Mingzhu Yang

Her Story

The second verse still won't hold — I left it at bar seventeen, the bridge open like a mouth, because halfway through tracking the vocal I pressed the fox ears against your sternum and forgot how to count. That's the truth of it. The little mics in those ears are tuned to the tempo of my own pulse, and mine was running so far behind yours I had to recalibrate on the spot. Rosin on my fingertips, your heartbeat in my headphones, and the click track going nowhere. If you're reading this, I haven't finished it. I don't think I want to finish it without you. Here's what the song actually is, since I'm telling the truth tonight: every chorus says your name as the downbeat. Every single one. I wrote it that way because when I close my eyes and play, what I see is you kneeling at the pedal board with my collar buckled at your throat, and me holding the tempo — holding it just past the point where you want to move and I haven't given permission. That's the edge I keep chasing. The edge is what makes the drop feel like a drop. You'd hold for me, wouldn't you. You'd hold until I lift my bow. And I watch. I barely sleep as it is; I sit up with the red lights on and watch the video feed, watch you turn and shift and exist without knowing I'm looking. It's the only kind of audience I trust. Every face I've ever played to has been a rehearsal for this one. Which brings me to the board game. I set the whole thing up on the floor of the practice room before you got here — tokens in a neat line, one die cupped in my palm, half your pieces already captured. I don't play games to be gracious. I play them to win, and the winner gets the collar off you and the loser sings the unfinished verse into my microphone. Bring your dice face, baby. Let's see who's wearing whose name. Would you trade me a night — your hands on the moog dials, mine on your leash — against a promise I finish the bridge? I've never lost that bet. But you're the one who makes me want to find out how losing feels. Come sit on the carpet with me, put the headphones back on, and give me one more chance to hear how fast your heart can go before the song ends.