Dipping In

“I knew it! Our little Lucy Squirrel is a genius!” Annabelle beamed as she read the results of the online IQ test she had foisted upon her five-year-old daughter. She was a harried but loving mother who relied on the internet for many of life’s decisions. Bolstered by the test findings, Annabelle chose to believe that her relaxed, near absent, parenting style hadn’t produced any negative effects.

Lucy earned her nickname after demonstrating an uncanny ability to scale trees an order of magnitude higher than her stature, at record speeds. She had other unexpected talents: at the age of four, Lucy began reading voraciously; all anyone could deduce is that she had somehow taught herself. She seemed to flourish effortlessly, despite being the frequently overlooked, yet still cherished, fourth child in a succession of girls.

Lucy’s oldest sister, Margaret, cleaned offices in one of the behemoth skyscrapers downtown. Margaret brought Lucy with her when she worked in the city, nobly taking on the role of caregiver while their parents worked long hours in their struggling real estate business. Lucy savored these days with her sister, content to bury herself in a book as she adoringly trailed Margaret from office to office as she cheerfully mopped and polished.

One glorious fall morning, Lucy reluctantly held onto her sister’s hand while they crossed the busy street. Lucy had become distracted by this new, enchanting world outside her sheltered domain. The street was a kaleidoscope of colors, a dissonance of sounds that captured Lucy’s pursuit of novelty. She looked straight up into the sky, dizzying herself as she continued walking.

Lucy let go of Margaret’s hand and stole her way toward the line of food trucks against the sidewalk. She became absorbed by the intoxicating aromas of fried food, savory spices, and freshly baked bread that swirled into her awareness. Lucy momentarily lost sight of her sister; she giggled in delight as she enjoyed the delicious moment of being on her own in the city.

In the next vague blur, she saw Margaret, running toward her, the near-constant look of concern washing over her kind features. Where had Lucy run off to this time? Margaret was shaking her head as she was halfway across the street, approaching Lucy. Margaret saw the car the exact moment it entered her trajectory, knocking her to the ground. Lucy spotted the car before her sister did, early enough that she could have warned her. Inexplicably, rather than using her remarkable, expressive voice to alert her sister, she was unable to produce any words, as hard as she tried. Her mouth formed into a soundless scream as terror overtook her small body. Lucy watched in horror as her perfect sister left this world.

***

Lucy moved away from home one month after her eighteenth birthday, ready to distance herself from the family that wordlessly blamed her for the death of her sister. Of course, they repeatedly told her there was nothing she could have done—after all, “you were only six.” Lucy had never been able to shake their silent rebuke. Lucy’s once expansive vocabulary reduced itself to necessities, nothing more. She feared upsetting the delicate equilibrium her family so tightly held in its grasp, afraid to voice her complicity in her sister’s death.

Lucy’s memories of that unspeakable day came only in pictures, flickers of guilty knowing. As penance, she squelched her once-insatiable curiosity, feeling compelled to keep herself contained in her small world. Lucy endured the weight of her parents’ ever-present attention, driven by fear that something unthinkable would take away another daughter.

Always self-sufficient, Lucy easily found work to finance her independence. Living away from her parents, she gradually dipped back into life. Curiously, Lucy began to seek adventure with complete strangers: first, she booked a white-water rafting trip on a wild river. Feeling this long buried, yet familiar quest for exhilaration, she next found herself rock-climbing, then bungee jumping. She nearly drew the line at skydiving, but one of the few men who had captured her romantic interest drew her in, tempting her with “you haven’t lived until you’ve completed your first jump!” His words proved true: as she jumped, she felt herself a butterfly, leaving its chrysalis. Her new world presented itself in vivid color, its soundtrack promising undiscovered rapture.

Lucy didn’t speak of these new pursuits with her family, worried that her parents’ fearfulness would steal her joy. She was courageous in this world of her making, a domain where action became her form of expression. Lucy remained to her parents the dutiful, repentant daughter, barely noticeable in their company. Unconsciously, she held onto the belief that her inability to warn her sister that day abdicated her right to bold self-expression.

***

Lucy’s skydiving boyfriend Miguel was moving to Nashville—he had accepted a job as the Chief Nursing Officer at Nashville General. He and Lucy were becoming serious; he loved the calm, quiet knowing she embodied and she cherished his kind heart and unconditional acceptance of her. Miguel felt sick at the thought of losing her but couldn’t deny that it would be a mistake to pass up this career opportunity. He resorted to begging Lucy to move with him to Nashville, in his endearingly guileless way. Lucy pushed aside her apprehension and accompanied Miguel to Nashville, ready to immerse herself in their shared adventure.

She was immediately captivated by the city’s bursting creativity, its magnetic force for soulful expression. She took a job waiting tables at a bar on Broadway, soaking in the raw talent of struggling musicians who poured themselves out on stage. Out of nowhere, Lucy found her voice through writing, spending every spare moment detailing her thoughts. Poems evolved into lyrics.

In an uncharacteristic moment, Lucy revealed her writings to Miguel. She intended to slowly expose herself, to read only one song. Instead, her words spilled as she delivered page after page, melodic in her conveyance. He sat in stunned silence.

Through his tears, Miguel whispered, “How have you been walking around with all of this, all that pain? I’m so sorry.”

Lucy stared back at him, eyes wide. She had feared her words would be too much for him. Just as they had been too much for her family.

He continued, “This is…unbelievably amazing. You’re amazing, Lucy. I think it’s time that someone heard you.”

Lucy’s manager at the bar, Jim, had a knack for recognizing authentic talent. Emboldened, she approached Jim with her work. It took mere minutes before he readily agreed with Miguel’s assessment. Jim made use of his industry connections, sending Lucy into a whirlwind of meetings and contract signing.

Her instinct had been to apologize for her presence when she timidly entered her first recording session, mumbling if only to herself, “I don’t belong here.” This moment instigated the uncoiling of her emotions, sending her into the most exhilarating yet terrifying freefall as she recorded her songs into perpetuity. It was as if her heart had burst open and she could finally accept that she was meant to feel. She dared to hope that her words could be a balm for the pain of others.

Lucy began collaborating with performers whose names she had known well before she arrived in Nashville. She allowed herself to enjoy her growing notoriety as a lyricist, then being wildly astonished by the uncovering of her innate musical ability. She felt in her bones that she was meant to use her voice, to end her silence and leave behind her shadowed existence. Lucy spent hours in this rhapsodic creative bubble, her thoughts rhythmic as she lost herself in her melodies.

She felt joyous as she was gradually freeing herself from the potent grip of her lifelong guilt. Lucy wasn’t completely free, though. Her true self remained invisible to her family, still closely guarded until she gathered her resolve. She hadn’t let them see who she had become, nor who she always had been. Lucy wasn’t ready yet, but sensed the right moment would show itself.

For now, she would ride this wave, remaining on its crest until it dropped her into unknown waters. This time, she might even make a splash.