The Wrong Heart

by Jennifer Hartmann

“Then I realized: I do fucking know you, Melody. I know the deep, important shit, like the way your eyes light up when you’re dancing in the freezing lake singing God-awful eighties songs, and that you cry when you hear violins play, and that your mom would make you peanut butter and banana sandwiches whenever you were sad, and all the little things that keep you waking up each morning, living and breathing. I know your starting points.” Tears trickle down my cheeks, pooling at my jaw, and I stare at him, dumbfounded. Star-struck and bewitched. Parker continues. “So, I built you this violin. It’s a little shoddy—not my best work because violins are kind of a bitch to hand carve, but… it plays.” Pausing, he reaches for his cell phone lying beside his right knee and scrolls his finger over the screen until a music app opens. His gaze connects with mine before he taps the song. “Dancing in the lake, the song, Unchained Melody, the sound of violins, peanut butter and banana sandwiches, August…” He waves his arm out, as if gesturing to the current month. “Sandwiches are in my bag.”