I’m not a very nice person.”
Nick laughed. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? I’m amazed how controlled you’ve been. I don’t think most people would be as calm and reasonable.”
“Reasonable?”
“Exactly,” Nick explained. “You haven’t been overly emotional, you haven’t panicked, and you haven’t dissolved into depression. I’m impressed. I bet you’re a pretty smart cookie.”
“Cookie? Chauvinist.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m a reformed chauvinist. I’m only mildly superior in my attitude.”
A smile crept across Lisa’s sore lips.
“Do you like music?” Nick asked.
Lisa shrugged. “It’s like the movies. I think I do, I just don’t know for sure.”
“I like show tunes,” Nick offered. “That’s not a popular thing to say, but I can’t get enough of them. Ever hear of Andrew Lloyd Webber?”
“No bells are ringing.”
“He writes great stuff.
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
,
Cats
,
The Phantom of the Opera
,
Evita
,
Jesus Christ Superstar
—” Lisa cringed, an action noticed by Nick. “That got a response,” he said.
“I don’t think I like that last one,” she said with a frown.
“Interesting. Very interesting. That means you’ve heard it or, at least, heard of it. That makes sense. You would be about the right age. It was popular in the early seventies.”
It was an odd sensation. At least on a subconscious level, Lisa could recall emotions that were tied to events that were too deeply buried in the debris of her mind to be excavated.
What is it about a musical named
Jesus Christ Superstar
that I find so unappealing?
“Let’s try something else and see what you think.” Nick reached into a small case near his seat and removed a CD and placed it into the player. “This is
Cats
.”
The overture filled the cab with the rich orchestration. Violins blended with horns, percussion, and piano. The music was simple yet emotionally complex. Lisa listened closely, hoping that some series of notes would open the floodgates of recollection. Perhaps she would recognize the songs when the performers began to sing; perhaps she would even know the words. That would be encouraging. It would mean that her memory had not been erased, just sequestered by whatever had happened to her.
As the music played, Lisa watched the scenery pass. Cars of every type passed them, each filled with someone who knew who he was, where he was going, and what his future held. Looking out the windshield, Lisa noticed the dashed white line of the multilane highway. There were a great many more cars on the road now, and the traffic was getting thicker.
A song began to play, “Memory,” and the sweet melodic voice of a woman sang in sad and haunting tones.
The words were insidious: “Has the moon lost her memory?” She was lost. She was alone without even the company of her own memories or the companionship of her own self. No loneliness could be so deep, none so desperate. Lisa’s eyes burned as tears fought their way tothe surface. Turning her head so Nick wouldn’t see, she stared from the lofty perch of the cab at the road that raced beneath her.
As the song droned on, Lisa sank deeper and deeper into depression. The fugue pulled at her like a tentacled monster from the cold gloom of a deep ocean. She felt that she might die right there in the leather chair of the commercial truck as it bounced down the wide ribbon of asphalt. Her heart seemed to be breaking and her soul withering like a petal detached from its flower.
“I love the way this artist pours her heart into the music,” Nick was saying, but Lisa continued to stare out the side window. “It’s a great play. I got to see it once in Los Angeles. This is one of my favorite songs. Some think it’s sappy, but I—” He stopped abruptly. “Are you okay? Was it something I said?” He paused. “It’s the song, isn’t it?” Lisa heard him click off the CD player. “I’m an idiot,”
Nick laughed. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? I’m amazed how controlled you’ve been. I don’t think most people would be as calm and reasonable.”
“Reasonable?”
“Exactly,” Nick explained. “You haven’t been overly emotional, you haven’t panicked, and you haven’t dissolved into depression. I’m impressed. I bet you’re a pretty smart cookie.”
“Cookie? Chauvinist.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m a reformed chauvinist. I’m only mildly superior in my attitude.”
A smile crept across Lisa’s sore lips.
“Do you like music?” Nick asked.
Lisa shrugged. “It’s like the movies. I think I do, I just don’t know for sure.”
“I like show tunes,” Nick offered. “That’s not a popular thing to say, but I can’t get enough of them. Ever hear of Andrew Lloyd Webber?”
“No bells are ringing.”
“He writes great stuff.
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
,
Cats
,
The Phantom of the Opera
,
Evita
,
Jesus Christ Superstar
—” Lisa cringed, an action noticed by Nick. “That got a response,” he said.
“I don’t think I like that last one,” she said with a frown.
“Interesting. Very interesting. That means you’ve heard it or, at least, heard of it. That makes sense. You would be about the right age. It was popular in the early seventies.”
It was an odd sensation. At least on a subconscious level, Lisa could recall emotions that were tied to events that were too deeply buried in the debris of her mind to be excavated.
What is it about a musical named
Jesus Christ Superstar
that I find so unappealing?
“Let’s try something else and see what you think.” Nick reached into a small case near his seat and removed a CD and placed it into the player. “This is
Cats
.”
The overture filled the cab with the rich orchestration. Violins blended with horns, percussion, and piano. The music was simple yet emotionally complex. Lisa listened closely, hoping that some series of notes would open the floodgates of recollection. Perhaps she would recognize the songs when the performers began to sing; perhaps she would even know the words. That would be encouraging. It would mean that her memory had not been erased, just sequestered by whatever had happened to her.
As the music played, Lisa watched the scenery pass. Cars of every type passed them, each filled with someone who knew who he was, where he was going, and what his future held. Looking out the windshield, Lisa noticed the dashed white line of the multilane highway. There were a great many more cars on the road now, and the traffic was getting thicker.
A song began to play, “Memory,” and the sweet melodic voice of a woman sang in sad and haunting tones.
The words were insidious: “Has the moon lost her memory?” She was lost. She was alone without even the company of her own memories or the companionship of her own self. No loneliness could be so deep, none so desperate. Lisa’s eyes burned as tears fought their way tothe surface. Turning her head so Nick wouldn’t see, she stared from the lofty perch of the cab at the road that raced beneath her.
As the song droned on, Lisa sank deeper and deeper into depression. The fugue pulled at her like a tentacled monster from the cold gloom of a deep ocean. She felt that she might die right there in the leather chair of the commercial truck as it bounced down the wide ribbon of asphalt. Her heart seemed to be breaking and her soul withering like a petal detached from its flower.
“I love the way this artist pours her heart into the music,” Nick was saying, but Lisa continued to stare out the side window. “It’s a great play. I got to see it once in Los Angeles. This is one of my favorite songs. Some think it’s sappy, but I—” He stopped abruptly. “Are you okay? Was it something I said?” He paused. “It’s the song, isn’t it?” Lisa heard him click off the CD player. “I’m an idiot,”
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