Music of the Spirit

When my primary teachers told me that the Holy Ghost spoke as a still, small voice or a burning in the bosom, I was always confused. Since the day I was confirmed, I experienced the Spirit as music—a soundtrack constantly playing to fit whatever circumstances I’m in. A quick-paced brassy theme to warn of danger. A high flute trill to accompany an epiphany. Once, when I despaired at a tough AP World History essay question, the final boss theme from a video game played in my mind. A boss that had taken me days to conquer. I sat for a moment, gathering the resolve I’d used in my many attempts, then tackled the question. I happily received a B+.

No one else can hear this soundtrack. That is, until test day in Spanish 3. I’d confidently turned in my unit-one test with five minutes to spare and was packing up my binder. My classmates chatted in a low hum as we waited for the bell to dismiss us—except for Robin, seated in the next row over. They rarely spoke outside of conversation practice, but this time, they leaned over the bar anchoring their chair to the desk and whispered to me. “Do you have to play a fanfare whenever you turn in a test?”

A record scratched through my mind, and I nearly dropped my binder. “You heard that?” I hadn’t been humming along with it, had I?

Robin raised their eyebrow with a silver piercing. “Kinda hard to miss.”

“I’m sorry.” My cheeks burned. I must have been humming. The theme song from Pink Panther started to run through my head, though in a lower register than the usual tenor sax. What that was supposed to mean, I had no clue.

“Is that ‘Pink Panther’ on the tuba?”

I just stared in answer. Robin played tuba in band. Of course they’d recognize that instrument.

“Look, you may have accommodations, but headphones will keep you from being distracting.” The bell rang and they shot out the door without waiting for a reply.

This was definitely not me humming.

My immediate thought was that I needed to tell Allison. I’d known her since Sunbeams, and she’d been the first person I’d told about the music.

At lunch, I headed to her table by the exit for the hot food line. All the seats were taken by her basketball teammates. I stood to Allison’s right, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as people brushed past. Allison didn’t look my way, even when I cleared my throat.

This wasn’t working. I didn’t want to explain things in front of her friends either. I went back to my usual, much-emptier spot against the far wall and texted Allison, Can we talk? No reply came as I chewed my way through my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A single flute played in my mind—my part of a “Greensleeves” duet I had once performed with Allison. The song sounded empty without the second part that would probably never play with it again. Allison had given up flute for basketball when high school started.

At least Heavenly Father understood my loneliness, though He had yet to answer my prayers for a new friend. Allison was tall and athletic, with perfectly behaved blonde hair. Of course she made new friends easily. I, on the other hand, was short and fat, with dark curls that frizzed everywhere. Few people cared to talk to me.

By the end of the day, Allison still hadn’t texted back. However, she could no longer avoid me, as she was my ride home. But if she couldn’t even spare the courtesy of an acknowledgment, I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to her. I silently slid into the passenger seat of her ten-year-old silver sedan.

Allison smiled as she started the car. “Hey, Baylee, what’s going on?”

I shrugged.

“You said you wanted to talk?”

I folded my arms in on myself. “Pink Panther” on the tuba started playing in my mind again. What was that supposed to mean? The song was associated with mystery or searching for something. Did Heavenly Father want me to get some clues by talking with Allison? Fine. I looked down and fiddled with the strings of my hoodie. “Someone told me they could hear the music in my mind.”

Allison glanced at me with wide eyes. “You still hear that?”

The “Pink Panther” faded into cold silence. Of all the things she could have said . . . “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you haven’t mentioned it in a while.”

When would we have the chance to talk about it anymore? I barely saw her outside carpool and church. “Forget it.” Guess I’d misinterpreted that song.

“No, tell me. Who is it? Is it a boy?” She grinned.

I stared out at the large yellowing trees that shaded the roads everywhere in Oregon. “It’s Robin Hermsen.”

“Oh.” Allison’s smile faded. “I didn’t know you were friends with . . . them.”

“I’m not. At least . . .” I bit my lip. Bringing this up felt more and more like a bad idea, but Allison still knew how to talk to people better than I did. “What do you think I should do?” 

“How much have you said?”

“Nothing, really. They think the music came from my phone.”

“Maybe it’s better that way. Robin doesn’t go to church. They don’t know about the Spirit. You don’t want people to think you’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” After seeing how confused our teachers had been at this manifestation of the Spirit, we had agreed it was better to keep it to ourselves. But my stomach felt heavy at the thought. Shouldn’t it be different when someone else heard the same thing? Wasn’t I supposed to be a missionary and explain the Holy Ghost? And what if Robin thought they were crazy when they realized nobody else could hear the music? They deserved some answers, didn’t they?

And maybe this was the answer to my prayer for a new friend. I closed my eyes. Heavenly Father, do you want me to explain everything to Robin?

An upbeat song from an RPG played in my mind, from a scene where the group pledges that they will stick together, no matter that one of them is a clone of the demonic villain. That sounded like a yes. But I didn’t feel the happiness or warmth that was supposed to come with a positive answer from the Spirit. Instead, my chest felt tight. How do I say it? The only answer I got was the RPG song continuing on loop as we finished our three-mile drive in silence.

The next day at lunch, I stood in the corner of the cafeteria near the entrance, searching for Robin. Mozart’s “Flute Concerto No. 2” danced through my mind, a piece that usually relaxed me. But this time, it did nothing to calm my racing heart. How could I explain the Holy Ghost to someone who didn’t know the gospel? What if I said something stupid? What if Robin didn’t like me? 

Finally, I spotted them at a table against the wall opposite of where I usually sat. As I hoped, they were alone. I’d never noticed them hanging out with anyone, though admittedly, I’d never paid them much attention before. Did the whole school ignore them like I had? Or worse? I’d heard the things some said about trans people, and I knew the suicide statistics for them were not good. Maybe Heavenly Father had let them listen to my music because they needed a friend as much as I did. As if in response, the peaceful Mozart played a bit louder in my mind. I must be thinking on the right track.

Unfortunately, Robin sat hunched over a salad while watching their phone, wearing black headphones that disappeared into their short black hair. Their black backpack sat next to them, the attached chains and miniature plastic skulls sprawling all over the table. They may as well have been wearing a sign that said “DO NOT DISTURB ON PAIN OF DEATH.” I gripped my backpack straps tight. Maybe another time would be better. But when? There might not be enough time before class. Also, people would be likely to overhear. At least in the cafeteria, there was enough ambient noise to give us some privacy.

Mozart’s music continued. God always prepared the way, right? I took a deep breath and walked over. I leaned over the table to try to catch their eye. They glanced at me, then slid their backpack to the floor without a word. 

Well, that was easy. I set my lunchbag on the table where the backpack had been, then pulled out the bag of cookies I’d made the night before. No one could say no to chocolate chip cookies, right? I pushed them toward Robin. “These are for you.”

They paused their video. “Why?”

I shrank back at their harsh tone. “’Cause . . . I just . . . thought it’d be nice.”

They peered at me through their heavy eyeliner, then took the bag. “Thanks.” They started their video again.

“Um, I also wanted to ask if you still hear my music, or if it was just in Spanish.”

This time, they pulled down their headphones after pausing the video. “I already told you, if you’re worried about people hearing, use headphones.”

“I can’t. The music doesn’t come from my phone.” I set my silent phone on the table as proof.

Robin glanced at the phone, and then at me. “So what are you saying?”

“I know this sounds crazy, but—”

“You shouldn’t call things crazy.”

I blinked. “What?”

“It’s dehumanizing to people with mental illness.” Their lips pressed together into a thin frown.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know.” Great. I’d just begun and already I’d said the wrong thing.

“Well, now you do.” They took a big stab of their salad. 

I slowly spun my phone with my finger. “I just wanted to explain about the fanfare with the test yesterday. You weren’t supposed to hear it. Nobody was. It just plays directly in my head, and I can’t control it.”

“What do you mean you can’t control it?”

“I just can’t. Music’s always played wherever I go, fitting whatever I’m doing.”

Robin slowly chewed their salad before answering. “Like you’re the main character in a movie?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

“And no one else can hear it?”

“Yeah. You’re the first.” I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans. 

“Huh. That explains why Señora Aguilar didn’t know what I was talking about.” Robin nodded to themself as they grabbed their water bottle and took a swig.

I froze. How long had they been hearing my music? “I’m sorry if it bothered you.”

Robin shrugged. “It’s a bit distracting, but if there’s nothing you can do, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I guess.”

A moment of silence stretched between us. “Well, thanks for letting me know.” Robin slipped their headphones back on. 

Wait, that couldn’t be it. How could they just . . . accept something completely outside the norm? Then again, they were completely outside the norm themself. But wasn’t Robin at all curious what it meant? I opened my lunchbag and crunched on some grapes as I considered my options. Be blunt and ask what they thought? No, I didn’t want to push them away. Different topic then? Mom did say the best way to make friends was to ask them questions.

“What are you watching?”

They didn’t remove their headphones or pause the video. “A telenovela.”

“Oh. What’s it about?”

Their eyes narrowed. “It’s complicated.”

“Tell me anyway?”

Robin paused it and turned to me in a huff. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know, I just thought . . .”

“What?”

“Don’t you want to know why you’re the only person who can hear my music?”

“You mean like fate has brought us together, or some crap like that?”

I tried not to wince at the crassness. “I always believed the music was God telling me something. It has to mean something if God allowed you to hear it too.”

“I don’t believe in God or fate. Just don’t bother me, and I won’t bother you.” They turned back to their telenovela as they took another bite of salad.

That wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. I numbly picked up my sandwich and shoved it in my mouth. The peanut butter congealed more than usual, drying everything out. Heavenly Father, what do you want me to do? “Pink Panther” on the tuba played again in my mind. Yeah, it was a mystery, all right. I sighed and picked up my phone. But instead of searching for memes like usual, I typed ‘telenovela’ into the search bar.

Latino soap operas, huh? That sounded interesting. I picked one at random that had full episodes available and started to watch. 

The entire walk to Spanish the next day, I considered what topics I could have a conversation with Robin about. So, how long have you been playing the tuba? What telenovelas would you recommend? Where did you get all those skulls for your backpack? I squeezed past Señora Aguilar struggling to turn on the projector and settled into my seat. I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, then turned to Robin. But before I could say anything, they jumped up and started poking at the projector’s cords. After a minute, the screen lit up and the Spirit played a fanfare in my head. Robin jumped at the music and glanced in my direction, but said nothing as they returned to their seat. I leaned over and whispered, “Buen trabajo,” but they just shrugged. I really was just annoying them, wasn’t I? 

That night, I continued with the telenovela En Salud. I understood maybe half of the Spanish, and the subtitles filled me in on the rest. In one of the plotlines, Romina learns she has cancer and decides to break up with her fiance Diego. In response, Diego disguises himself as a chef to deliver food and as a maid to clean her house in an effort to win her back. Maybe that’s what I need to do to build a relationship with Robin—service. 

On Friday night, the band performed at the football game. Allison dropped me off at the school band room before driving to the stadium downtown that we shared with our rival school. I hurried to change into my uniform so I could help Robin carry their instrument to the bus that the band rode together to the game. But when I ran to the back closet, Robin was already settling the wrap-around tuba onto their shoulder. “Hi, want some help?”

Robin’s face scrunched up like the lady in the meme trying kombucha for the first time. “Worry about your own instrument.”

A sad trombone played. Wah wah waaah. I forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll see you on the bus then.”

But when it was time to load up, they clomped right past my seat. I banged my head against the window. I was pathetic. I couldn’t make a friend even with Heavenly Father’s help. Why did being social have to be so hard?

That was it. I gave up.

At the game, I played what I was expected to play and marched what we were supposed to march. But I didn’t pay attention to the score. As soon as the band was dismissed, I made a beeline for the bus back to school to get out of the cold. I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and hide under my blanket.

As soon as I sat down in the empty bus, my phone dinged with a text from Allison. Hey, I’m going to hang out with some people after the game. Is it possible for you to get another ride home?

A vaguely familiar, sad piano melody began to play in my mind, accompanied by violins. Great, now all I needed was for it to start raining. I glared up at the dark clouds that were constant this time of year, but tonight at least, they withheld their drizzle. Mom and Dad were at ward temple night and wouldn’t be done for another hour, so I wouldn’t be able to ask them for a ride. But who was I to keep Allison from her real friends? I texted back, Yeah, I can do that.

Thanks. You’re the best! came the reply.

Who else could take me home? Maybe Sister Liang, my Young Women president, could help. I sent her a text, but as the bus slowly filled, there was no reply. 

I bit my lip as I tried to think of who else from my Young Women class could drive. Sabrina worked at Subway, but Zoe might be free. I pulled up her number. Can I ask a favor?

The seat flumphed as someone dropped down next to me. “Hey, Baylee, are you okay?” Robin asked.

Oh gosh, I didn’t look like I was about to cry, did I? I forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Really? ’Cause you’re playing the song from when Romina broke up with Diego in En Salud.”

“I am?” I listened more closely to the music. Now that they mentioned it, that did sound right. Under any other circumstances, this would have been a great time to tell them how much I’d enjoyed the telenovela, but I didn’t need to see them shut me out again. 

Robin nodded. “I could hear it all the way from the stadium entrance.”

I glanced back through the window. If they could hear my music from that far away, then they could hear it even if we weren’t in the same class. “Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry. I didn’t know it had that much range.”

“Never mind about that. Did you just get dumped?”

I stared back. “No. I’m not even allowed to date yet.”

“Oh.” Robin’s forehead scrunched up. “Weird that you have a breakup song playing then.”

“Yeah.” I hoped they would take the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it. Otherwise, I might actually cry.

“I know it’s not much, but if you had been, I’ve got some cans in my car I was taking to be recycled. If you need something to smash.”

Even if I had been dumped, I imagined I would cope with it with a bucket of ice cream rather than smashing things in a fit of rage. “Thanks, but I’m fine.” I forced a bigger smile to prove my point. 

“Okay. Night then.” Robin clomped down the aisle to a seat two rows back.

As the bus started up to return to school, my phone buzzed with a message from Zoe. Sorry, I’m babysitting right now.

I scrolled through my contacts. Who else? “Heavenly Father, please tell me who can give me a ride home,” I whispered.

My music faded into silence.

I blinked in disbelief. Nobody? What kind of answer was that? Heavenly Father expected me to wait for my parents, in the cold and dark, alone? But when the bus pulled up next to the school, I had no better answers. So I sent my parents a text and trudged off the bus.

As Robin and the other tuba players passed by with their instruments, I paused. Robin had a car, and their concern had sounded real. Was it okay to ask them for help? They had helped Señora Aguilar without being asked after all. 

In answer, Romina and Diego’s song started playing again.

I met Robin as they settled their tuba onto the storage rack. “Hey, I think I know why this song is playing.”

“Yeah?”

At least they weren’t shutting me down this time. “Allison was supposed to give me a ride home, but she ditched me for other friends.”

“Well, that’s a crappy friend.”

“Do you think you could maybe . . . would it be possible for you to give me a ride home? My parents can’t get here for another hour.” I bit my lip, ready to duck away if they showed annoyance again. 

“Where do you live?”

“Over by Griffin Oaks Park.”

Robin nodded. “Sure, that’s on my way.”

“You sure? ’Cause I don’t want to bother you if you’d rather not.”

Robin shrugged. “I’m not doing anything else tonight. Besides, school’s creepy when it’s empty. I don’t blame you for not wanting to stay.”

The tightness in my chest lifted. “Thank you so much. I’ll bring you a fresh batch of cookies on Monday.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Is there something else you’d prefer? Are you gluten-free?”

“No, it’s just that you already got me cookies.”

“So? I like making them.” I grinned.

Robin smiled slightly. “I suppose if I can’t stop you, then I will eat your cookies.” 

On the drive home, we talked about En Salud and they teased about some upcoming twists. A new tune began to play—a flute and a tuba, melodies chasing each other. Robin laughed. “Could you be more on the nose with that song?”

My cheeks grew suddenly hot. “I’m sorry—”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I dunno. I just . . . I was thinking maybe we should be friends.” That was the obvious interpretation. I bit my lip and turned to see Robin’s reaction.

“Should be? Like we have to? Like fate?” Their voice sounded harsh, but I caught a glimpse of a smirk.

“I mean, I’d like to be friends.” I looked down at my lap. “If you’re okay with that.”

They glanced at me before shrugging and turning back to the road. “Eh, you don’t seem so bad.”

I smiled. Well, at least it was a start.

Annaliese (rhymes with pizza) Lemmon likes to eat chocolate, play board games, and collect virtual creatures. Her fiction has been a finalist in the Mormon Lit Blitz multiple times and has appeared in Mysterion, Wayfare, and Irreantum. She lives with her husband and children in Arizona.

Art by Stanton Macdonald-Wright and Morgan Russell via Wikimedia.