The closet door slid open on silent, magnetic tracks that did nothing to break the quiet of the room, but Gordon ignored it. The lack of noise wasn't the issue that had sent him into the cluttered recesses of his room. It was an itch that resided in his head and hands. One that surfaced on the brightest days and brought with it vague memories that told him he should be happy. Gordon just couldn't figure out why.
Stepping up on a pile of potentially clean clothes, his hand caught the handle of the old instrument and carefully pulled it from the shelf. It was lighter than he remembered, but that could be blamed on the length of time since he'd last pulled it out. Not enough sunny days to warrant the earworm.
Gordon was already humming the tune as he set the case on his bed and deftly flipped the latches protecting the contents. His smile grew into a toothy grin as the lid flipped open and he felt the strongest word in the song break free into a lilting "sunshine." The guitar gleamed up at him, Gordon's finger tracing over a sunflower sticker he knew his younger hands had placed there. Mom hadn't been angry - that he remembered - but there had been a promise that any more would take away from how special the flower was.
The memory disappeared with the resurgence of repeating words and Gordon retrieved the guitar to take a seat on his bed. The strap looped over his back with a comfort discovered through months of watching online tutorials while his brothers began their own training. Back then, his hands hadn't been much smaller than hers and now weren't much bigger.
Callused fingers slid up the strings, finding the frets he knew by heart and with a chest ready to burst, his other hand broke the silence. A warm up, speed adjusting until the words fit, a fragment of a song he couldn't remember and didn't exist anywhere he'd tried looking.
Gently, Gordon let the words mingle with their cords, "Cover me in sunshine, shower me in good times." He went back to humming as his fingers tripped, having gone too long between trying to figure out his personal mystery. This was always the process - strum, humm, sing, repeat until he had something that sounded like it worked together.
Though, it always ended the same, defeat. He could only recall part of the song and it would continue on loop, threatening to drive him up the wall until it left or he got distracted. Today felt a bit different as the sun shone through his balcony windows and seemed to encourage him to enjoy the one part of the song he knew. For a moment, he simply let his fingers play out the notes, loud and clear and encouraging.
A knock at his door brought it all back down in an instant, "Come in?"
Without hesitation, the door slid open and Gordon couldn't help smiling as the mop of gray hair appeared around the edge. "Hey, kiddo," Jeff matched his son's grin. "Thought I heard someone playing up here." His eyes drifted to the guitar, brow knitting in confusion, "Is that your mother's guitar?"
For the first time since discovering the instrument tucked inside a hall closet, Gordon realized it might not have been his for the taking. His smile fell into a nervous explanation, "Oh, uh, yeah, I found it… um, I can put it back if you want?" Though part of him ached at the idea of giving it up.
His father shook his head, the smile returning, "No, no. You keep it. Sounds like it's in good hands." Gordon wondered if the relief showed on his face, his hold on guitar growing enough to make the strings squeak. His father's gaze swept over the rest of his room, playing ignorant to the effect he was having on his second youngest. Without missing a beat, he asked, "Mind if I come in and listen?"
Gordon shifted, wondering if he'd heard correctly and decided to go with a simple, "Sure." It was obvious a second later that he hadn't been mistaken as Jeff stepped inside and slid the door shut. The soft sound of strings being plucked accompanied the elder Tracy to the desk chair as Gordon began playing again.
"What were you singing?" Jeff asked as he sank onto the bright orange seat.
The tune picked up the notes of the word as he spoke, "Not really sure." Gordon chuckled softly at the confused look on his father's face, "Just some lyrics, but I can't figure out if they're from a real song or just something I made up."
"Ah," and a fond smile replaced the confusion. "Your mother had a habit of doing that… Making up bits of songs that got stuck in her head."
The music stopped for a beat, Gordon's heart fluttering at the comparison. There was so much that he knew about his mom, but so little that he actually remembered. Most of his memory was pictures and stories like this one. This was one of the few times he could be linked to something about her.
A quiet moment passed before the tune started once more, "If it's anything like this, I can imagine she wanted to pull her hair out sometimes."
"Yes, she had her moments," the memories kept Jeff's laugh low and warm. There was love in the sound that encouraged Gordon to continue.
Humming with the notes, the blonde let his fingers lead to the one bit of his mystery that he knew, suddenly wondering if they were simply words he'd given life to, "Cover me in sunshine, shower me in good times. Tell me that the world's spinning and everythings gonna be alright… cover me in sunshine." The tune went on without his voice, as though it were begging him to find the next part that seemed so elusive. When the cords faded out, Gordon shrugged, "That's all I've got." He looked up into wide, gray eyes, mouth agape with shock, "Dad? What is it?"
"Oh, kiddo," Jeff whispered as a smile tugged at his lips. The next second, he was up, "C'mon."
Slightly taken aback by the response, Gordon sat frozen on the bed watching his father head for the door. As it slid open in a rush and the ex-astronaut disappeared, the blonde's mind screamed into gear and he gave chase, the guitar shifting behind his back, "Dad?"
"This way," he was surprisingly fast, already halfway down the hall. Gordon was forced to jog to catch up and hear the excited, "I've got something to show you."
And then, a door opened, Jeff stepping into the soft, sunlit room. Gordon froze at the entrance.
Dad's room.
Eight years of a singular rule blared in his brain. Dad's room is off limits. No one wanted little kids to accidentally mess up what had been left behind.
How long had it been since he'd last seen the inside? Was that the same silver and blue duvet that had been there the day they'd lost him? Who had kept the plants in the corner alive? So much color for a room his imagination had painted gray with loss.
Pictures on a wall above an organized desk broke the barrier keeping Gordon out, their importance far exceeding a rule that was no longer necessary. His mom was in each one, her smile candid as though someone was capturing moments and not perfect poses. He recognized Scott and Virgil in most of them, one with John in cap and gown that had to have been when he graduated kindergarten. His smile was bright, despite the missing teeth. Two images held blonde toddlers that could've been either Gordon or Alan. They were too similar to tell apart, but it didn't bother him. She looked happy. It was more of her than Gordon had seen in years.
"Gordon?"
He jumped and spun, heart pounding as he blurted, "I didn't touch anything."
A brow rose as his father regarded him for a moment, lifting a book as the confusion passed, "Come see this." The duvet crumpled as Jeff sat down, gesturing to the spot beside him.
Gordon's eyes were now on the book, his earlier nerves consumed by curiosity, though still hesitant, and he stepped over to the bed. The guitar swiveled to his front as he sat, still looking at the book in his fathers hands. It was a journal, something old and unused by today's generation, but he'd come across them enough times on the scrapper auctions to recognize it.
Jeff had yet to open it though and a glance up to his face revealed the heartache that lay within the pages. Gordon swallowed, unsure what to do with his desire to protect Dad and the overwhelming curiosity. So, he did nothing. The two men sat in silence and waited for a decision to be made. Gordon wouldn't rush it, but he couldn't bring himself to back out. He was surrounded by so much and wanted to know more.
Tenderly, a hand slid over the journal's cover and pulled open the age stiffened pages. Grey eyes brightened and a smile returned to the elder man's face, "This was your mother's." That part was obvious, but Gordon stayed silent, returning his gaze to the handwritten words.
Let the world be full of music and hearts with love. Lucille T Tracy
"Virgil said she loved to sing," someone else's memory that Gordon was happy to believe.
"He would know," Jeff chuckled. "Those two were always coming up with something together." Another page turned and they were presented with lines of notes and verses. At the top was the title Big World Baby, followed by his mother's name. "She wrote this for Scott and your brother when Virgil was born."
It only took a moment for him to pick up the sentiment behind the song and he wondered if -
"And this one…" pages were moving faster until his father made it almost to the back of the book, slowing until he found what he was looking for. "Ah, here you go."
The title alone was enough to send his heart racing and it took a moment to still his excitement, "Wait… she wrote this?"
"Of course," Dad's hand moved to point at the chorus, "this was your part."
And there, on the page as clear as day, were the words that had been repeating for years in his head. Now, they had a source and he couldn't stop his fingers from finding their places on the guitar, eyes following the notes as he strummed. The tune was new, nothing like the chorus and he found it difficult to pick up the words as he played.
On the second round of trying to familiarize himself with the melody, his father's voice came in quiet and weathered, "I've been dreaming… of friendly faces." Jeff cleared his throat as his voice wavered, picking up where he'd stopped until he reached the chorus. A gesture and smile caught at Gordon's heart as they sang it together and a memory surfaced.
She held the guitar while Gordon lay on his back to stare up at the ceiling fan as it spun. When the music stopped, her fingers tickled his tummy and he giggled. He could feel the living room carpet as he rolled away and then, she was writing and the music continued. He sings with her when they get to his favorite part - his part - and she let him sing on to the end.
"And everything will be alright…Cover me in sunshine…" Gordon blinked, suddenly aware of moisture pooling up with the memory's emotions, the sound of the strings fading as everything stopped. Pressure, warm and reassuring, landed on his back and amber eyes turned to see his father, his own eyes glistening in the light from the patio doors.
A droplet fell before Gordon could stop it, not that he wanted to. He'd found something - remembered something that was solely his. The tears were worth it.
The hand on his back slid to his shoulder and pulled him into the elder man's side, eliciting more tears as Gordon whispered, "I miss mom."
"Me too," came out gruff with emotion. "But… she's still here," the book closed and Jeff held it out to his second youngest. Gordon took it in hands that felt numb, unable to bring life to the pages. That would need to be later…when his brothers could hear.
A sniffle to stem the ache in his heart and a smile at the sunshine playing across the room, Gordon understood. Letting himself rest against the man thought dead for eight years, one more drop fell with the quiet words, "Thanks, Dad."
A kiss pressed into the top of his head, "Love you, Sunshine."
