Anna Byrd sang as she pulled a pot roast out of the oven. Lifting the lid, the rich aroma of tender beef, carrots and roasted potatoes filled the air, mixing with her melody. She sang as she set the table and poured iced tea into glasses. Hearing something, she stopped singing and turned to see her husband, Chad, leaning against the doorframe grinning at her.
“Your parents warned me, you know,” he said by way of greeting.
“Warned you about what?”
“About you. They said that even as a child you were never quiet. They warned me that you were always singing. Even so, I’m always surprised at how much you sing. Do you even realize it?”
“Not always,” Anna admitted with a shrug. “I just sing. It’s what I do. Enough about me. How was your day? Tell me about it while we eat. Everything is ready.”
After dinner, Chad helped Anna clean the kitchen before settling on the sofa with his guitar. Following a long day at Lockheed Martin building fighter planes, he enjoyed unwinding with his music. As Chad played, Anna sang. Pausing between songs, he looked at his wife and asked the question that burned in his mind.
“What have you written lately?”
The songs that always bubbled up from Anna dissipated like balloons that came untied. Deflated, she looked up at Chad with the same wide-eyed expression she’d had as a child. In many ways she still felt like that little Russian-speaking immigrant. She’d been rather husky, wearing clothes so old and out of style that she stood out in a crowd. In broken English she’d told anyone who would listen, “I sing for God.”
It was true. She did.
She sang for God from the time she woke each morning until sleep overtook her at night.
“You said it yourself,” Anna replied, “I sing all the time.”
“Yes, of course you do. But what have you written?”
“I’ve been too busy to write,” Anna said, leaving to fold a load of laundry.
The truth was, Anna realized, her singing career was at a standstill. Like a child star whose career ended at adulthood, Anna Byrd had no idea what to do with the rest of her life.
BVOV : 9
