He pauses after every stanza and makes notes on a page. I lean over and look at what he’s writing. He’s putting musical notes on blank sheet-music paper, along with the lyrics.
He points to one of the lines, then grabs his phone.
Ridge: What key do you sing this line in?
Me: B.
Ridge: Do you think it would sound better if you took it a little higher?
Me: I don’t know. I guess we could try.
He plays the second part of the song again, and I take his advice and sing in a higher key. Surprisingly, he’s right. It does sound better.
“How did you know that?” I ask.
He shrugs.
Ridge: I just do.
Me: But how? If you can’t hear, how do you know what sounds good and what doesn’t?
Ridge: I don’t need to hear it. I feel it.
I shake my head, not understanding. I can maybe understand how he’s taught himself to play a guitar. With enough practice and a good teacher and maybe a ton of studying, it’s possible for him to play as he does. But that doesn’t explain how he can know which key a voice should be in and especially which key sounds better.
Ridge: What’s wrong? You look confused.
Me: I AM confused. I don’t understand how you can differentiate between vibrations or however you say you feel it. I’m beginning to think you and Warren are trying to pull off the ultimate prank and you’re only pretending to be deaf.
Ridge laughs, then scoots back on the bed until his back meets the headboard. He sits up straight and holds his guitar to his side. He spreads his legs, then pats the empty spot between them.
What the hell? I hope my eyes aren’t open as wide as I think they are. There’s no way I’m sitting that close to him. I shake my head.
He rolls his eyes and picks up his phone.
Ridge: Come here. I want to show you how I feel it. Get over yourself, and stop thinking I’m trying to seduce you.
I hesitate a few more seconds, but the agitation on his face makes me think I’m being a little immature. I crawl forward, then turn around and carefully sit in front of him with my back to his chest but with several inches between us. He pulls the guitar in front of me and wraps his other arm around me until he’s holding it in position. He pulls it closer, which pushes me flush against him. Ridge reaches down to his side and picks up his phone.
Ridge: I’m going to play a chord, and I want you to tell me where you feel it.
I nod, and he brings his hand back to the guitar. He plays a chord and repeats it a few times, then pauses. I grab my phone.
Me: I felt it in your guitar.
He shakes his head and picks up his phone again.
Ridge: I know you felt it in the guitar, dummy. But where in your body did you feel it?
Me: Play it again.
I close my eyes this time and try to take this seriously. I’ve asked him how he feels it, and he’s trying to show me, so the least I can do is try to understand. He plays the chord a few times, and I’m really trying hard to concentrate, but I feel the vibration everywhere, especially in the guitar pressed against my chest.
Me: It’s hard for me, Ridge. It just feels like it’s everywhere.
He pushes me forward, and I scoot up. He sets the guitar down, stands up, and walks out of the bedroom. I wait for him, curious about what he’s doing. When he comes back, he’s holding something in his fist. He holds his fist out, so I hold up my palm.
Earplugs.
He slides in behind me, and I scoot back against his chest again, then put the earplugs in. I close my eyes and lean my head back against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me and picks up his guitar, pulling it against my chest. I can feel his head rest lightly against mine, and the intimate way we’re seated suddenly registers. I’ve never sat like this with someone I wasn’t seriously dating.