Sing a Song to Soothe My Scars
by Base O’Brien
Interwoven with crashing waves and seagulls over the ocean, a melody drifted on the breeze, tranquil as a leaf on still water. As the tune continued, trailing harmonies through the wind, it reached the window of an old lighthouse.
The window was open for once, thanks to the blistering summer heat that not even the cold sea could stifle. As the melody crept ever further, it happened upon the ears of the lighthouse keeper.
Within the stone walls of the lighthouse, Taiyin Chai was chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Again and again, their knife came down on the wooden chopping board, slicing through the carrots with practiced ease. Their movements were particular and precise, like a violin player's- although Taiyin would die before touching one. Or the violin would die before touching Taiyin.
Regardless, that melody slipped over the diorite countertops of the kitchen and swirled to meet Taiyin’s ears like it belonged there. As it did, Taiyin’s movements slowed to a stop.
They raised their head to peer out the window to the open sea. As expected, nothing but violent waves greeted them, smashing into the rocky island like it owed them money. That strange melody was so faint it was barely audible, but Taiyin’s ear picked up on nearly everything. With nothing else to do, Taiyin set the knife down on the countertop and stepped closer to the window.
Their rough hand pushed up the wooden window frame, and their other, steady on the sill. The revolting scent of the sea hit them like a speeding truck, and Taiyin immediately slammed the window closed again.
It was, in the grand scheme of things, an impossibly minor interruption to Taiyin’s day. They resumed their chopping and fried their rice on the ever-impractical gas stove that they would get around to replacing at some point.
Still, even as Taiyin relaxed (as much as they could) onto their couch and burrowed into the quilt their sister had made them, the melody played again and again in their mind. As they brushed and braided their hair for bed, the melody pushed its way past Taiyin’s lips in a hum. A small part of them itched to brush the dust off their old flute case and play it, just to hear it. And as sleep washed over them like it was reaching a high tide of its own, the melody wove its way into Taiyin’s mind, so faintly the stitches were invisible.
Bizarre, strange, and wholly unexpected.
As the sun crept into the sky the next morning, Taiyin padded out into the open living room, letting their hair free to bounce in waves along their back. Stifling heat filled the room, but Taiyin welcomed it in comparison to the scent of the sea. As they settled onto their couch once more, this time with a fried egg and toast, Taiyin called a number already sitting at the top of their contact list, triumphant over all the others below it.
“Mm, jiejie, I heard something weird yesterday,” they said, wiping crumbs off the side of their mouth.
“Is that so?” Ling Chai said with zero inflection in her voice.
Distantly, Taiyin heard the click-clacking of Ling’s mechanical keyboard. She was working, then. How kind of her to still pick up Taiyin’s daily calls.
“Yeah. I had the window open and I heard music coming from outside, but there was nothing there when I looked.”
Ling hummed idly, still typing away. Far in the background, the old floorboards of the house creaked. Even accounting for the minimal timezone shift, it was probably Mei. Ling’s older child never woke up before ten, and it was barely eight.
“Maybe a passing boat was playing music. Like the rock concert,” Ling suggested.
“If it was the rock concert, I wouldn’t be awake right now. Plus, I’m pretty sure I scared the shit out of them last time,” Taiyin said.
It was the only time they’d needed to use the old, crackly, megaphone in the basement. In fairness, it had been way past one in the morning and Taiyin was pissed beyond measure.
“I said something like the rock concert,” Ling said. “It’s possible.”
Taiyin sighed, letting their head fall back on the steely blue armrest. Early morning sunlight drifted over their face from the window.
“It didn’t sound like it. It was just a melody, not a song.”
“What did it sound like?” Ling asked.
Taiyin cast their mind back, fishing up the strange music from the depths of their memory.
“Like… Unh, this would be easier with the flute. I think it was something in G major?” Taiyin said. “It sounded like it, at least.”
“Not particularly helpful,” Ling said.
“Right, right, you’re a STEM girl and that means nothing,” Taiyin said. “But Xin-er’s a musical theatre kid. You must have picked up something.”
“My son’s music taste does not mean that I suddenly have years of musical training,” Ling said.
“Bleh, fuck you,” Taiyin said. They set the ceramic plate—another gift from Ling—down on the coffee table. “Go out and play music.”
“I’m doing work,” Ling answered.
“I don’t care. Pick up piano or something. It helps with depression. Trust me,” they said, sitting up on the couch. At long last, blood was able to flow through their lower back.
“I have work to do, Taiyin,” Ling said.
Exasperation filled her voice but there was also the barest hint of fondness. Taiyin was only able to detect it from years of (questionable, rocky) friendship.
“Alright, jiejie. Bye.”
Ling hung up first since Taiyin had never hit the ‘end call’ button in their life.
The tune still lingered on their lips, and Taiyin found themself swaying to it in their kitchen. The afternoon sun had canted to shine directly onto the counter and fill the lilies on the windowsill with life.
To relieve the stuffiness of the lighthouse, Taiyin reached around the flower to crack the window open, just a bit. The sound of crashing waves flooded in through that small crack and seagulls called their victorious battle cries. However, to Taiyin’s disappointment, there was no song.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It was a one-off and potentially a hallucination induced by a psychotic break. It really wouldn’t be surprising if Taiyin had just finally snapped.
The smooth wood of the window was cold under their fingers, but Taiyin felt themself lingering.
Waiting.
Taiyin had always known when to wait.
Sometimes waiting was a futile exercise, like waiting for Xin to apologize for something he’d done. (It wasn’t happening.) But other times, waiting was Taiyin standing until dawn outside of Lian Shi’s house until he let them inside and they could talk. Sometimes, waiting was Taiyin sitting by Ling’s hospital bed until the day she opened her eyes.
And, on rare occasions, Taiyin waited for someone who was never coming home.
Today, Taiyin’s waiting was rewarded. They stood, frozen, as that melody sailed through the air and took rest in their bones. This time, Taiyin carefully remembered each note.
It wasn’t an instrument. It was someone’s voice, singing like they were an entire choir. In the safety of their head, Taiyin thought it was beautiful.
Without warning, their legs began to carry them towards the metal door at the back of the house. Then, down the rattling stairs and onto the frigid concrete. Their fingers ghosted over layers of dust, each of them trying to cling to Taiyin like a life buoy.
Finally, they landed on an old wooden case a little over the length of their arm. Without consulting any kind of logic, they grabbed it by the familiar silver handle and sped up the clanking metal steps.
The melody still filled the kitchen when Taiyin returned, bringing it to life in a way it hadn’t been for years. Every ray of sun peeking out from behind the clouds looked brighter.
Taiyin lay the flute case out on the kitchen island and opened it carefully. A sneeze approached from the dust that went flying at the disturbance, but Taiyin pushed through. They placed their hands on the metal, fingers curling around the flute like they’d never left.
It only struck them then what they were trying to do. Accompany some random person’s singing with their flute—a flute they hadn’t touched in five years.
Music was a strange thing when it came to Taiyin. Hearing any sort of melody pushed their rationality aside and pulled them into doing the stupidest shit on the planet. It had always been that way.
(You’re going to love it, though. I wrote it just for you.)
Taiyin pressed their hand to the window and opened it further. As the sea air flooded in, so too did that unfathomable melody. Taiyin picked up their flute and put their lips to the mouthpiece.
And then, they played.
After the first note, Taiyin couldn’t remember much. When they started to take hold of themself again, they were standing at the edge of the rocks their lighthouse was built on, nearly slipping into the water. Their flute was still in their hands, their grip so tight their knuckles had turned white.
The smell of the sea so strong and close nearly made them stumble, but they kept hold of themself until they had fled inside and slammed the door behind them.
They had been in their kitchen, idly playing on a whim. And Taiyin knew they would never venture that close to the open ocean no matter what. Plus, it had been early afternoon when Taiyin had picked up their flute, but nearly sunset when they’d put it down.
Something had happened. Not to mention the fact that Taiyin’s head felt like it was spinning from too much oxygen—even though that bad habit had been eradicated from them years ago.
Where was that missing time? What had Taiyin done?
The clock didn’t lie—it was nearing nine in the evening. Taiyin’s stomach growled like a beast from lack of food and they resigned themself to ordering in. The melody still hounded their every step, stronger now than it was before, haunting them like a ghost.
(Mm, Taitai, do you like it?)
(Stop calling me that. People will get the wrong idea.)
As much as Taiyin disliked outsourcing food, there wasn’t much they could do. When it arrived, they fervently apologized to the poor delivery person who had to venture out along the cragged path to the lighthouse without getting the pizza wet. She had laughed it off, saying she needed the exercise anyway, but it still gnawed at Taiyin’s heart.
Once they settled in with their pizza spread out across their lap like a king’s feast, Taiyin realized they had neglected to call Ling all day. Nearly toppling their takeout, they grabbed at their phone on the wooden coffee table. Sure enough, Ling had called four separate times, and both her children had tried once and twice respectively.
(Thanks, guys, really appreciated.)
As calmly as they could manage (read: with intense panic) Taiyin called Ling. The first ring didn’t even finish before she picked up.
“Where were you?” Ling said, sounding neutral as always. Taiyin wanted to scoff, but they suppressed the urge.
“I… I went out on a walk,” they said. “Sorry if I worried you.”
“It’s fine,” Ling said. “Why didn’t you take your phone?”
“Just wanted to get away from everything for a little while,” Taiyin said. “That’s all.”
Silence reigned for a moment. Taiyin curled a bit further into themself. Even if years had passed, being scolded by Ling would never lose its sting.
“Was it about Wendi?”
The bottom of Taiyin’s stomach gave out.
(Taitai, Taitai! Wanna hear my new song?)
(Some of us have things to do. Why do you have to show me everything?)
(Because I like you, duh. So do you wanna hear it?)
(...Okay, sure.)
“Why would it be about Wendi?” Taiyin asked, more defensive than they needed to be. Ling’s sigh was audible even two thousand kilometres away.
“The song?”
“Just because things are true doesn’t mean you have to say them,” Taiyin grumbled. A pout formed on their face even though no one was around to see it.
No one… No one had been around in a long time. All of Taiyin’s friends and family were scattered around Europe and Asia. But Taiyin stayed, stuck in an old lighthouse they didn’t even like just to live near a memory. A shitty, upsetting memory, but a memory nonetheless.
On the highest shelf in Taiyin’s closet, almost out of sight, was Wendi’s hat. It had been years, but Taiyin swore they could still smell the brine on it. At night, the shadows turned into wet, watery patches like it had been fished out of the ocean five minutes ago and not five years.
(Cheer up, Taitai! It could be worse.)
“I’m hanging up now,” Taiyin said, rushed. Their hands trembled like autumn leaves as they pressed the ‘end call’ button.
The silence was suffocating, deafening, overwhelming, but Taiyin couldn’t break it if they tried. Even their heavy breaths didn’t sound right or real, too wet and—too much, too wet, drowning, sinking, just like—
(Cheer up, Taitai! It could b- e- w o r s e.)
That sweet melody danced through the silence, rising to cup Taiyin’s cheek in a crescendo before ebbing away like the tide. In a hasty motion Taiyin would question for the rest of their life, they leapt up off their couch and tumbled outside.
The sick scent of saltwater hit them but they didn’t care, couldn’t care. If the waves took them today, then it was fate. Rain splattered against the ground, dousing Taiyin in water until they looked like a drowned alley cat. That lilting tune had hooked itself into Taiyin’s gut like a fish and it was reeling them in with every note.
Taiyin nearly tripped and slid down the slippery rocks as they ran. Only years of muscle memory kept them from slipping and cracking their skull open on the algae-covered stone. The song was getting louder, closer, and Taiyin dreaded what was on the other side. The only good outcome was gone, and every other victory was hollow.
(C h ee r u p, T aiT a i ! T h e w orst ha s a lrea dy h a ppen e d!)
Even amidst the rain and waves, Taiyin’s eyes picked up on something pale floating in the water. Every ounce of blood in their body turned to ice.
The boy’s dark hair was waterlogged to high heaven and clinging to his pale skin. Still, his eyes were exceptionally clear, like drops of a cloudless sky. They were locked onto Taiyin and an awkward smile wriggled uncomfortably onto his face. Behind the boy, a scaly green fishtail rose from beneath the waves, flicking about his body anxiously.
“Ehehe… Funny seeing you here!” the boy remarked. “...Taitai.”