Hammers & Heartstrings

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Hammers & Heartstrings Page 6

by Elle Bennett


  After we woke up and got dressed, we drove a few towns over to play another show.

  “So, this is a new song. I haven’t played it for anyone yet, not even my fellow bandmates. I hope you like it. I wrote it in the middle of the night, less than twelve hours ago, actually. It’s called ‘Abandoned Reflexes.’”

  Chad shrugged his shoulders and sat down, realizing he wasn’t needed.

  As Andrew sang, I could imagine him sneaking out of the van in the middle of the night, strumming his guitar quietly a few feet away from his sleeping friends, staring up at the stars and thinking about me as he wrote the music that would become a ballad about us.

  “My view from here is serene. Freckles sprinkle your back, your fiery hair burns bright. You’re so real, but it feels like a dream, so surreal. I never dreamed I might get to love a girl like you, and I won’t rest until I’ve kissed every inch of your skin. We can live in sin, in harmony. I won’t run away. I won’t run away from this. I tend to slip under the door when things begin to fray, but my love, you make me want to stay. I’ll stay forever in your arms, stay inside, stay inside of you. I never dreamed I might get to love a girl like you, and I won’t rest until I’ve kissed every inch of your skin. Let’s play connect the dots, switch around who gets to be on top. We can live in harmony, you and me, our hearts the drumbeat of our very own symphony. I never dreamed I might get to love a girl like you, and I won’t rest until I’ve kissed every inch of your skin.”

  My heart rose and fell with each chord. I knew exactly when and why he wrote every single word, every single note. It was the melody of us, of the way we felt when we were together. I felt tears come to my eyes as the song finished, and I tried my hardest not to let them fall.

  When he finished, the crowd clapped and Chad grabbed his guitar again, ready to play the next song. They played “Wash Me Dirty” and I wiped the tears from my eyes as the upbeat tempo filled the store.

  After the set finished, Andrew pulled me aside.

  “I thought I saw some tears during the song I wrote for you. Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, it was just… Really beautiful.”

  He kissed me gently in response. When he pulled away, I saw that his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark. He ran his fingers through his messy hair. I grabbed his hand as it fell back down to his waist and gave it a squeeze.

  He hadn’t said the words, but I knew what he was thinking. His song said it all. I wished I could find a way to say it back to him without saying the words as well. It’s one thing to run away on tour with a guy you hardly know, it’s another to say “I love you” way too soon.

  I was fully aware that I fell too easily, too hard. It was bound to happen with him. So, because I couldn’t say the words yet, I gave him another kiss and hoped that he got the message with my lips to his.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  You’re hiding from yourself

  The scared child inside you

  Determines your every move

  “Demons,” Peristerophobia

  We passed through Oregon without a scratch on the van, though there were a few scratches on my inner ear, thanks to Ken blasting Like, I Like that for four hours straight. I was pretty sure my ears were bleeding, actually.

  The shows went smoothly, and I was pretty sure that Doug hooked up with someone when we were in Portland, but he wouldn’t tell us anything about it.

  I ended up driving through most of the hellish traffic in Washington. Thankfully, because I was the driver, I got to choose the music. I decided it would be best to annoy the guys with ABBA, getting my revenge against Ken and his music choices. Of course I had their greatest hits on my phone (what self respecting person didn’t?). It was a toss-up between ABBA and FLICK IT, a boy band that I knew they’d despise, but I didn’t want them to know that I had any FLICK IT songs on my phone. So ABBA it was, and the guys were stuck listening to me singing along. According to my dad, that was one of the worst kinds of torture for another human being.

  I hadn’t sung in front of anyone in years, with the exception of a few times in front of Erica while we drove around town. I wasn’t comfortable singing in front of people anymore. I hadn’t been for years. But I was having too much fun singing along to ABBA with the guys to stop.

  I sang along to “Dancing Queen” loudly, trying to be as obnoxious as possible. Andrew was sitting in the passenger seat, and soon enough, he was singing along with me. It was strange to hear him singing along with the radio rather than with a microphone in front of him. I was just glad he was having fun, and he seemed to know the lyrics right from the start.

  I pushed repeat so the guys would hear “Dancing Queen” for the next hour. I began to wiggle my shoulders around with the song, dancing in my seat as I drove. Andrew sang a verse as high-pitched as he could without straining his voice. I sang the next verse like it was an opera song. Soon enough, I looked in the rear view mirror to see how the guys were responding to the music. Doug was hitting his head against the window in the backseat. Ken was glaring, but I noticed he was mumbling the lyrics beneath his breath. Chad was asleep, which was surprising because I didn’t think he’d crash after snorting whatever it was that he’d pulled out of his pocket as we crossed the border to Washington.

  “Come on, Ken! I see you back there, singing along. You know you want to join us!” I said.

  He sang the next lines loud and clear, a smile on his face.

  We all sang together, going off-key on purpose at times, laughing our way through the Seattle traffic. I turned up the music louder, so I could feel the vibrations of the beat in the wheel beneath my fingers. That was how I liked my music - loud to the point that I could literally feel it.

  We ended up walking around downtown Seattle for a bit to kill time while we waited for our next show to begin. I was starving, so I suggested we get lunch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few pigeons sitting on the top of a water fountain. I widened my eyes and looked towards Doug. He noticed the pigeons only a moment after I did. I could practically hear his heartbeat from a few feet away. It was beating faster than I’d ever heard him pound on his drums. He stilled, then backed away slowly. Then he ran.

  “Stop being a speciest!” I yelled at him. “They’re just birds! They won’t hurt you! If you go near them, they’ll fly away!”

  “They’re creepy, head-bobbing disease ridden rats with wings!” he yelled back at me as he continued to run away. “Have you ever seen a baby pigeon? It’s NIGHTMARE FUEL!”

  Okay, he had a point about baby pigeons.

  Andrew tilted his head in curiosity at me.

  “What’s a ‘speciest?’” he asked.

  “It’s like a racist, but with species. Duh.”

  He laughed and looked at me with adoring eyes.

  “You’re such a dork,” he said. He grabbed the van keys out of my pocket and ran for the parking lot where our van was waiting for us.

  “Andrew!” I yelled, running after him.

  Chad and Ken followed us back to the van as well, not bothering to run. I figured Ken didn’t want to ruin his perfectly gelled hair and Chad probably couldn’t run because of whatever was running through his veins.

  For a moment, I thought Andrew was going to hop in the van and drive off without us, thinking he was being funny. But instead, he was sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for us to catch up with him.

  We made it to Konfusion in plenty of time for our gig. Andrew cleared his throat, the crowd in the store quieted down, and he began to speak.

  “So, there’s a song I’ve loved since I was a kid. Today, I’m going to sing it. It might surprise you a little, because it’s not punk. It’s not even rock. It’s… Disco.”

  I heard the opening chords to “Dancing Queen” come out of his guitar and I laughed. Then he wrapped his hand around my arm and pulled me towards the cleared area where he was standing.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I whispered harshly.

  “You’re
doing this with me,” he whispered back, his hand on the guitar, playing the opening chords again. He said it like it was only natural for me to sing along with him, like it would be a privilege. But it wasn’t. I wasn’t up for it at all. I wasn’t going to be that girl, singing a song with her boyfriend on his tour, butting her way into his professional life as well as his personal life. That wasn’t who I wanted to be.

  “Um, no, I’m not. I’m not a singer, Andrew,” I said. My fingers tugged at my necklace, gripping the flower charm with all my might.

  “Liar. You sounded great in the car. At least, when you were singing properly and not fucking around.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  I tried to walk away when I heard Andrew speak out to the crowd again.

  “This is April O’Connell. She’s going to sing with me for this song. After all, April has one of the prettiest, most unique voices I’ve ever heard in my lifetime. Scout’s honor.”

  Somehow I doubted that Andrew was ever a Boy Scout, though he did hold his two fingers up in the proper salute.

  I shook my head as he stared at me. While I had to admit that his acoustic version of the song already sounded great, I doubted I’d be able to join him. I’d freeze up the moment I tried to sing in front of everyone.

  “No, no, no,” I said.

  “Please?”

  He gave me his best imitation of puppy dog eyes. I couldn’t say no to those. I took a deep breath and looked out at the crowd. No one had their phones out, no one was recording us. It was just me and Andrew. Just us.

  And twenty other people.

  Oh, shitfuck.

  Andrew gave me a side glance, nodding his head like it was time to start singing the song. The chords repeated once more before I gathered the courage to show off what my vocal chords could do.

  I sang the opening lines, my voice shaking. Everything about me screamed “I don’t belong up here!” I felt so far from perfection, I couldn’t imagine why Andrew was letting me continue. He should have stopped me, told me that I was awful. But instead of doing what I expected him to do, he sang the next line and gave me a smile.

  Less than halfway through the song, I began to enjoy myself. I forgot about the people watching in the crowd, and I danced around while we sang. I even took over the vocals completely for a little while when Andrew had a laughing fit.

  He played the last few chords and I did a little disco dance move. I broke down in laughter and walked away from the cleared area, back into the crowd.

  “That was April’s first time ever singing with me, so I think she deserves a little applause, don’t you?” Andrew said.

  The crowd cheered and applauded, but I didn’t feel like I deserved it. After all, he’d asked them to do it. I wondered how many peopled were just following his instructions blindly.

  After he finished his set, I walked up to him and shook my head.

  “I hate you,” I said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I can’t believe you made me get up there and sing. And dance. And fucking sing. Rule number one of me being on tour with you? I’m not singing with you ever again. Not even along to the fucking radio.”

  Andrew rolled his eyes, placed his guitar back in its case, then turned back to me.

  “One - I thought the first rule of the tour was that I’m the only one who gets to see you naked. Two - you could have said no.”

  “I did say no! Multiple times. You pretty much forced me into it.”

  “Whatever, you caved pretty fast. And you didn’t have to dance. That was all you,” he said.

  “Fuck you,” I replied, sticking my tongue out at him.

  His response was to put his mouth over my tongue. Sneaky bastard. It was hard to be mad at him when he caressed my tongue with his, running his hands down my back.

  “Okay, dude. You and April have got to do that cover on our next album. We’ll figure out the other instruments to it and shit. It can’t be too hard. I mean, it’s disco for fuck’s sake. Hey, actually, April, do you play any instruments? Maybe we can give you something to do on tour other than selling shit and driving the van every now and then. I mean, you’re a decent singer,” Ken said, ignoring the fact that Andrew and I were pretty preoccupied with each other.

  I detached myself from Andrew’s mouth and shook my head violently at Ken.

  “I’m not a singer,” I said. “I don’t play anything. Not even the tambourine or the triangle. And it’s not like I’m planning on going on another tour with you guys. This was a one time deal.”

  “Oh, come on, you know you’d be great,” Andrew said.

  “I cannot verify that is a thing I know,” I said.

  “You know, you have a really good voice, even when you’re fucking around and trying to sound like shit.”

  I shook my head again. As if I was trying to sound like shit on purpose.

  “I stand by my previous statements,” I said. I grabbed the pack of cigarettes out of Andrew’s pocket and handed him one. “Here, stick this in your mouth and shut up.”

  “That’s what he said,” Chad said.

  “You can’t smoke that in here!” A girl with blond and pink hair yelled.

  “Relax, it’s not lit yet,” Andrew said. He grabbed his guitar case in one hand and my hand in the other before we walked out of the mall. The moment we were at the proper distance away, he released my hand, pulled out his lighter, and lit the cigarette. He took a long drag.

  We all got into the van while he finished his cigarette. My phone rang and I grabbed it, answering without looking to see who was calling. I thought maybe it was Erica finally checking up on me. But it was my dad. Strange, since it wasn’t quite time for my Pigeon checkup call yet.

  “Hey, just calling to check in,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, wondering why he was really calling. My dad never called to check in on me. Not even when I lived back home. He only called when he needed something or I was in trouble. Shit. Was I in trouble?

  Wait, no. I was a twenty year old woman. I couldn’t be in trouble with my dad. And even if I was, it wasn’t like he could ground me or anything.

  “I was wondering what you were going to do about your job,” he said. “I stopped in to get some coffee on the way to work and your coworker - or ex-coworker, I guess - told me that you’d quit.”

  “Oh. Um.”

  Shit. My dad rarely stopped into Cranberry, despite the fact that his office wasn’t far away from it. I’d only seen him in there maybe twice over the last year that I’d worked there.

  I’d begun to forget about my job, or the lack thereof. With the guys pretty much always paying for my food along the way and my nights spent at the merchandise table, it was easy for me to forget about Cranberry and the impending doom of past-due notices waiting for me at home.

  Reality hit me all at once.

  I was unemployed. I wasn’t going to have any money when I got home. I wasn’t going to be able to afford food for myself, let alone for Pigeon.

  I was fucked.

  My mind began to race, my hands began to shake. I hung up the phone without saying goodbye to my dad.

  “You okay?” Andrew asked as I sat there, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, trying not to choke myself with my own necklace.

  “No, I’m not okay. My dad just called and reminded me that I’m unemployed and I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do when I get back home. What was I thinking, coming here? What am I going to do?”

  Andrew wrapped his arms around me and gave me a tight hug.

  “You’ll be fine, you’ll just go back to Cranberry and - wait. Did you say you’re unemployed? You quit? To come on tour? Why would you do that? Fuck, April. I thought you’d gotten vacation days or something.”

  I let out a groan and hit my head against the door repeatedly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I never dreamed

  I might get to love a girl like you

&nb
sp; And I won’t rest

  Until I’ve kissed every inch of your skin.

  “Abandoned Reflexes,” Peristerophobia

  We’d been gone a month before we got back to town. The moment we pulled into Andrew’s driveway, I suggested we head to my apartment after unloading the equipment. Partially so we could shower off the grime of the tour, but mostly so I could have alone time with him and a real bed.

  He couldn’t have agreed more.

  I felt so gross. Sponge baths in public sinks and the rare shower in a stranger’s house weren’t exactly the cure for the kind of sweat I had on me after a concert. And considering I’d been to a concert pretty much every single night, I was pretty sure I had dirt forever embedded in my deepest pores.

  As Andrew and I walked up the stairs to my apartment, I noticed a piece of paper hanging on my door. I couldn’t help but notice the word “eviction” as I got closer. I ran to my door and tore the paper down.

  “Third notice? When did I get the first?” I said, crumbling the paper in my hand. My mind wandered to the last time there was a note on my door, and I’d thrown it out without looking at it. Shit.

  “Why are they evicting you?” Andrew asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, staring at the paper in my hand.

  I had a feeling that my last rent check might have bounced. I was pretty sure I’d paid it, but I’d have to double check my bank account to see if it ever came out. Knowing how low I’d been on money since I left Cranberry, though, I wouldn’t doubt it if something got mixed up with my bills.

  “Maybe something with my last rent check?” I said.

  My key still worked, but the letter on my door told me in no uncertain terms that I was going to have to be out of the apartment by next Monday. A week. I had a week to pack up my shit and find a new place to live. If anywhere would take me after being evicted. Fuck.

 

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