by Elle Bennett
Of my cigarette
You’re there
You’re forever there
“Nine Alarm Wake Up Call,” Peristerophobia
Moving back into my dad’s place required a lot of things being put into his basement. I could only fit so much of my apartment into my old bedroom.
As I brought a few more boxes into the basement that were marked “kitchen,” I noticed something else resting in the place of lost and unwanted things. I put my box and sat on the bench next to it, lifting the cover off the keys. There they were. I’d touched those keys thousands of times. They were what had made me fall in love with the sounds I could make with my hands. The keys I learned how to play my scales on, that I’d put so much of myself into for years.
When I was five, I wanted to play the piano. I’d seen someone playing one on TV, and I fell in love with it. I pointed at it, and said, “Can I do that?”
My dad had looked over at me and shook his head.
“Do you know how much pianos cost? I’m not going to spend that much on an instrument for you to give up on after two lessons. It’ll end up rotting in the basement with your other toys.”
He ended up giving in a few months after that, I think mostly out of guilt from the divorce and my mother abandoning us. He found a used piano in the basement of a music shop, in a room that seemed like more of a graveyard for unloved instruments.
There were some that looked like they’d died too young and were still shining, some that were old and completely keyless, gutted for parts. Then there was that one single one that was tortured (and more importantly to my dad, cheap).
It was still intact, and it still played perfectly. The keys weren’t fully ivory anymore, though. Each key had a little bit of the Ivorite cracked off, some were more wood than plastic. Some pieces of Ivorite looked like they were going to stay on there and stay strong, but they fell off as well after I’d played the piano a few times. Only one of the fifty two white keys had the entirety of the Ivorite still remaining on it, at the high end of the piano.
The piano was a beautiful shade of light brown and well loved, but it was definitely well on its way to piano heaven.
I pushed my box to the side a little more and sat dead center in front of my old piano. I grazed my fingers against the keys, my skin getting slightly caught on one of the bits of Ivorite that remained intact on half of the middle C key. I took a deep breath. I pressed down on the keys and heard the notes resonate from inside the piano, the hammers and strings straining to work after years of sitting in dust. It needed to be tuned. That fact wasn’t surprising, considering it hadn’t been played in five years.
As I sat there, I remembered my first time on the bench, the way my feet dangled above the ground, unable to reach the pedals below. My fingers looked so much bigger on the keys now, but they were still the same shade of peach against the black, white, and brown of the piano. With a stretch of my right arm, I reached out and tapped the very last key, still fully covered in the Ivorite. It plinked out the highest note and I couldn’t help but smile. My fingers trailed back down to middle C, and I heard the upstairs door open. I slammed the lid back down over the keys and ran out of the basement as quickly as my legs could carry me.
The moment I walked into my dad’s place with the last of my boxes, Pigeon jumped up and down, wagging his little tail and running around in sporadic circles. He was panting and barking, more excited than I’d ever seen him in my life.
“I missed you too!” I said as I picked him up. He proceeded to lick my face.
I sat him back down and he went back to running around in circle, towards the kitchen, where we found my dad.
“Hey Dad, this is Andrew. Andrew, my dad,” I said, pointing back and forth between them.
They shook hands, which was weird to watch. Andrew wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you thought of when you thought “handshake.” The image of guys shaking hands always made me think of business suits and gelled hair, and that was far from Andrew’s aesthetic. Honestly, I didn’t think he’d ever even meet my dad, let alone shake his hand. None of the guys I’d ever dated before had met my dad. Not on purpose, anyway.
“So, you’re the reason my daughter thought it was a good idea to quit her job and move back home?” my dad asked. I stared at him with wide eyes. Andrew raised his eyebrows towards me, asking for help.
“I quit my job on my own. Andrew didn’t even know I did it. Besides, I didn’t care for that job that much. Friday nights were the only good part,” I lied. I enjoyed that job. I wasn’t about to admit that to my dad, though. Not when he was staring at Andrew like he was the devil incarnate.
Andrew shook his head and bent down to say hi to Pigeon. I couldn’t blame him. I’d pick the dog over my dad too. He scratched Pigeon’s ear and received a happy pant in return.
“Uh-huh. How old are you, kid? Twenty five? Don’t you have better things to do than run around with a little band?”
Andrew narrowed his eyes and stood back up, towering over my dad.
“Actually, sir, I just turned twenty two. And no, I really don’t have better things to do with my life than run around with a band I’ve been with for years, working hard at achieving our lifelong dream and working on the career I’ve had a passion for since I was a kid.”
I smiled. He was right about all of that. And he had just turned twenty two, too, a few months ago. He was barely two years older than me. It really wasn’t that big of an age difference.
My dad’s face went as red as his hair and he left the room, as if the conversation was over.
“Sorry about him,” I said. “So, do you have practice tonight?”
Andrew nodded and threw Pigeon’s toy across the room for him to fetch. He brought it back in record time.
“Yeah, we’re meeting up at my parent’s basement, like usual. You can come if you’d like, but I think the guys might want to have a night with just, you know, the guys. Don’t get me wrong, they like you. But we haven’t really had quality guy time recently.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I get it. I wasn’t asking to tag along, I was wondering if you were free tonight. I wanted some quality us time. Without the band.”
“That would be nice,” he said.
I walked up to him, holding the edges of his jacket and tugged him closer to me. “Yes. Yes it would,” I said before giving him a kiss, a taste of what was to come.
He leaned back and said, “Tonight, after practice, we’ll go out. Derrick Simmons and the Light Bulbs are playing at The Walnut Tree. You’ve probably been there before, Peristerophobia has played there a bunch of times. Anyway, I know some of the guys were planning on going anyway. Chad’s friends with the band because they share a dealer, so we’re getting in for free.”
“Sounds great,” I said.
Later that night, I ended up at The Walnut Tree as planned. It was getting late, and by the time the band actually went on, I realized that Derrick Simmons and the Light Bulbs were a band, not a singer and a separate band, like I originally thought. They looked super young. I wasn’t sure if they were even out of high school.
Derrick Simmons, the lead vocalist, kept teetering at the edge of the stage, right in front of a microphone stand that looked like it would be rather painful to land on. I kept hoping he would fall onto it, but he didn’t. He just kept on teetering.
The band wasn’t half bad, though it wasn’t a band I would have chosen to go and see on my own. They had a classic hair band thing going on. I wondered if they started out as a Guns N Roses cover band and things escalated from there.
As Derrick continued singing, he kept making a face that made me wonder if he found singing an orgasmic experience. A little too intense for me. The rest of the band looked bored, but he kept making faces like he was receiving the greatest pleasure of his life. The girls in front of the stage were swooning and cheering, like he was a member of FLICK IT.
I was quietly laughing to myself about the scene in front of me when I felt arms go
around my waist. I jumped, ready to punch someone in the face. But when I turned around, I found it was Andrew, and I didn’t want to punch his face.
“Hey!” I said before giving him a hug. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”
“What?” he mouthed, or possibly even said. It was hard to hear anything but the band.
I dragged him into the venue’s small, dingy bathroom. It wasn’t quite as loud in there. We could hear the tinny noise of the band through the walls, but we could also hear each other.
“How was practice?” I asked. I leaned against the sink and wondered if I could get away with pulling him into one of the stalls and getting in a quick fuck.
“Not too bad. Ken asked me if I’d talked you into covering ‘Dancing Queen’ for our next EP. He has his heart set on it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I assume you told him to fuck off? Because that’s never happening.”
“Actually,” Andrew said, moving closer and resting his hands on either side of me on the sink, “I said that you might just do it if I could talk you into it. And I couldn’t think of anything that would persuade you to do something that you’re so adamantly against. Then he told me to offer you some sexual favors, but I already know that wouldn’t work.”
“Because you’re already doing all of those sexual favors?”
He nodded.
“You know I appreciate that,” I said with a smile. “I don’t want to be recorded singing, though. Ever. It’s bad enough you talked me into singing in front of people once. I’d rather not have hundreds of people hear my voice. Or more than a thousand.”
Andrew sighed and brushed a piece of my hair behind my ears, then kissed me gently on the forehead.
“I don’t know why you’re so scared. You’re a perfectly fine singer, though you may be a little rusty, it’s clear you haven’t sang seriously for a while. Your voice just needs to get used to it again. But -”
“‘But’ nothing, Andrew. I’m not good. I’m fair, at best. And fair singers shouldn’t get a chance to sing with an amazing band just because they’re fucking the vocalist. That’s not who I am, and I don’t want to be that girl.”
“What, is it an ethical thing? Fucking me means you can’t sing with us?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Well, I think it’s bullshit if you try to use that excuse to get out of it. You know how to use your voice, and that’s what matters. You’re rusty, you’re not bad. With a bit of practice, you’ll go from fine to fucking amazing.”
“Look, can we just go back out to the show and not mention this, or really any music or anything for the rest of the night? I want the subject of music and me performing with you guys off the table until tomorrow at the earliest.”
I began to walk out the bathroom without an answer, but Andrew stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Whoa, wait. Do you really think we can go an entire night without referencing music? I seriously doubt that.”
“Wanna bet?”
Andrew’s eyes lit up.
“What’s the wager?” he asked.
I contemplated for a moment, then shrugged.
“I’ll do anything you want, aside from recording an ABBA song with you.”
He wrinkled his nose at me, then folded his arms over his chest. It took him a moment, but he lit up again, like a light bulb had actually appeared over his head.
“I have an idea! April, my dear -” he began as I let out a groan. Nothing good could come out of a sentence that started that way. “Hear me out.” He held a hand up. “I’m not going to ask you to sing an ABBA song with us. However, if you can’t go the entire night without referencing music, you have to sing one song with the band. Written by me, special for you. And it’ll be a duet, so we’ll both be singing. How about that?”
I thought about it. On one hand, I was pretty sure I could control myself and go the rest of the night without saying another word about music, even though we were at a concert. On the other, did I actually have the guts to go through with the bet if I ended up losing?”
“Fine. But you have to… Um,” I said. I took a moment to think and bit my lip. “Skinny dip if you lose.”
“Wow, that’s weak. You’ve got to do better than that.”
He leaned against the wall. I clasped my necklace in my hand, twisting the charm around my fingers. A couple of girls walked in and gave us an odd look as they walked towards the two stalls that barely even had doors covering them. It wasn’t like this was a gendered bathroom. It was unisex. There was a picture of a unicorn instead of a person on the outside of the door. Andrew was definitely allowed in.
“Check! One! Two!” I heard the next band yell into the microphone as Andrew tapped his foot impatiently. I couldn’t help but notice how attractive he looked when he was annoyed, even under the terrible bathroom lighting.
“Okay, you’ll have to wear a rainbow tutu the entire time you’re on stage for your next big show,” I said.
“Deal,” he said with no hesitation.
“You’re that sure you’ll win?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure. Besides, I’d look great in a tutu.”
We walked out of the bathroom and the next band had already started up. They were better than the last band, but not much. I saw Chad, Ken, and Doug all thrashing around while the majority of the people were standing around, bobbing their heads like a sea of pigeons. Apparently dancing was so last year for these people.
I laughed at the sight of the guys trying to mosh in the middle of the pigeon people.
“What is it?” Andrew asked, the words barely coming out of his mouth over the music.
I shrugged and walked over to the bar. If I said “mosh pit,” he’d win the bet. And I wasn’t about to let him win that easily. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
I handed my fake ID to the bartender, then pointed to the draft beer I wanted. The blond bartender gave me a smile, showing off a gap in the middle of her two front teeth. I wondered if this was Ken’s gap-toothed vixen. A quick glance at her name tag told me her name was Kristy.
Kristy handed me back my ID and the drink fairly quickly. She gave me a nod of gratitude when I put a dollar into her tip jar. Andrew got one as well, though his was legal. We stood near the bar, sipping on our drinks and listening to the music. The band that was on stage wasn’t bad. Much better than Derrick Simmons, at least.
“I am so going to win this bet,” he said as the band on stage cleared out their instruments after the last song.
“You wish,” I said.
The guys walked over to us now that there was nothing left to mosh to. Doug asked, “What did you think of Derrick’s band?”
“Not bad,” I said, not wanting to elaborate and lose the bet.
“Did you like his music? He’s a pretty cool guy. And he trusts your music taste, since you were cool enough to go on tour with us,” Doug said.
Andrew was trying not to laugh. I wanted to smack Doug. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose, unless Andrew had already sent him a text about the bet and told Doug to egg me on. I was usually up for discussing music, and I’d definitely be up for talking about the clear influences that Derrick had for his music, the way his stage presence needed some work, but I couldn’t. Not unless I wanted to lose.
“I can’t possibly think of any words to say in reply to the ones that have recently left your mouth,” I said. I downed the rest of my drink and asked Kristy for a refill. I gave her another tip, and noticed Ken watching her as she refilled my glass.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Doug asked.
“I have no idea, man,” Andrew said with a laugh. “Maybe that beer is hitting her hard.”
I blinked and stared up at the empty stage. Without thinking, I said, “Who’s next? I could use something mellow after that last band -” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Shitfuck.”
Andrew burst into happy laughter. I closed my eyes and s
hook my head, trying to imagine being anywhere but there. If I imagined hard enough, maybe I’d teleport.
“You lost! We haven’t even had the bet for longer than ten fucking minutes, and you lost!”
“Fuck you, I’m still not singing,” I said.
“Wait,” Ken interjected, tearing his eyes away from Kristy at the bar. “April’s singing with us? Yes!”
I glared at him, and he shrunk back onto a stool next to the bar, taking a sip of his drink, feigning innocence.
“I’m not doing it. No.”
Andrew wrapped an arm around me.
“God, I can’t wait to have you sing with us,” he said. “You’re going to sound great.”
I was pretty sure I’d sound terrible. But whatever he wanted to believe.
CHAPTER TEN
There’s nothing you can say
To make me stay
You’re going to break me
Either way
“Long Drives,” Peristerophobia
I felt like a blight to society without a job. I didn’t have anyone to talk to but the band, but that was mostly because I wasn’t in the mood for the lecture I’d get if I told Erica what was going on in my life. I missed being on tour. At least I was doing something other than sitting around every day, listening to music, and messing around online. I didn’t exactly want to go back to Cranberry and beg for my job back, but after a couple of weeks, I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.
I walked back into Cranberry. I mustered up some courage and I did it.
Phoebe was at the counter, helping a young couple decide which muffins to get with their coffee. Calvin was standing by a table of six, taking orders on his small notepad. I walked up to Phoebe after she rang up the two girls and asked her if Karen was there.
“No, she’s not. And even if she was, she wouldn’t want to talk to you. You ran off, didn’t even put in two weeks notice. We already replaced you,” she said. Of course they did. I should have expected it. “Also, she actually works on Friday nights. She doesn’t flirt with the musicians then leave early to do them.”