Page 123 of The Girl with No Name

I wish I could find that woman from the plane and tell her how right she was.

I didn’t think my life could change because of ditching work to go to a concert with my best friend and some girl I didn’t know. But sometimes, God opens a small portal and asks,How are you doing? Is this really what you want?He asks that through the people who come into your life. Yeah, God speaks to you through people. God will talk to you through strangers, if you’ll listen.

Butyouhave to be the one to make the big move. That’s on you. When that opportunity comes, you’ve got to be ready to take your swing.

I’m taking mine. And it feels incredible.

I still don’t know if I believe in destiny. But I believe that life is a lot more mysterious than we think it is. One day, you’re sailing along, thinking you’ve got every little thing figured out. Then you meet a trucker who laces your beer with LSD, and you end up singing on stage with a world-class band.

You quit your stable 401k job.

You break up with the girl you thought was the love of your life.

You fall in love with a new one.

The right one.

Music is magic. And if you just let it take you where it wants, it can change your life.

Before you know it, Iz Kamakawiko’ole’s version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” is playing on your Spotify mix as you ride down to Nashville with your gorgeous new girl, and you don’t even know her?—

Name.

“Holy shit,” I remark.

Luna jumps. “What?”

“I just realized we’re moving to Nashville together, and I still don’t know your name.”

“Do you want to know?” She smirks. “Or do you like the mystery?”

“Have I earned it yet? And maybe a better question, if you tell me, does that mean you’ve finished your rebirth?”

She nods coyly. “I’d say yes to both questions.”

“Tell me.”

She takes a deep breath, but then when I glance over, her eyes have filled with tears. “Sorry. I’m a wet blanket sometimes. And there’s something about this song.”

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m just happy.” She pauses. “I’m really, really happy.”

Then she puts her hand on my shoulder, leans close to my ear, and whispers her name.

I feel a rush come over me that I get to run my mouth over its syllables, over and over, until my dying day.

“It’s the most beautiful name in the world,” I tell her. “It’s got some Oo-La-La.”

“Oo-la-la? What is O0-la-la?”

“I don’t know,” I laugh. “I just made it up. Maybe my next song? ‘She’s got the Oo-La-La.”

“I think some girls might think you’re insane and totally weird, saying something like that.”

“Well, Iaminsane and weird.”

She giggles, takes hold of my wrist, and pulls out a pen.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

Carefully, with her artistic hand, she starts to draw something on my forearm, right as the song changes to Chris Stapleton’s “Starting Over.”

“I was just going to write our initials in a heart,” she says. “Corny, I know. Is that okay?”

It’s all I can do to keep my eyes on the road and not stare at her glimmering, dark eyes.

“Absolutely. Mark me up, Carissa.”

THE END