Free Indigo Blues by Danielle Joseph

getting desperate now. Today seems eerily
like yesterday and my progress is sluggish. I promised the new song to the gang by Saturday morning and
all I have right now is a page full of words that rhyme with
booger. I should chain myself to this desk until I pump
out the song. I don't think there's a word to describe the
predicament I'm in now, other than "fucked."
    I pop in an early Hendrix CD for inspiration. Bad idea.
He's an immortal guitarist, someone I would never even try
to compete with. I turn it off before the lyrics even start.
    I call Gina.
    "Gina, my brain is dead. I can't come up with a good
song.

    "What about `Sugar Rush'?"
    I pick the half empty box of Nerds off my desk and
toss them into the trash can. Get lost, little balls of sugar. "I
don't even have the hook worked out yet."
    Silence.
    Dead silence.
    "Hey, are you there?" I say into the phone. All I need is
my manager crapping out on me.
    "Sorry Adam, I just lost an earring. You know, the sapphire ones Chad gave me for my birthday."
    "No, I don't," I shout. Okay, maybe that was harsh,
but keeping up with the presents my manager gets from
her boyfriend is not something I'm interested in. "I'm dying
over here, Gina."
    She goes into manager mode. Soft-voiced and sweet,
"Okay, relax. Take a deep breath."
    I inhale. Then cough. "Not working."
    "Adam, I know this is a big deal, but you need to calm
down."
    I get up from my computer chair and circle the room.
My feet slide across the carpet. Like I'm six again, I try to
get a shock from the static by revving up my socks and
then touching something soft. Things would be so much
better now if I were six. "I have writer's block. Maybe we
need another jam session."
    "Well, you know the guys will be all over the song after
you come up with the lyrics. But at this point we need
something solid to work with."

    "Nothing like pressure." I try to release some air, but
end up coughing instead.
    "Pick up your guitar, close your eyes, and just play
some freestyle."
    "Sounds New Agey."
    "I didn't ask you to get into a yoga pose."
    "Yeah, but I'm totally stumped here. Believe me, my
guitar's seen more action these past couple of days then I've
seen in a long time."
    "Whoa." She laughs. "I've got plenty of people I could
hook you up with."
    "This is not funny."
    "You're right. It's not. First things first. The song. I'm
just asking you to get comfortable. Let go of some of the
tension."
    "Do I have a choice?"
    No answer.
    I stop pacing and end up in a corner, facing the wall.
"Okay, fine. I'll try it."
    "Good. Check in with me later," she says before hanging up.
    Okay, simple assignment. I can do this. I think.
    I take off my socks, grab my guitar, and put my feet up
on my desk, all in an attempt to get comfortable. It feels
weird to close my eyes in a room full of light-I've never
been much of a napper. I get up to close my blinds, then
settle back into the chair. It's been so hard to shake Indigo
from my brain, but I will say one thing-there's nothing
that I love more than music. More than the sounds that emanate from my guitar, than the words that flow from
my mouth.

    Here goes ... I take a deep breath as instructed and play
around with some chords. I start with some basic stuff, then
move to freestyle. I combine a few simple chords until I
come out with a deeper bass sound that resonates with me.
I know "Sugar Rush" is supposed to be more upbeat, but I
figure the song can start off slow and simple and build its
way up. My eyes flit from open to closed. I don't look at the
pictures on my wall. I don't look at a certain framed photo
on my desk.
    Instead, I imagine myself in the middle of Manhattan,
in the heat of the action.

    Thoughts of Indigo float around in my head. A time
when we were lying together on the sofa at Zach's house
watching an old horror flick, Nightmare on Elm Street.
Indigo grabbed me at all the scary parts. Eventually she just
laid her head against my