Alligators in the Trees Read Online Free

the door behind him. He shed his jacket, sunglasses and Yankee’s cap, tossing them on the worn leather sofa as he passed. He plopped down at his keyboard and stared at it for a moment before slouching over it in defeat.
    Several minutes passed before he raised his head and cautiously tapped on a key. He played the note repeatedly, then ventured to another, then both in combination, then added a third. He stopped, replayed a sequence that had formed from the random notes, then repeated it, singing along with it experimentally.
    He shook his head. It just wasn’t right. Too much static in his brain, that’s what the problem was. First the waitress and then his wife. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind.
    As he sat there, his gaze wandered over the gold and platinum albums that adorned his walls. Music used to be absolutely effortless for him. For almost two decades he had written songs as easily as he slept; now both were a monumental challenge to him.
    During all those years of uncomplicated success, it never occurred to him that some day he would call on his talent and find it wasn’t there. It made him feel hollow and frightened down to the soles of his feet. He wondered if Brody was experiencing the same doubts, but then again, his role was entirely different than Tobias’. Brody could take the simple bare bones of a tune and build it into the most complex and moving melody, with uncanny instrumentation and haunting phrasing.
    When Tobias had made his brief attempt of going it alone, it was evident his songs lacked Brody’s wizardry. But then again, Brody would have nothing to finesse without Tobias; every song they had ever recorded started with his lyrics and basic melody, all one hundred and sixteen of them.
    Tobias looked down at his keyboard. He played the same notes as earlier, but he changed them up. “Sunlight pouring over me,”he sang half-heartedly . Nothing: no spark, no hit song potential, zilch. Damn.
    Anger now replaced his feelings of insecurity. If that stupid waitress hadn’t broken his mood, he’d have this thing in the bag by now. He was so furious, he actually growled as he recalled her voice as she shattered his one concrete hope of pulling this off. “Mean ol’ sunlight washing over me.”
    He sat stock still, not even daring to breathe. “Mean ol’ sunlight wash-ing o-ver me”,he sang tentatively, pausing in the same places as Priscilla had . That was it! He sampled a few keys until he found the one she had sung in, and with that same slow, easy drawl, he mimicked her singing. It was perfect. He let out a peal of laughter and tried it again.
    “Mean ol’ sunlight wash-ing ov-er me,” then, taking it back to the beginning,
    “I walk the streets
    Sunlight pouring over me
    I seek the shadow
    But the sun won’t let me be
    It mocks my callous features
    For everyone to see…”
    Tobias sat back, his fist to his mouth to keep his elation in check. He had it now, and it was no longer in danger of slipping away again. Finally he had something to take to Brody, something that had all the cryptic, moody flavor of their earlier work.
    Though he was beside himself with relief, the irony did not escape him that he may have never hit on the exact tone if it hadn’t been for the waitress. It was the only time he had ever received any help or inspiration with his writing, and it struck him as preposterously funny that it had come from such an unlikely source. A coffee shop waitress, of all people!
    A trace of gratitude crept through his mind, and he thought for a fleeting moment of honoring her in some way: a veiled footnote of thanks on the CD cover, or using her name in a song. But which one—Bobbi, Priscilla, Sammy? The likelihood of her knowing she had helped him, even if he tried to acknowledge it, was remote. She was but one obscure waitress in one dingy eatery out of hundreds like it.
    But oddly enough, the more he thought of her, the more fired up his imagination became.