Kelsey Rose: This is what late night thinking will do to you, kiddies. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Oooooh, my Lauryn Hill obsession, how glad I am to have found thee all over again.
Disclaimer: Hairspray is not mine. End of story.
I heard he sang a good song
I heard he had a style,
And so I came to see him, and listen for a while
And there he was, this young boy, a stranger to my eyes…
There were times, in the midst of her own personal tragedies and trying experiences, that he would sing to her. It was always a special song, significant to them and, more particularly, very significant to her.
The mere sound of his rich, near flawless voice was enough to sedate all of her qualms from each of the previous minutes. As he sang to her, his arms would drape tenderly around her waist or around her shoulders. It was then that she could actually picture, for that one moment only, a world without burning hatred or racial transgressions. For that single stitch in time, they could be together, free of limits and completely unshackled as far as the harsh beliefs others shamelessly laid upon them went.
It was that gentle, stirring feeling of skin upon velvety skin that sent her into a whirlwind emotional ecstasy. He would look into her eyes, vibrant sentiments tossed into an uproar of delight as they shared a playful, unashamed glance with one another. No matter how he looked at her, she could always clutch onto the fondness that was baked into the mix, one way or another. So long as he was there with her, and so long as he still cared, then she could only feel obligated to smile over and over again, all thoughts of hopelessness lost in the abyss of his piercing eyes and persuasive voice.
Something about the atmosphere would always place this undeniable look of pleasure on her face. If nothing else, then their usual spot for their late night, musical rendezvous had always set an unusually exotic flame in her heart. With the lights down low and the area sheltering nothing but the pair of them, they would sway seamlessly together while he sang lowly and expressively into either one of her ears. Like faultless clockwork, she would smile, but never giggle or give in to the urge to swoon.
Anything excessively distracting was uncalled for as she allowed him access to the very core of her soul. With his simple acts of love and affection, he healed all emotional and mental wounds. At times, even, she felt as though his touch could mend physical wounds, as well, for the compelling spark that poured from his fingertips was enough to do more than just 'heal her.'
Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly… with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly… with his song
Once in a while, he would indirectly influence her to join him. She was, however, not convinced that she had the skill or even the right to ruin such beautiful songs with a presumably untrained voice like hers. Still, thoughts like those were never permitted into their sessions together. He was more than just a little assured of the pure tone of her voice. After all, he had heard it himself many a time before. With him, she had shone an entirely different side to her personality, a side that few would ever think someone such as Penny Pingleton could ever possess.
Veiled outlooks of uncertainty and sorrow had tactfully crafted what Seaweed was very much lead to believe was an angel's gift of song. Their voices twined without any faults whatsoever, even if Penny continued to lodge her doubts. Hearing his voice and his voice alone was all she really longed to do. So, it was really no astonishment at all how she would flush a light shade of pink and twist sections of her dresses between her fingers as he coaxed her to join him still.
She wanted that spell to be cast on her. She wanted to feel what it was like to have absolutely no worries. He gave her this incredible chance to be candid, from tip to toe. She had exposed her flaws, weaknesses, and scars to him time and time again when he would ensnare her in that captivating trap of his. Penny was certain that he knew every last aspect about her now, regardless of her having told him verbally or not. When he looked at her, she knew he understood what she was thinking, how she had felt long ago, and how passionately she felt about him at that very moment. The enchantment of those dark eyes did something to her, an indescribable work of magic that seemed to be something deprived from a childhood fairytale.
It seemed impossible, and in spite of that, it had still happened numerous times before. She had always known that he was extraordinary. But, to what extent, she had not yet determined—up until recently, anyway.
Seaweed knew when she hurt. Words weren't necessary. He knew exactly what she had experienced, and he knew precisely how to ease the pain, if only for a little while. Knowing all the right places to touch her and hold her was forever a blessing to Penny. With almost effortless movements, she would become his to mold and to cure.
He had an established perception of her. Seaweed had only ever pictured her with that signature, beautiful smile, never with those worrying frowns and the suffering expressions of her furrowed eyebrows. An angel such as her was far better equip with a look of self-assured happiness. Having plastered that in the depths of his mind, he had sworn to do absolutely anything to keep the final two away from her at all costs.
And, with a few episodes of trial and error, he had it down to a science, rendering her a very optimistically emotive young girl with a severe case of being weak in the knees whenever his plan was set into motion.
I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he found my letters, and read each one aloud
I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on
Their policy was simple enough. It was as though words were outlawed. Looks, gestures, and his (and her own, on occasion) voice need only apply. For the couple, it was practically a game. With such a wondrous mood set, who ever said that small talk would get them anywhere?
They only needed one another swaying rhythmically with their personally selected beat. Penny would feel her cheeks sting with a pleasurable and feverish rush of emotions, and would then promptly nestle her head against his chest, listening to the harmony between each of his breaths and the music that rolled so professionally off his tongue.
It was instances such as these that offered her optimism and understanding. Even while he would tell her how beautiful she was, disbelief and rejection of the very idea were always around to contradict him. Growing up with an unsupportive family, she had never been one to accept compliments so straightforwardly. She felt like a child betraying his intent, but with so many years of off-putting experiences, Seaweed was only left to imagine what it would feel like when she finally accepted what he and everyone else knew to be the truth.
Nevertheless, as they would dance and sing their way into the night, dedicating anything and everything to the other, all negativity was forgotten. When she was wrapped in his arms, soaking up every last sweet, meaningful stanza of the songs, she felt right at home and completely unafraid.
Suddenly everything was all right when he sang to her. It was their own, undisclosed paradise that she had never before thought she would encounter.
Every time he whispered those timeless melodies in her ear, every insecurity and internal abrasion was cast aside, and from that moment she knew the precise definition of true beauty—and she did not ever want to let that feeling slip away for as long as they were together.
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly… with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly… with his song