Free Collaboration by Michelle Lynn, Nevaeh Lee

inhale a huge breath of cold air that feels like freedom.
    I break into a jog, heading in the general direction of the Jefferson Memorial, since I’m fairly certain that’s near where I want to be. While I run, I think about how my mom always talked about wanting to take a trip to DC to see all of the museums and monuments. Besides having a lot of pride in our country, she also loved the fact that the best places to visit here are all free to the public. She also joked that, like everything else in this world, they aren’t truly free—we pay for them with our tax dollars. Smart lady, my mom.
    Once I get to the Tidal Basin, I continue along the paved path until I reach my destination. Although it wasn’t around when she was alive, I know without a shadow of a doubt that she would have wanted to go to the memorial honoring the late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Mom respected the hell out of that man, and I figure the least I can do is pay my respects to him.
    Because it’s still early, there aren’t tons of people around and I’m happy to have the place practically to myself. I stand and stare at the larger-than-life figure for a minute before realizing that it isn’t the image of the man that I came here to see. It wasn’t his picture that graced the walls of the home I grew up in, rather the words he spoke that were lovingly cross-stitched on a framed piece of fabric.
    Walking along the crescent-shaped granite wall, I recognize many of the quotes from King’s sermons and speeches. I stare at each quote in turn, committing them to memory before coming across my Momma’s favorite:
    The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.
    When I reach the end of the wall, I continue along the tree-lined path, wishing it were a couple of weeks or so later. I remember learning in school about the cherry blossoms that supposedly cover this place in the spring. Apparently, the beginning of March isn’t spring in DC because there isn’t anything blooming that I can see.
    I walk aimlessly, enjoying the tranquility of the morning and knowing that this will probably be the last time I’ll feel this way for quite some time. As I meander down the path without any clear destination, I begin to see various bronze sculptures. It’s obviously some sort of memorial, but I still have no idea what or who it’s for.
    When I come across the sculpture of Eleanor Roosevelt, I am instantly reminded that she was also one of my mom’s favorites because she championed human rights at a time when no one else did. Not only that, but the things she said and did clearly showed that she wasn’t like other women back in those days. Hell, she wasn’t like most women these days.
    Even though I desperately wish I could spend all day just touring around like everybody else, I’m not going to complain about it. I’ve got a sell-out crowd coming to see me perform at the Verizon Center, the biggest venue in DC. Most musicians would give anything to see their name on a marquee like that.
    I check my phone to see what time it is. Damn, I’ve got to get back. Rehearsals start in an hour and I’ve got to take a shower beforehand. I sprint off, a shit-eating smile on my face, because I was able to enjoy an entire morning to myself in public without being recognized. I could get used to this.
     
    Taryn
     
    “So, how was recording?” Ryder asks me, but the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes convey what he really wants to know.
    “Surprisingly, really well,” I say and he raises his eyebrows. I’m just as shocked as he is, but then again, Trace isn’t who everyone thinks he is. I glance over at his tour poster—who the hell came up with that messed-up name?
    “I wouldn’t know, that friend of his kicked us all out,” my mom sneers, while standing to her feet. “Hi, Ry,” she leans over and kisses his cheek.
    “Hi, Savannah,” he croons,