by C. R. Jane
We drive for a while in silence. When we get to a red light, Jensen turns and stares at me. “Just to make it perfectly clear that I’m interested in you, I’ll ask the standard first date question... as lame as it is. Tell me more about yourself,” he says with a smirk.
I brush my hair behind one ear and look down at the floor. Did he really just say first date? Are we on a date? The idea that he could actually want to date me freezes my brain per usual and I end up giving my standard lame answer. “I’m nothing special,” I say bitterly.
“Ari,” he barks at me suddenly, making me jump in my seat. “I don’t want to hear you talk that way about yourself again. Are we clear?” he asks.
I stare back at him wide-eyed. “Okay,” I softly whisper. He leans back in his seat and turns his gaze back to the road as the light turns green. I look at him out of the corner of my eyes.
“I don’t like to talk about myself,” I begin to explain, wanting him to understand the darkness and insecurity that lay within me, but not knowing how to put it into words. “Just give me time to get there.”
He nods and puts his hand on my leg, stroking the skin beneath my skirt softly with his thumb.
“I like this skirt on you,” he says, his hand inching up slightly and sending shivers down my spine. I’m frozen in place as he finally moves his hand and grabs mine. It’s the first time I’ve held hands with a guy. Having a mother who likes to spread her legs has made me quite timid about anything that could potentially lead me in her footsteps. Pushing my fears aside, I savor how my hand feels in his.
“I used to want to sing,” I randomly tell him, feeling immediately stupid since any talent I have pales considerably to theirs.
“Huh…” He frowns the tiniest bit.
“What?”
“I’ve just had a lot of girls tell me that they want to be singers,” he says with a laugh, sounding a bit disillusioned at the thought.
I’m annoyed with myself for saying anything. Of course he’s going to think that I’m just trying to ride his coattails or something. But then again, why the hell do I care what this almost stranger thinks about my life’s dream? I don’t know why… but for some reason, I did.
“I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I’m passing judgment without even hearing you sing.”
I shrug. “You probably won’t ever hear me sing. It’s just a pipe dream, forget I said anything.”
He brings my hand to his lips. “I don’t want to forget anything you say. I’m sorry I reacted that way. Forgive me?”
He sounds so sincere and upset that I can’t help but forgive him.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I assure him, wiggling in my seat from the sensation his lips left on my hand. I look at him out of the corner of my eye for the longest time as he drives. Probably ten seconds go by before I realize I’m staring. This first date, if you can call it that, is officially entering disaster territory.
“So… how did you get into music?” I finally ask him. He looks at me for a long moment before he answers – like he is gauging me. Like maybe he is wondering how much he should open up to me. Then he starts talking.
“The first time I ever knew what I wanted was when I was five years old and I heard Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ for the first time on the radio. You know that song?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t?” I say with a laugh.
“I remember being hypnotized by the guitar at the beginning. The way Krist Novoselic’s fingers just dance over the strings. And then Dave Grohl comes in and you’re hooked. Kurt Cobain was who did it for me though. His vocals are so...different… he sings all these nonsensical words and of course the song is really about teenage freedom and revolution, but the way he sings the lyrics could mean a million different things. I obviously didn’t understand any of it at the time – I mean, I was five years old, I couldn’t have explained it – but that song took me on a trip. It made me feel something I’d never felt before.”
I watch his face as he tells me this story. He means every single word. He is absolutely transported as he tells it… …and, I have to admit, I’m moved by how passionate he is about it. He smiles and continues.
“My dad owns a flooring business, but he’s been obsessed with rock n’ roll his entire life– that’s where I think I get my love of music from. Anyway, he was sitting there watching me the entire time, and after it was over, he asked me if I liked it. And all I said was, ‘Again!’”
I had to laugh. He said it exactly the way a five-year-old would say it – full of exuberance and innocence and impatience.
“So, my dad takes me into the back of his store where he had a guitar, and he played the song, and we both sang it together. He taught me the words, and I made him sing it over and over and over.” Jensen smiles, a little ironically. “Other kids have ‘Three Blind Mice’. I had ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’”
His eyes trail off into the distance, and his voice takes on an edge of melancholy.
“It’s one of the best memories I have of my father. He’s an overall pretty shitty person, especially to my mom. But in my head, I feel like he loves me just because he kept playing that damn song over and over and over again. Never said ‘no, let’s stop’… he just kept playing it.”
Jensen’s voice trails off as we pull into the local pizza place. We sit there in silence for a moment and I’m just about to say something when he continues.
“But it’s also a great memory because it was like I was hit by a bolt of lightning. It was the first time I ever realized that people actually do this for a living. They play guitar and sing. That’s what they do. That meant I could do that, too. Not only that, but… the song just made me feel. In the space of three minutes, I went from hypnotized and happy, to in love, to feeling pain and loss, and every fucking second was beautiful. And from that moment forward, I knew what I wanted to do in life: I wanted to be a musician. I wanted to make music and sing. And I wanted to make other people feel, the way that song had made me feel. Feel everything.”
He stops talking and looks at me – a little shy, a little hesitant, a little embarrassed. It’s hard to explain my emotions. His words had the same effect on me that “Smells Like Teen Spirit” had on his five-year-old self. He’s made me feel- totally and completely. I could see the passion and the realness in him. It was unmistakable. And after that story, I was so totally into this guy. If he leaned over right then and kissed me, there was no way I could have resisted.
He leans in and I wonder if it’s going to happen, but instead he closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath.
“Should we go in and get some pizza?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him with a smile. He hops out of the car and runs over to open my door for me, making me blush for the millionth time in the night when he grabs my hand as we walk.
We go inside, I assume to grab a bunch of pizzas to go, but he surprises me when he asks the hostess for a booth. “Is it okay if we eat here?” he asks, that hint of vulnerability lingering in his question once again.
“I’d like that,” I tell him, and I’m sure there are stars shining out of my eyes as we’re led to our table.
The waitress comes by and it’s like I don’t even exist as she stares at him and directs all of her questions towards him. He nods at her when she arrives but redirects all the questions to me. “This is a make or break it moment,” he says. “Does pineapple belong on pizza?”
I fake a gagging noise. “Fruit does not belong on pizza,” I tell him sternly, only half joking since I have pretty strong feelings on the subject.
He fakes wiping his forehead. “Thank goodness. I don’t have to leave,” he says with a wink.
The waitress rolls her eyes at our exchange although I know she would trade anything to be on the receiving end of his corniness.
We decide on a meat lover’s pizza and two Caesar salads. Conversation is easier over food for some reason. It feels like the bustle of the restaurant makes me not f
eel so much the center of attention although his eyes haven’t left my face the entire time. I keep wiping my face to make sure that I don’t have any pizza sauce on it.
“What are your parents like?” he asks. I still for a moment, trying to think of how to explain Terry and David. Then I think of the story that he told me, and I feel like maybe it would be okay to share something personal about myself for once.
“They’re the worst,” I tell him and watch as his eyes widen at my honesty. Words continue to tumble out of my mouth. “They spend most of their time either drunk or high and constantly cheat on each other, and the police are called all the time because of their fights. That’s why I was out walking the other night when I saw you guys at the campfire, the police had just arrived, and I snuck out the window because I didn’t want to have to deal with it all the night before I started at my new school. It’s why I always have second hand clothes and I get a free lunch at school. I live in the trailers on Park Road and you drive a new Escalade at seventeen years old and have the whole world at your fingertips once you graduate, meaning that we’re about as far apart as two people can be.”
He’s shaking his head before I finish my last sentence. “You’ll find this out in time, but the three of us? We’re best friends because we’re all broken in different ways. You’ll see it eventually. I don’t want to tell you right now because I don’t want you to run, but baby...you being broken means that for once we’ve found someone that is like us.”
I stare at him, wanting to believe in the words that he’s saying. It seemed impossible that these beautiful boys could be broken like me, but a small, evil part inside of me rejoices at the thought. I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.
Jensen pays for the meal after we get two more pizzas to go for Tanner and Jesse who are probably starving if they haven’t eaten since before the show. Jensen balances the pizza boxes in one hand and grabs my hand with his other. After he tosses the pizzas onto the floor of the backseat, he lightly pushes me into his car and leans over me, his lips getting closer and closer. I involuntarily moan because I want this kiss so bad.
He gives me an amused look at the sound, and I want to melt into the ground from embarrassment.
The kiss that follows, the gentle exploration of my mouth. I never look away, never lose eye contact, and my heart surges. I’ve been so afraid of loving and losing my entire life that I wasn’t aware I had already started falling for Jensen until it had already started. I feel things for Jensen. I feel happy, warm, fuzzy good things for Jensen Reid, and it’s both healing and scary at the same time.
7
Now
I pull up to the concert venue. It’s in the new stadium that was built for the state’s NFL team. It’s a testament to modern architecture with its sleek lines and windows that extend the whole length of the building. I had always wanted to come take a tour but it was just another thing that Gentry wouldn’t let me do. He had taken a tour with his work and had gone to a game last year with a client, and as he put it...why would it make sense for him to take me to do something he had already done?
The parking lot is beyond packed already considering I’ve come two hours before the concert actually starts. VIP guests get to show up early to meet the band, or at least that’s what the radio employee had told me when he was giving me details of my prize. My mind was so shocked that I’m sure I missed some important information. I just hope that I didn’t misunderstand that I could pick up the tickets or that I could actually get in early. That would be embarrassing to be barred from the venue because security thought I was trying to get to the band when I wasn’t supposed to.
My palms are sweaty because I’m so nervous and I rub them against my skirt to try and wipe them off. It makes me think of how Tanner would start rapping Eminem’s Lose Yourself song anytime someone said that their palms were sweaty. “Best song ever,” he would say afterwards even though everyone else would be groaning from his performance. Tanner never cared what people thought of him and it didn’t matter if he did. Everyone always thought that everything he did was the coolest thing possible. He had that air around him that made people want to be him. I had always envied how he was so comfortable in his own skin. A skin that held demons under the surface for sure, but still so comfortable.
My journey down memory lane has allowed me to get to the Will Call window without losing it. A bored looking woman is sitting in the window filing her nails while she talks to the ticket person next to her. I clear my throat and her eyes fly up to see me. My hands are shaking as I explain what I’m looking for and I hand her my license for verification purposes.
“Lucky girl,” she says as she finds my name on a list. She smacks her gum loudly as she reaches into a basket marked VIP and gets out a packet with my name on it. “I’d give my left nut for one of these,” she tells me with a laugh. I smile weakly and take the packet with trembling hands. She notices my nervousness and gives me a knowing glance. “They might be hot as hell, but they put on pants in the morning just the same as you and me,” she says kindly. I nod and thank her before walking away quickly. It would be so much easier if this was just a case of nerves because I was about to meet three superstars instead of the past loves of my life.
I look through the packet and place the backstage pass lanyard around my neck. At least one thing has gone right, and I actually had tickets waiting for me.
It takes me a few minutes to find the special backstage pass entrance and before I can get in line, my phone rings signaling that Gentry is already checking in. Looking around, I run around the corner of the building into the back of the stadium that’s mostly deserted and riddled with trash and debris. I curse when I miss the call but in true Gentry style, the phone starts ringing again as he tries to call me back.
“Hi,” I say, trying to slow down my breathing so I don’t sound so out of breath from my sprint.
“What took you so long to answer?” he asks.
“I had set my phone down to do the laundry and didn’t hear it ring until just now. I’ll keep it closer to me,” I tell him, hoping and praying that for once he will buy one of my lies.
“I thought you would be in the air by now,” I tell him.
“It was delayed,” he says sullenly, and my heart leaps out of its chest at the prospect of his flight getting cancelled and him coming back home tonight.
“How much was it delayed by?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady so I don’t sound too interested. Gentry is always on the lookout for me to be acting strangely in case I’m planning on trying to run away again so my actions and how I react to things always have to be precise.
“Just thirty minutes. I should be boarding soon,” he says, and I inwardly let out a big sigh of relief.
“You’re doing laundry right now?” he asks, and my heart convulses at his question. It’s just another way that he’s been acting strangely about this trip.
“Yep,” I say, hitting a piece of scrap metal with my foot to try and make the sound of the washer door closing.
“Okay,” he says distractedly. “They’re calling my group number, so I have to go. But Ari…”
“Yes?” I ask, my senses tingling with dread.
“Remember what I said this morning.”
I’m quiet for a moment as I listen to the reassuring sounds of the airport coming from his phone letting me know that he is actually at the airport and not on his way to me right now. “It would be impossible for me to forget,” I finally say in a voice that’s nearly a whisper.
He hangs up without saying anything more and I lean against the wall, trying to calm myself down. I’m not letting Gentry ruin this for me.
Eventually I walk back around the building and I join the line of excited pass holders, mostly made up of attractive woman, waiting to be let in. The minutes pass by slowly as the line inches forward. With every step forward I take, my courage falters. What if they don’t recognize me, or worse, don’t remember me? Maybe I imagined how close we were. Ma
ybe the last few years have erased me from their memory. After all, there’s been a million girls in between then and now that could have replaced me and actually have contributed to a friendship or relationship with them. I was nothing but a taker.
It’s finally my turn to walk through the gates. I hesitate for a moment at the entrance, wondering if I’m about to throw up. The ticket guy is leering at me and looking me up and down. His stare is enough to get me moving down the hall. His look reminds me of how Gentry looks at me and I can’t get away fast enough.
I sort of remember navigating through the bustling hallways behind the stage. There’s a million people around, all getting ready for the show, but their faces are a blur to me because I know, just around the corner, will be the faces that I’ve dreamed about for years.
As I turn the corner and see Tanner for the first time in five years, I know that I’ll always remember this first sight of him. He’s sitting on a faded brown leather couch, his arms extended behind him like he owns the place. In this moment he looks fitting of the titles that I’ve seen the media give him. He looks like he could be king of the world or the emperor of rock. He’s wearing ripped jeans… a designer t-shirt that probably cost several hundred dollars and is so fitted I can see his trademark perfect abs from beneath it. He’s also wearing a pair of sunglasses even though he’s inside and the room itself isn’t very bright. I can see the tattoos on his muscular arms even from far away. He now has full sleeves on both arms. I suddenly get the yearning to see what new tattoos are beneath his shirt. The feeling is strange because I haven’t felt this sense of yearning for a man once since the day I said goodbye to all of them five years ago.
What sticks out most clearly to me however, and what I will undoubtedly remember the most, is the cocky grin he’s wearing that’s exactly the same as the one he would wear when I knew him. He’s talking to a group of girls, all wearing the backstage passes, who are gathered around him. They are all trying to touch him, to get a piece of his brilliance. He lets out a laugh that’s so familiar to me that my heart seems to actually skip a beat. I feel both jealous and happy as I bask in the sound of it. I used to be the person who made him laugh like that.