The Treble With Men

by Smartypants Romance

Mom rocked her head back and forth as though weighing his words. “I don’t think so. Well, regardless, you were changed. You were so afraid to do anything. You had scared yourself straight. You didn’t go back to being the girl with big dreams, you became somebody else entirely. When you first got out of rehab, you seemed so ashamed. We should have emphasized that none of that mattered. We should have made sure you knew you were still loved. But you checked out,” Mom said. “It was so hard to see. We wanted you happy and protected and so we saw how much it was easier for you if we made some decisions for you. At least at first, until you found your feet. So we did. We put you on a routine and we made you comfortable. And when we suggested a stage name, like you father’s pen name, you latched onto the idea. The separation helped. But then it went on like that for years. You leaned on us for protection and decision making.”

  “And selfishly, we were glad to have you here with us still.” Dad smiled. “The three of us at home. You seemed to enjoy the restrictions, and your anxiety got better. The less choices you made, the better you got.”

  “Because here’s the hard part of where we are going with all this,” Mom said.

  “Okay.” I swallowed.

  “We know now that we aren’t here to make your life comfortable. You weren’t living. You’ve become crippled by the fear of making the wrong choice.”

  “And it’s understandable.” Dad smiled sadly.

  “But listen, honey, we were young once and did some really crazy and stupid shit. The only difference was we didn’t have parents there to step in with money and concern. Does that make sense? What I’m saying?” Mom asked.

  “But … the only good choice I made was to come home.” My voice cracked as I spoke. “Now what? What if I keep choosing wrong?”

  “So? That’s life. You make choices and you move forward. No matter if they’re good or bad. Make them and commit to them. Because that’s how you grow and change.”

  I shook my head. “It’s more than that. You don’t understand.”

  I took a deep breath in. It was time to tell them everything. About camp and what I did to get that solo knowing they’d be ashamed of me.

  After I’d finished, they shared a look. “I had no idea.” Mom looked to Dad who shook his head too. “We knew her death hit you hard. It makes sense, why you’d blame yourself. I probably would too,” my mom said.

  “You would?” I asked.

  “Of course. But it wasn’t your fault. You know that. I wish you had come to us sooner, but I understand why you were afraid.”

  They squeezed my hands in tandem. I let out a long, slow breath. Sharing it with people who cared was like having more hands to help carry the emotional baggage that had weighed down my shoulders for so long.

  “You were never a disappointment. Nothing has changed. If anything, it makes sense. In fact, it might be a good idea to make an appointment to talk to someone.”

  I nodded because I had been thinking about that myself. “I will.”

  “Good. We have always been proud of you. We have always loved the person you are. Please don’t think anything else. But you have to try. This half state of being, crippled by fear. That’s not living. That’s killing time.”

  Dad glanced at Mom before saying, “Nothing great ever happens when you’re comfortable. I’m not trying to sound trite, it’s just a fact.”

  “Why are y’all telling me all this now?”

  “Because we see you living out of fear. You think safety is the most important thing but safety doesn’t always work. Fear isn’t always a good indication of risk. And failure isn’t always bad. We need fear to keep us from doing stupid things, but it’s hard to know when to trust it when it is the same fear that keeps us from making choices that could ultimately help us.”

  “Well how will I know? How can I keep from making the wrong choice?” I asked desperate to know the secrets.

  “Trust your heart. But more than that, trust that if and when you make a mistake or fail, the world will still turn. You will be okay. We will still love you. That will never change.”

  “I love you guys,” I said as a tear spilled over.

  “We love you so much.”

  My dad released my hand. He pulled a letter with familiar handwriting from his jacket. “This is for you. Take it and read it. Decide what to do from there. Let it lead to action or put it away with the others and move on with your life.”

  “But you make a choice,” Mom said. “And own it.”

  I left the kitchen feeling lighter. The little girl in me had needed to hear everything they’d said. Unconditional love was always nice to be reminded of.

  I took the letter and went to my room.

  In my closet, I moved aside the rolled-up posters of Death Cab for Cutie, Weezer, and Erik Jones (oh, the irony) and grabbed out my box of notes from the top shelf.

  Years of notes, worn from folding and rereading time and time again. These notes had been everything. Holding them transported me to my childhood.

  I took the box and dumped them out. The new letter sat untouched to the side.

  I opened random notes and read them, the critiques and the meaning behind them. That handwriting. Of course. Of course it was Erik. My eyes burned as I madly sifted through one after the other. All those years Roddy lied to me. So much time spent trusting him. I wouldn’t be mad at myself for trusting him, but I was sad about the time wasted. Why hadn’t Erik just told me?

  Then again, it seems so obvious now. How could I think anything else? The handwriting was the same as it was now. I had been lying to myself. Holding back in fear. But something happened as I read the notes. I understood something more. It was never the notes. It was what they represented. The innocence. My youth was over as quickly as it began. I took that from myself.

  With each note I understood that more and more. These notes represented a life lost. They represented that warm, hopeful thrill that only being young and having the whole future ahead of you could give. It was that bubbling sensation in my chest that dreamed big. It was the hope and love of the future.

  It wasn’t really about the person who wrote them.

  These notes represented a future full of hope and I’d held on to them like they could change my past. But I couldn’t change my past. I owned it. I was still me. I was still loved. I was still a person with a life ahead of her.

  I mourned the girl that got these notes, but I had to let her go. She was gone. I needed to live the life I had now. I had held on, hoping they would help me feel that zest for life again, thinking, “if I just met the right person …” But she was right here all along. I was here all along.

  It was time to move on.

  I started a fire in the fireplace. Once it burned bright and hot, I held the notes above them. They were holding me back and I was done being afraid.

  I pulled my hand back.

  Okay, I wasn’t going to burn them. I was still sentimental at heart. The message had sunk in. No point in burning them.

  I put the shoebox away and took out the new letter.

  Dear Kim…

  I closed my eyes and gripped it to my chest. I had made a choice before I finished reading the letter. I was done choosing fear. I was going out on a limb. I was choosing possible rejection. I was ready to lean into the fear and jump anyway.

  “What exactly am I seeing here?” Gretchen’s voice came from the doorway.

  I dropped the letter I’d been sniffing. “I’m checking for structural integrity.”

  “Because it looks like you’re snorting that piece of paper.”

  “She was definitely sniffing it.” Suzie appeared behind her.

  “What are y’all doing here?” I scooted the letter under my leg.

  “We came to check on you,” Suzie said in a soothing voice.

  “You’ve been real weird since you’ve been back,” Gretchen said.

  “I’m coping. Actually, I’m okay. I really am. Just a little sad is all.”

  Gretch nodded
. Suzie squeezed my hand.

  “I understand that I have been hiding in life. I get that now. But how does someone just change that?” I asked, glancing between the two of them.

  “You take it one day at a time. Think about what you want.”

  “I want to move forward,” I said. “I want to know how to do that. I’ve been afraid of hurting people for so long. How do I act just for me without taking from others?”

  “Maybe try thinking about things this way: It’s not what you are taking away from others, but what you have to offer,” Suzie said. “I never thought I was anything more than a stripper. Then I realized that my dancing and showing people how to feel good in their bodies was something I could give. Happiness is one of those things that only gets bigger the more you give out.”

  I smiled at her because she really was amazing when she danced. And Gretchen was so full of life she turned heads wherever she went. She lit up rooms. My smile fell. “I’m not like you two. I’m flat.”

  Gretchen guffawed. “No, you are not. Get out of here with that nonsense.”

  “You have fire in you,” Suzie said. “We’ve seen it and heard it.”

  “Me?” I’d worked so hard to make myself small.

  “When you play, you bring people joy. You give your lessons for free to kids who can’t afford it. Don’t pretend that you aren’t spreading light,” Gretchen said.

  “Imagine if instead of worrying about taking, you put all that energy into giving,” Suzie said. “You really put your soul into everything you say and do.”

  “Devlin said something similar. He said that’s what you leave with people. How they felt, not what you did,” I smiled.

  “Ah, dammit,” Gretchen said. “I hate when a man is right.”

  Suzie and I shared a smile. A bubbling sensation filled my chest. It felt like hope. It was that feeling after my breakthrough with Devlin. It came back after talking with my parents. Now it was here again. What if I could make a difference? What if I could be a person that brought other people joy through my playing?

  Even if the SOOK wouldn’t have me, I would find a way to play. I was alive when I really let myself go and played fully with my heart. I missed that. I could still do the lessons for the kids in town. Maybe I’d find another symphony to play with.

  “I think I would like that,” I said.

  “I know what I want. I want to go to this awesome concert.” Gretchen turned her phone to me.

  “‘The Devil Unmasked? With special guest Erik Jones.’ What’s this?” I asked.

  “Not sure.” She shrugged not so innocently. “Guess we should go and find out.”

  “Oh my God. Is he going to take off his mask?”

  Suzie raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like it.”

  “So hypothetically speaking, if you were going to start playing again. Is there maybe a song you’d play? Maybe one you’ve spent months perfecting?” Gretchen asked with a wry smile.

  A new thrill crossed my mind. I glanced at my phone. What day was it even? I had a plan. I could make things right and start living again.

  “I have an idea,” I said. “But I need your help.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m a step ahead of you. The bats are in my car.”

  Suzie shook her head. “Oh, for crying out loud …”

  Chapter 39

  I love you. I always have.

  DEVLIN

  I sent Kim the letter four days ago. I hadn’t heard back, but I wasn’t dwelling. I had a plan.

  I’d begged, groveled, and sold myself out. As part of being reinstated the Board had insisted I talk to each and every member of the symphony. I begged for one more chance. It wasn’t easy. Most of the performers were hesitant. With each house visited, I grew more determined. Even if it was just me up there, at least I’d done everything I could. I gave it everything.

  Here I was, pimping myself out as Erik Jones, and I didn’t care. This was about proving that I could let the past go. It wasn’t the showcase I thought I wanted. It might make me lose all credibility, but I didn’t care anymore about being taken seriously by the classical music world. If they couldn’t disassociate the pop star from the composer, well, that was on them. I’d keep making music. I’d keep moving forward. Those who mattered would know. But at this point, there was one person I wanted to show that I was changed. One person I wanted to see and know the real me.

  Tonight was the night. I dressed in a suit and tie. I wore dress shoes for crying out loud. I came in Wes’s minivan, the whole family in tow.

  “It’s going to be great. You’ll see,” my mother said.

  Even Wes clapped me on the shoulder and said, “You’re doing the right thing. I’m proud of you, man.”

  Backstage, I slid my sweaty palms down my dress pants as the hot ball of nerves ate at my gut. Andrew and Richard were on stage addressing the audience. They spoke about a bunch of things I couldn’t hear. I was too wracked with nerves.

  Richard said, “Without further ado, the reason you are all here. Our Maestro and composer, Devlin.”

  Andrew leaned forward to the mic. “You may know him better as Erik Jones.”

  The crowd gasped and began to clap wildly and scream.

  I stepped on to the stage. The mask was gone. My face was fully on display. I had nothing to lose. The SOOK had sold out tonight’s performance in minutes. Minutes.

  The crowd was insane. Groups of women held up signs for Erik Jones. I flashed back in time to mall tours and morning talk show performances. How could they still care about a pop song written all those years ago?

  It didn’t matter. I wrote that song for Kim. I would play it for her now. Let her feel my love. I just hoped the music would find her wherever she was. I thought of how beautiful she was when she played with abandon. I pictured her laughing and playful, splashing water in my face before swimming away. I imagined the furrow of concentration on her brow when she wanted something desperately. I had been that thing and I’d let her go.

  The stage was empty. The symphony hadn’t come, but what had I expected with how I’d behaved? I sat down at the piano bench, wiped my sweaty palms on my dress pants again, and cleared my throat.

  I spoke low into the microphone. I blocked out the hundreds of people and thought only of Kim. “This is a song I wrote for the woman I love.”

  The first notes of Can’t Look Back rang out into the silent night. Soon my voice joined in. I sang the song from my heart. It was as much a part of who as I was as any classical composition I wrote for the world’s best symphonies. It was all a part of the same person. A person who loved Kim Dae. As I sang, I thought of her. I poured my soul into my words.

  Crushes and whispers mature into fire

  Control held with a well-worn wire

  Thoughts of you burn with sin

  I look at you,

  But you, you’re looking at him.

  My throat was raw from all the feelings that overwhelmed me.

  I paused when emotion overtook me. The audience was silent. When I glanced up from the bright lights the whole audience listened with rapt attention. I’d forgotten there was power in all types of music. I’d forgotten this feeling.

  Music wasn’t about showing off talent or proving a point. It was about finding a way to make a connection to people. Like the night at the bar, or this song, music was the feeling of universal understanding.

  Chapter 40

  Share your heart through your music.

  KIM

  It was a good thing I wasn’t a big believer in signs. Because if I was, I might take it that the universe was flashing a big old “BAD IDEA” one at me right about now.

  I ran out of gas. The car drifted to the shoulder with the telltale click-click-sigh. Distantly, I recalled the low gas warning icon had been flashing. But I often saw warnings and ignored them. Roddy, for example.

  I was stranded all alone on the side of the road, in the middle of the Smokies. In my defense, when I took Mom’s car I’d been hurrying, m
y nerves rattled. There were a lot of reasons I wasn’t on my gas game, so to speak. The show started in less than an hour and I had no idea if I would make it in time now. I’d been practicing my butt off for days. I had a plan. Frustrated tears burned at my eyes. I took deep breaths to get my bearings. Deep, cleansing breaths. It would be alright. Someone was bound to drive by.

  I gnawed on my lip and got out of the car, too anxious to sit still and wanting to wave the first person to pass. How far would the walk be to the nearest gas station? It was still a good ten-minute drive from here. Oof. In these shoes, with a cello on my back? I didn’t think so.

  As though from the heavens, a car came around the bend from the other direction. Anywhere else I’d have been hesitant, but this was Green Valley and the car was a white Honda Odyssey. It didn’t exactly scream kidnapper. I waved my arms around like a lunatic trying to get their attention. They passed me and my shoulders slumped, defeated.

  But then the car turned around! In a smooth motion, the van performed a three point turn on the narrow mountain road. As soon as it rolled to a stop behind me, I ran to the driver’s window. I knocked as the driver began to lower it.

  I was coming off as a total lunatic. That’s okay. I was a lunatic. A lunatic in love and on a mission.

  “Hi! I need help. I promise I’m—”

  My jaw hit the ground.

  “Kim Dae, as I live and breathe. Is that you?”

  Shock. That was the only way to put it. Of all the cars, in all the world …

  “Jethro Winston.” I stared into the eyes of the man I’d once thought I loved.

  He was still as handsome as ever. Older, for sure. But that dark hair, that beard … Maybe I did have a type.

  I was transported in time. The heat of a tail pipe burned through my jeans, the vibration of a motorcycle shook my body, the smell of cloves encompassed me. The back of my knees tingled. Oh, come on, universe.

  “Kim, what’s going on? Is it your car? Need me to call Cletus?”