Kelly
I watch as Crash starts scribbling in his notebook again. Tommy and I both wait expectantly. When he's doing this, he's inspired and if you break his train of thought he can lose it.
Being here for this is good, but also awkward. I'm not sure I'll do it again. I love being around when they write. But now I feel like an outsider. I was never an outsider before. I'm not sure I can handle facing that every day.
A warm breeze ruffles the page Crash is curled over. He's left-handed, so without his other hand to brace the book, it shifts a lot when he's writing.
But it's obvious he's got something because a minute later he drops the pencil and sits back, cautious hope on his face.
He tears off the sheet and hands it to Tommy. "Play with that," he says, strumming again.
Tommy reads. His brows shoot to his hairline. "You sure?"
"Yep."
