The Muse
by Hayley, 2000
summary: Taylor's having one hell of a case of writer's block.
disclaimer: Not true.
rating: G or PG. There's nothing bad here but a few swears.
Taylor stood on the back patio, watching the sun set behind the trees. Home at last, he thought. Everyone else was happy to be home but he felt lost. There was nothing to do. On tour there was always something to do, they were always busy. But now, they were on vacation, lazy days. He saw empty days stretching ahead of him, a constant reminder of the new album they were to start writing. A reminder that he hadn’t been able to write a single note or lyric for months. “I’ve fuckin’ lost it”, he muttered to himself.
As he turned to go inside, he saw a girl floating in the next yard. Wait a sec—she’s not floating. He shook his head and looked back. She was standing on a giant black block on the far side of the yard. Just a girl, short, with brown hair in braids. But she wasn’t standing. She was moving, slowly, gracefully, with a look of complete calm on her face. “Tai Chi”, he muttered.
“January!” A dark haired woman in her thirties poked her head out the back door of the house. “Phone!”
The so-called January didn’t miss a beat. She kept moving and said quietly, “take a message, please”.
He couldn’t stop watching. How completely calm and relaxed she looked, like nothing could ever bother her. She suddenly broke her gaze and looked up, as if she sensed him watching. Their eyes met. She blinked, and looked down again, floating away.
Taylor sighed. “Slick, man. Always a hit with the ladies.” He turned around and went inside.
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A shriek from Zoë pierced the air and Taylor cringed. “My kingdom for some peace and quiet.” He grabbed his notebook and headed outside to write.
“Hey, you writing some songs?”, Isaac called after him.
“Yeah”, Taylor said over his should and pushed open the door. “Unsuccessfully”, he said to himself. He wandered into the backyard and began pacing. He couldn’t think of a single fucking song idea, his parents were interpreting his writer’s block as teenage attitude, he couldn’t seem to talk to his brothers lately, and his noisy family was just starting to grate on his nerves.
“Do you talk to yourself a lot?”
Taylor whipped around and came face to face with January the Tai Chi Girl. “What?”
“You were talking to yourself. I could actually hear you in my yard.” Oddly enough, she didn’t say this in a mocking tone.
“Oh…uh, no, I don’t talk to myself a lot. I don’t know why I was…”, he mumbled, while thinking, ‘You probably think I was dropped on my head as a small child’.
“I do. Helps me get organized, keep things straight in my head sometimes.” He looked at her closely. She seemed to be serious.
She squinted back. “Why are you staring?”
“Uh, no reason.”
“Well let me put your mind at ease. Yes, they’re green.”
“What?”
“My eyes, retard.”
“Oh.” He was a little taken aback.
“Oh, don’t take that seriously. The retard thing, I mean. It’s a term of endearment. Well, when I say it, at least. Same with shithead.”
“Excuse me?” He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.
“Shithead. That’s what I call my friends sometimes. Usually when they do something stupid or silly. And they say it back to me. It’s not meant to be offensive.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll keep that in mind.” This is one strange girl. My friends would smack me if I called them that, he thought.
“I’m Taylor.”
“Yeah, I know”, she said in a bored voice. “Don’t expect me to scream and throw myself at your feet. That’s not me.”
“I’m glad.”
“January. That’s me.”
“Charmed”, he said in a smart-alecky tone.
“Cute”, she fired back sarcastically.
“January! Dinner!”
“Coming, Sheila!” she shouted towards her house. “Well, I guess this is the end of our first meeting. Went pretty well, I think.”
“Yeah, sure”, he said, both confused and amused.
She turned around and headed for her backyard. “See you later, shithead”, she called over her shoulder.
Taylor laughed out loud for the first time in days and walked into his house.
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“Okay, what’s your favorite Beatles song?”
“What?” Taylor was confused. This was not a normal way to open a conversation. But of course, it’s also not normal for a girl to demand that you lie down on the grass before she’ll talk to you, so that she can lie the other way with her head beside yours.
“Answer the question!”
“Why?” He was bewildered. “Why did I have to get down on the grass? So you could ask me what my favorite Beatles song is?”
“This is getting-to-know-you chitchat, and people are much more inclined to answer questions honestly if they can’t see the person they’re talking to.”
“Well, actually, I can still see you out of the corner of my eye”, he said, glancing over at her.
“Well, don’t look, retard, and answer the question!”
“I’m just confused as to how the Beatles are part of getting-to-know-you chitchat.”
“Okay, I have this theory. A person’s favorite Beatles song speaks volumes about their personality. It really works.”
“Whatever you say, psychic friend.”
“Shut up, shithead! Okay, you want proof? What’s Isaac’s favorite Beatles song? Do you know?”
“Yes. It’s ‘Yesterday’.”
“Ah. Sentimental, sweet, romantic. Sound about right?”
“Actually, it does”, he said, surprised.
“Okay, what about Zac?”
“’Yellow Submarine’.”
“Outgoing, funny, kinda nutty.”
“That’s frightening.”
“Dead on, hey? Okay, now what’s yours?”
He hesitated. How accurate could she be?
“’Let It Be’.”
“I knew it! From the minute I saw you on the back porch the other night! Let’s see, you’re quiet, serious, brooding. And, I’d say, something is definitely troubling you.”
“You got all that from a song?”
“No, I got all that from that look on your face that you’ve been wearing since I met you.”
“What look? What does my look say?”
“Angst-y.”
“That’s not a word.”
“It is now.”
“Nice try, Sherlock, but I am not angst-y.” He was surprised by the lie; why did he feel the need to lie to this girl he barely knew?
“Nice try, Clinton, but you suck at denial. Lying is not your forte.”
“Well, if you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering me?!” he said testily.
“Oh, well let me consult my crystal ball—How the fuck should I know what’s wrong with you?! You’re young, you’re adored, you’re famous, you’re blessed with talent!”
“Not anymore”, he mumbled.
“What?”
“I don’t have talent! I haven’t written anything since we finished the last album! I used to always be writing something and now my mind is blank!”
“That’s it? So you lost your muse, she’ll come back.”
“My muse?” He sat up and looked down at her. “What, are we in a Greek play?”
She sat up. “You don’t believe in muses?”
“Actually I never really thought about it.”
“I do. I think everyone has a muse that guides us in our talents.”
“Really?” He was intrigued.
“Sure. Take my muse, for instance. She only comes at night. So it’s a good thing I’m an insomniac and I only sleep between 5 and 8 am.”
“What do you do?”
“I paint. And I sculpt. See the greenhouse in the back corner of the yard? It’s not a greenhouse anymore. We made it into a studio for me.”
“Wow”, he said. “Can I see some of your paintings?”
“Not yet”, she said hesitantly. “Someday.”
“Taylor! Come in for dinner!” His mom called him from the back door.
Taylor stood up and January followed. He paused.
“You honestly think there’s a muse for everyone?”
“Yes.” She said it firmly, like she believed in it more than he had ever believed in anything.
“So where the heck is my muse? Doesn’t she know I need her?”
“She’ll come back when she’s good and ready”, January said confidently.
He smiled and walked away. Eight hours later, as he lay awake at 2am, Taylor suddenly grabbed his notebook and wrote six simple lines:
Sitting on the corner of nowhere road
Just between I wish I could and I don’t know
Rain is splashing up between her toes
She doesn’t know her own area code
She’s the picture of a heart of gold
On the edge of depression unknown