it would make sense to him. He needed to vent, to verbally
blow off steam and to have Stephanie offer advice and comfort to him, which she
just could not always do. Stephanie, on the other hand, became reticent. She
felt that all the talk in the world would not get the work completed any better
or quicker, so why waste the time talking when one could be doing?! Just put your head down and get
on with it! Admittedly, Craig’s attitude and stresses during these period were
annoying to Stephanie. But, being Craig’s best friend, she tried to keep her
irritation quiet and redirect Craig’s energies. She tried to add levity by
sending him funny messages through campus mail to which Craig was too stressed
out to appreciate and accept, which in turn would irritate Stephanie even more.
It felt as if no matter what she did for him, Craig just needed to be miserable for a while and that was something Stephanie
had no time for, best friend or not. Stephanie Deavitt was a senior and the
calling of the real world was giving her her own sense of anxiety to deal with
and at times, the pressures of college that she had already lived through
didn’t mean much when faced with the unknown of post-collegiate life.
During this particular week and a half
period, Craig had two term papers to complete within a day of each other for
English and Comparative Literature. He also had a midterm presentation to
prepare for his speech class (a requirement of the Communication Arts major and
a source of anxiety for most students). The assignments couldn’t have fallen at
a worse time. If he only had just a hair of space to breathe, he would’ve felt
better about it. But, here was yet another mountain to scale and not much time
to get to the peak. So, he talked about his troubles and complained the
pressures of time to Stephanie during their nightly visits to The Shed for
snacks. Stephanie consoled, joked and offered advice to which Craig predictably
continued on his worrisome path which predictably made Stephanie frustrated and
eventually angry.
One afternoon, after returning from her
Chaucer lecture, Stephanie entered the Tripp/Adams Gatehouse and saw that she
received a letter from Craig through campus mail. She returned to her room in
Noyes House and read. The letter was a sigh of relief from Craig. While it did
thank Stephanie for being the friend that she is, it mostly detailed the sudden
burst of creativity and energy he received while holed up in the Tripp Hall
laundry room. In the time it took to do his weekly wash, he had written a
whopping 12 page English paper and was now halfway through his Comp Lit essay.
This breakthrough would undoubtedly give him ample time to spend on his speech
project and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to take in a movie at Focus
Films that evening and would she like to go with him. Now, one would think that
this would be something to celebrate and perhaps Stephanie would call Craig,
congratulate him and accept his offer to take in a movie. On the contrary, it
made Stephanie furious. To her, the letter smacked of being self-congratulatory
and inconsiderate to astonishing degree. “Give
this guy a bloody medal!”, Stephanie thought to herself. “All that whining and carrying on and then,
magically he saves the world through his eloquent words. Ugh!”
Stephanie loved Craig. He was her best
friend. But, this was an aspect of Craig she found difficult to tolerate. His
somewhat subtle tendency for the dramatic. His sickly tortured artist pose. The
dark cloud he willingly placed so firmly over his head and gladly kept there long
past an acceptable period. Sometimes, Stephanie wanted to take the heart on
Craig’s sleeve and shove it up his overly melancholic ass. She had been quiet
long enough and now, she had to release her own energy. And she did so…in an
acid drenched letter through campus mail.
Dear
Craig,
I will warn you from the start
that you will not like this letter. In fact, you may hate it and at this stage,
your predilliction and obsessive attentiveness to your own feelings is moot
because I have simply had enough. Before you try to call me or race over here
to work things out or plead your case or Good Lord, tell me your
precious feelings, know that I am not available for you and I will not be here
this weekend for the show. You’re on your own this week, Craig. I just don’t have the composure to
realistically sit and watch your pained facial expressions. God Craig! I can
just never tell you anything without you fearing the absolute worst for
yourself and our friendship and I am so sick of it. It should be fine for me to
be angry with you once in a while. It should be fine. Because you have to
understand something crucially important to these years of your life. There is
NO EXCLUSIVITY to the college experience. More specifically, the college
experience is not exclusive to YOU! Didn’t it ever occur to you that perhaps,
just maybe, I had my own pressures to deal with? Didn’t it ever cross your mind
that I am graduating this year and I have no idea as to what I will be doing
with myself? Of course you wouldn’t. I haven’t talked about that. Hasn’t it
occurred to you that I almost never talk about my assignments or exams or what
I have due and when? I tend not to talk about those things Craig, because
talking won’t get anything completed any faster or better or at all and for the
last week or so, I have had to sit through this maelstrom of self-absorbed,
narcissistic pap which you now want me to congratulate you for since you have
had your tremendous artistic breakthrough and produced a Faulkner novel’s worth
of words. I’ll notify the Mayor and ensure a street parade in your honor is
scheduled immediately. I’m sorry if this is too harsh for you, Craig but I felt
that this time, I had to be.
Stephanie
Craig loved Stephanie. She was his best
friend. Yet, on this early Friday evening in Botkin House, Craig read
Stephanie’s letter and wanted to rip it and her into the tiniest of pieces.
This was just like Stephanie to do this, Craig fumed to himself. He read
Stephanie’s letter over and over before detailing its’ contents to Jon. What
Craig found so distasteful was Stephanie’s methods of which this was not the
first he had been a recipient. The eloquence of her dagger edged words hurled
at him in the most cowardly fashion. Why could she not just have it out with
him in person? Or better yet, why couldn’t she have said something to him
sooner? Did she think him to be that fragile?
So unable to take criticism of any kind that she sat onto her precious emotions, stewed and simmered until coming to a full
boil?!
As Craig furiously pondered and re-read
his letter, his roommate Jon returned from a Friday afternoon’s labor in a
chemistry lab washing out test tubes and his bi-monthly trek to the State Street
“Where the fuck does she get off, Jon?!”
Craig shouted. “It’s just like her to start a fight, completely on her terms,
no less and then, just take off without even giving me a chance to have my say.
So, I just have to sit around and wait for her to get back and wait for her to
sanction a fucking meeting or some such shit?!”
Automatically, Jon knew that Craig had yet
another blowout with Stephanie. “Did she make you cry? Make you break down? Shatter
your illusions of love?” Jon inquired via precious Stevie Nicks lyrics.
“I don’t want to know,” Craig answered,
offering another “Rumours” era lyric as response.
“Maybe you should pick up the pieces and
go home,” Jon sagely consoled through another Nicks lyric.
“Jon, I just don’t get her.” Craig paused
and then stated with mock indignation, “You know that this is all your fault!”
“What?!” Jon answered incredulously as he swiftly
turned on Tull’s “Storm Watch” and leapt from the floor to the radiator to the
top of his bunk with athletic grace.
“You were the man who told me that…if I am
not mistaken, that you would not be surprised if Stephanie and I started
dating.”
“But, you’re not dating…sort of.”
“But, you were the man who planted the
seed. I never would’ve even thought about that girl if you hadn’t been ‘Mr.
Greenjeans’!”
“I didn’t plant anything,” laughed Jon as
he paged simultaneously through his CD booklets and Engineering texts.
“Jon, what do you think about all of this
anyway? Do you think that I feel that the college experience is exclusive to
me?”
“Is that what she said?!”
“That and worse.”
“I just don’t get it at all with you two,”
Jon began. “You both insist that you aren’t dating and you are essentially dating. She’s your girlfriend who isn’t your
girlfriend.”
“Keely says that Stephanie doesn’t know
what she wants and that I should save myself from her, get on with my life and
find someone new.”
“I hate to say it, Craig but, Keely has a
point. Stephanie is always doing something like this. You guys are fine for a
while and then there’s some new disaster to deal with. There is a point where
you can’t be like Christine McVie…”
“Don’t you talk about my Christine!” Craig
interrupted.
“…in ‘Oh Daddy’, where she’s just so
addicted to her man and she can’t walk away from him even if she tried,” Jon
completed. “Don’t do the Christine, Craig. She’s so mopey and mournful.”
“She’s deep and romantic,” Craig playfully
challenged “She’s emotionally unfulfilled as she continues to yearn and search
for happiness.”
“Oh please!”
“And besides,” Craig continued, pointing
his finger for emphasis. “She’s the secret weapon of that band and don’t you
forget that.”
“Why would you even need a secret weapon
when you have Stevie-a force of nature?!” retorted Jon. “Stevie is nobody’s
fool. She will follow you down until the sound of her voice will haunt you!!”
While he laughed and was appreciative,
Craig had difficulty in understanding why Stephanie would treat him so
inconsiderately. In his mind, Stephanie hurled this rage at him much like a
politician would launch a cruise missile from the safety of their own arm
chair, with feet resting comfortably upon an ottoman, alcoholic beverage in
hand and watching the fate of millions as tiny video game blips on a television
screen.
After Jon went out with some friends from
his Chemistry lecture, Craig felt nothing but his own sense of rage throughout
the rest of that evening. He wanted to only confront Stephanie and get things
ironed out but, as she stated, she was unavailable. He took in a midnight showing
of “Pink Floyd The Wall,” always a release for him during tense times. He
returned to his dorm room after 2:00 a.m. to find Jon sleeping for the night
with Fleetwood Mac’s “Future Games” softly playing in repeat mode. Craig
smiled. It was his favorite Fleetwood Mac album at this time and he enjoyed
listening to it at bedtime. He listened to it so much that he figured Jon must
be getting sick of it. So purposefully, Craig had not played it in some time.
The fact that it was playing now was an act of kindness from Jon and the
gesture of their deep friendship calmed Craig’s spirits as he readied himself
for bed.
The next day, Craig’s sense of rage
returned. He spent nearly all of it alone, ferociously completing his
assignments. His radio show that night was unusually angry as he played the
hardest, loudest, most obnoxious and abrasive sounding songs he could possibly
think to play for three hours while only addressing his phantom audience
twice—once to open his show and once to end it, only muttering, “Use your heads.
Use your hearts.”
Sunday led to an overwhelming sadness.
Craig wanted to have the chance to talk to Stephanie desperately. He paced
around his dorm room like a caged beast fuming then worrying that all was lost
and wondering how or why Stephanie had gotten so angry. He hated feeling this
way towards someone he was this close to and he was stunned to read how she
felt about him. Did she really think him to be so self-serving, so inattentive
and inconsiderate? He just could not comprehend how someone, who claimed to be
his best friend, his “cosmic twin” for God’s sake, would and could be so
careless with his feelings, his loyalty…his love.
Craig and Stephanie didn’t see or speak to
each other for much of the following week. Craig missed their occasional walks
to classes, their constant phone calls and nightly visits to The Shed for stale
popcorn and flat soda. He missed just being around her, being completely taken
in by her lovely profile and citrus scent, talking about everything and nothing
while building their friendship piece by beautiful piece. And now, it seemed
damaged and that it was all his fault and he didn’t know how to fix it.
Before the weekend of their tense radio
show, Craig saw Stephanie for a split second in a crowd of students during a
class-transition on the Liz Waters path. Craig was deep into his headphone
trance, returning to his dorm as Stephanie passed him. She offered a quick and
timid wave. Her eyes were soft and much of her face was curiously covered with
a scarf on that frosty mid-morning (she was feeling a tad self-conscious after
just having had her wisdom teeth pulled days before) and Craig knew that,
somehow, all was forgiven. He never had the chance to have his say but he
didn’t care. Craig just wanted Stephanie back.
For Stephanie, whatever tension existed
was over and done with. Things were as they should be in her mind and she was more
than happy to be around Craig again. For Craig, he wanted to feel the same but
there was a nagging source of anger in his heart and each time he attempted to
quell that anger, it would pop out in the form of subtle sarcasm that Stephanie,
who could usually read Craig extremely well, couldn’t place.
Returning to the evening forever preserved
on cassette, Craig remembered Stephanie’s playfully scornful remark concerning
his Bad Company selection (“How sweet. Cock rock goes soft.”) and how he had
heard enough. Craig could not hold his anger in check anymore. Why did
Stephanie always have to hold the reins of their relationship? She held the
road map, determined the route, held the keys and drove the car. (She probably
owned it too.) The more Craig thought about it, the more disgusted with himself
he became for allowing Stephanie to have this much control over his emotions.
Jon and Keely were correct. This was not the first time he and Stephanie had
gone through an experience like this one and no matter how deeply or how much he
wanted her to be…she wasn’t his
girlfriend! Why expend this much energy over something that is just a
friendship? Friendships shouldn’t have to be this much work. If he were going
to work this much with someone on a relationship, she should be someone he is
dating and no matter how irrational she appeared to sometimes be, Stephanie had
made it crystal clear that they are destined to just be friends.
Craig became uncomfortably silent after
Stephanie’s remark over the song and it unnerved her. She knew that something
was wrong between them and from past fights, she knew that Craig’s silences
were lethal because she never knew if he would shut down or lash out, or when
it would happen, if at all.
“Craig?” she began tentatively, “Are you
OK?”
“This is the last song of my set,” Craig
addressed while coldly avoiding the question. “You have anything you wanna play
next?”
Stephanie was surprised. Craig’s sets
tended to last more than thirty minutes (his sets gave her plenty of time to do
some homework or catch up on reading assignments) and this one had only been
four songs in. “Um…no, Craig,” said Stephanie, quickly shuffling her papers and
notebook in order to get herself to the record library.
“No bother,” offered Craig, fingering the
debut album by The Pursuit Of Happiness. “I’ll get something to start the next
set and then you can take over if you want. Why don’t we do the movies now?”
“Sure thing,” replied Stephanie in a
softer tone. “Whatever you want is fine by me. Craig, I’m sorry to ask you
again but is everything alright?”
Craig ignored her question, and ignited
the On-Air switch as the song faded into the airwaves. What follows is a
transcript…
ROAD TO NOWHERE:
it’s about healing
airdate: November 1988
-As Craig speaks, Stephanie will quickly trot
into the studio booth, get her stool and adjust her headphones and microphone.
CRAIG
(adjusting headphones, turning music
volume down):
I certainly hope
that wasn’t too WIBA for you. Bad Company with “Silver, Blue and Gold” off the
Swan Song label. Some of you out there may have thought that this was a bit of
“cock rock gone soft” but I had to play it. (A
beat) Sorry, it’s my show.
-Stephanie, stung by Craig’s comments while understanding
the sting of her previous remark, begins to see red.
STEPHANIE:
A solo act, once again?
CRAIG:
No. No. Not at all. You know what I mean.
STEPHANIE
(overlapping with mock sadness):
Because if you just (sniff sniff) need me
to…
CRAIG
(overlapping):
Never. It’s not
the “Road To Nowhere” without my Co-Pilot. I was just claiming a bit of musical,
radio autonomy here.
STEPHANIE:
Well, it has been a more autonomous night for
you, Craig. I mean—that if I could critique this set, there was nothing in it
that I chose.
CRAIG:
Not
intentionally. (addressing listeners)
You see folks, WLHA, being the high-tech station we are with state of the art
equipment at our complete disposal, doesn’t have a tape deck and Stephanie
brought her’s and since we didn’t have the right in and out jack, you know, we
couldn’t get her stuff on the air tonight. Stephanie’s a little bummed so (to Stephanie, dryly accompanied by a cold
stare) better luck next week.
STEPHANIE
(sarcastically sobbing):
I guess it wasn’t meant to be. But, tonight,
what you’re gonna get is a more “Hughes-esque” show.
CRAIG
(overlapping):
“Hughes-esque” as opposed to “Kafkaesque”.
STEPHANIE
(overlapping):
It’s not gonna
have that “Stephanie vibe” at all. (grabs
Craig’s set list sheet) So, listeners…(very
sarcastically) lots of Utopia
coming your way!
-Craig offers a stunted chuckle.
STEPHANIE:
So, at the very least, why don’t I read off what you just heard.
CRAIG
(tense):
Shoot.
STEPHANIE:
Alright, before
Bad Company, we heard…(trying to read
Craig’s writing) what is that…oh yeah, “Slit Skirts” by the illustrious yet
capitalistic Pete Townshend. I mean, for God’s sake, I just recently read that
he is planning on resurrecting The Who for another mega-tour next year.
CRAIG:
Yeah, I read that
too. Honestly, who’s bankrupt this time?! He can do so much more on his own
right now. For me, the idea of The Who is just so passé right now. It’s kinda
like The Stones getting back together for another album and tour which is a
proposed idea. Keith Richards just had that great solo album and Mick can do
something without the banner of The Stones hanging over his head. Have they
done anything musically relevant since the early eighties?
STEPHANIE:
I am in total
agreement with you. But, even as talented as he is, you get songs, sorry Craig,
like this one. Oh, he probably wrote it when he was drunk.
-After a moment of feeling as if things would
pass by, Craig begins to get tense again as he prepares to defend his musical
choices.
STEPHANIE:
And then there’s
that line, “Let me tell you somethin’ more about myself…” Like, every song he’s ever written is about
himself!
CRAIG:
Really? I had no idea that Pete Townshend
was once an autistic pinball prodigy.
STEPHANIE
(superior tone):
Now Craig, don’t
get testy. But after all of the English classes you have taken surely you must
realize that everything someone writes is about themselves in some way. And
usually the most seemingly removed story is the most personal.
CRAIG
(trying to sound light but hiding his sense
of fury):
I don’t buy that.
There is a little something called “imagination” and right now, I imagine that
the two listeners we have are now itching to change the dial so why not get
back to the songs.
STEPHANIE
(dripping with sarcasm):
OK. Before that,
we had “Charlotte Anne” by Julian Cope, a weekly Craig favorite. And before
that, another weekly Craig favorite, “Cars and Girls” by Prefab Sprout, and
our,…oops, I mean, Craig’s set began
with “You’re My Drug” by The Dukes Of Stratosphere, which is a pseudonym for
XTC—a band that, in my opinion, truly walks that fine line between being
really, really clever and really, really annoying.
CRAIG:
Hey, the songs are there. They’re always
there.
STEPHANIE:
Not
always. Clever only gets you so far and this album doesn’t get that far in my
book.
CRAIG
(to audience):
Oh, she’s just
mad that she didn’t get the joke and that someone actually, could put something
past her. She prefers U2, a band so in love with its sense of self-importance
that they actually forget they’re just a rock band.
STEPHANIE:
Craig, if XTC
actually condescended to just spending time making good songs and less time
trying to tweak people’s ears in that self-congratulatory way of theirs ,
alerting everyone to how smart they are, every album would be great—or at
least, listenable.
CRAIG
(seething, holding himself back from
screaming):
Hmmm…you’re on
fire tonight. Forget to take your nap? Need a piece of bark to chew on? (to audience) Well, with that,…we were
going to do the movies now but you’ve heard more then enough of us. So…
STEPHANIE
(interrupting):
…On the turntable
is a track from Todd Rundgren’s latest set of studio puppets—direct from Canada
-Stephanie switches the music on and switches
off the microphones.
Craig and Stephanie barely spoke to each
other for the remainder of the show. In fact, Stephanie, not wanting to
increase any of the tension, returned to her dorm in Noyes House, reclined on
her mattress, listened to the end of Craig’s show and surprising herself, began
to feel her eyes gently moisten. While she believed that no one was listening
on this late Saturday night, when few people were roaming the dorms anyway, she
was ashamed of her behavior and treatment of her best friend on the air.
Hurting Craig was the last thing she ever wanted to do but she found herself in
situation after situation, hurting him. Friends fight yet their fights were
always cloaked in something beyond whatever the issue of the fight was. This
evening was no exception. It wasn’t about music. And it wasn’t even really
about the fight they had just made up from. Stephanie Deavitt mentally replayed
those endless moments, as she and Craig simultaneously impressed and damaged
the other with verbal wit and ironic distance. Her attack on something so pure
and personal to Craig was unusually cruel and she knew it. What Stephanie also
knew (the knowledge of which was probably causing her sadness at this moment) was
that Craig would forgive her, that he would be back and things would be as they
were before despite her sometimes cavalier attitude towards his affections and
loyalty, no matter how overwhelming it could be. Craig always welcomed her
return with no questions asked. His demeanor was the definition of steadfast. It
was an unconditional friendship and deep down, she knew that she had better be
careful because everyone has a limit and at some point, someone always says,”Goodbye”.
Shuddering at the thought of losing Craig
forever, Stephanie lit a short stick of incense and instinctively reached for
her acoustic guitar. She immediately began strumming familiar chords for solace.
Stephanie Deavitt’s relationship with her guitar began at the age of 10, while
home from school for a week healing from a severe case of strep throat. While
the first couple of days home from school were filled with rest and the novelty
of being able to watch reruns of “Green Acres” while her friends slogged
through Social Studies, Stephanie quickly developed a case of cabin fever.
This, of course, emphasized each painful swallow on her enlarged lymph nodes.
On one empty morning, she wandered into her long-departed oldest brother’s room
to find the acoustic guitar he had also long abandoned when dreams of following
George Harrison proved unfulfilled. She took the guitar to her room and sat in
bed with it, playing around with the strings and before she knew it, three days
had been spent almost exclusively with this instrument. It felt right to her
then and it had ever since.
Craig Hughes was a frustrated guitarist.
It was not uncommon to find him, unobtrusively playing air guitar and it was a
long standing dream of his to one day learn this instrument. Yet, knowing
things tend to get harder with age, Craig realized that his patience was
lacking when it came to learning a new instrument. So, he was more than
fascinated when he discovered that Stephanie owned a guitar and knew how to
play it. He would often kindly tease her for a performance to which she would
self-consciously decline. But now, as she strummed in her dorm room on this
late Saturday night, Stephanie suddenly thought of a way to properly make amends
with her best friend. She would make a cassette tape exclusively for him of her
guitar skills. He would like that, she thought to herself. Stephanie knew that
aside from Craig’s cynical barbs he was a highly sentimental young man who
would love the idea that she took the time to make something for him. Also, it
was a way to tell him that she loved him, without having to actually say the
words and be tied to Craig’s possible confusion of her meaning. Regardless, she
hoped he would accept her apology and immediately, she set to work on her
musical atonement. Copyright 2014 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.
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