by K. Ryan
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed being immersed in history until I plucked the book off my shelf tonight. It felt exactly like how I’d always felt whenever I came home from college—comforting, easy, familiar, and safe. I picked up the paperback and inhaled must and age and ink. Even the scent was familiar and I squeezed my eyes shut. There were so many things I’d lost, so many things I used to love that I’d tossed aside...some missing piece seemed to slide back into place the moment I picked up that book.
This was good. This was progress. This was me reclaiming something I’d forced myself to surrender, even if it was just a page in a book.
I grinned at my computer because “Moondance” was playing now—not exactly ideal mood music for reading a 900-plus page nonfiction novel about Abraham Lincoln, but that didn’t make me enjoy the music any less.
And there it was again.
A guitar strummed lightly along to the music, which was impressive considering this song was heavier on the piano and jazzy saxophone, but the player had the hard staccato picks down pat like he’d played this song a million times before. Granted, I still didn’t know which of my neighbors was currently treating me to this little performance, but somewhere, deep down, I hoped it was Finn.
Even if that scared me. Even if part of me wanted to scramble back into my apartment. I still kinda hoped it was Finn.
Now, “Go Your Own Way” was playing and my neighbor easily switched gears, changing up the tempo and matching Lindsey Buckingham’s strums tab for tab. After about a minute of Fleetwood Mac, I decided to throw him a curveball and clicked “Any Way You Want It” in my music library and suddenly had images of Rodney Dangerfield dancing with that goofy grin on his face flashing across my mind. Still, impressively enough, my neighbor rolled with the punches and while he couldn’t exactly replicate the electric guitar parts on his acoustic, he still nailed those famous duh-duh combos in the stanzas.
After another minute or so, I clicked on “Closer To The Heart”, a selection my dad would’ve wholeheartedly approved of, to see just how deep my neighbor’s knowledge of classic rock really was. Again, he riffed right through the opening chords, plucking away at the strings and a slow smile crept across my face as I leaned a little closer to the wall to hear him better.
Once we’d both had enough of Rush for the time being, I moved through my library, clicking on “Hey Jude” next to see if he could pick out the guitar chords through the piano. Sure enough, he strummed easily along with Paul McCartney, finding the rhythm through the melody with practiced ease.
Hmm, I guess I needed to up my game.
I hit my next selection, but when all I heard was Elvis Presley crooning to his mama, my heart sank a little. Maybe he’d decided he’d had enough and went back inside his own apartment. About 30 seconds into the song, the strumming started back up again, this time a little less sure, a little unsteady, but despite the fact that he’d clearly never played this song before, he picked up the chords halfway through the song.
My lips curled up again and I glanced at Oliver out of the corner of my eye, who looked more annoyed by the disruption to his sleep than anything.
“Oh, come on,” I whispered to him. “Don’t look so pissed. You know you secretly love this.”
My eyes went back to my library. What to play next...I clicked my selection and my neighbor easily picked up the strains of “Hold On Loosely” no problem. Okay, that one was just too easy for him. The next one needed to throw more of a challenge at him because other than the Elvis song, he’d pretty much nailed everything I tossed his way.
Ah. There it was.
As the famous 50s chord progression of “Stand By Me” sounded out through my laptop, I waited eagerly to see if he could do it and sure enough, after a good 15 seconds into the song, I heard him strumming along, the soft, familiar rhythm flowing from his guitar. It was nice just sitting here on my patio with Oliver, watching the sun fade out into twilight beyond the tree line, and listening to my neighbor’s guitar ministrations.
But when I clicked on “Under the Boardwalk”, I finally got the answer I wasn’t so sure I’d been looking for. At least 20 bars played all the way through with silence on the other side of the patio before I finally heard a low, familiar chuckle.
“Sorry,” he told me through the barrier between us. “Don’t know that one.”
So. The neighbor treating me to this little show was Finn. Deep down, I’d figured that, even though I didn't know how I could’ve possibly known...it was just a feeling. Or a hope. Or a fear. I wasn’t sure which one of those options made me the most uncomfortable.
“Hey,” Finn called out to me. “You got any Kings of Leon?”
My lips pulled apart in a grimace. Did I…? Maybe, but that wasn’t really the kind of music I tended to gravitate towards.
“Um, gimme a second.”
“Sure,” he chuckled. “Take your time. I got all the time in the world tonight.”
Smiling a little to myself and sawing on my bottom lip in thought, I scrolled through my library until I came across the two songs I had. When the opening strains of “Sex On Fire” started playing, with its electric guitar riffs rocking back and forth, Finn’s grumble was unmistakable.
“Of course. That’s the one you’ve got.”
“Oookay,” I drawled hesitantly and glanced sideways at the wall.
“No, no,” he laughed and I swallowed hard at that deep, throaty sound. “Not your fault. Lemme guess, you have one other Kings song, right?”
“Sure do.”
“And it’s called ‘Use Somebody’?”
“That’s the one.”
“Shocking,” he informed me dryly. “You see what most people don’t realize is that they’ve got more than just those two songs and that those particular two songs don’t even crack the surface of what that band can do.”
Now, I was the one chuckling. “I take it you’re a fan.”
“Oh yeah. Everything in life is better if the Kings are playing in the background.”
I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Okay. So, what song would you play now?”
There was some shuffling from behind the wall and I heard Finn’s deep voice again, “Hold on. I got it all on my phone. Just gimme a second.”
“Sure.”
Then the strains of one of the prettiest country songs I’d ever heard echoed from around our shared patio wall...easy guitar and lazy violin and then, “Come on out and dance…”
At this point, Finn was already strumming along with the acoustic in the song and his familiarity with the chords was pretty clear. He’d definitely played this one more than a few times before.
“This is pretty,” I told him. “I didn’t know that band played country music too. I thought they were just a rock band.”
Finn’s strumming stopped for a second so he could answer me. “Ah, you know, this is the only song they have like this, but it takes them back to their Southern country-boy roots. That’s why I like it.”
“I like it too. What’s it called?”
“‘Back Down South’. It’s the kinda song that needs to be played when you’re just sitting outside having a beer around a fire, except we don’t have a fire and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one of us drinking a beer, but you get the idea.”
Despite my better judgment, my fingers flew over to the store on iTunes and after a quick search, downloaded the song into my library.
“What else you got?”
“Hmm, let me think,” I tapped my index finger across my lips. So, we were obviously taking this little jam session in a more modern direction. Let’s see...what did I have that wasn’t too old, but would still throw a challenge at him?
I clicked “Snow (Hey Oh)” and as those complicated, rolling chords hummed from my speakers, I heard Finn trying and failing to keep up with the complex melody. For every tab he nailed, he completely flubbed the next one until he gave one last, frustrated drum on the strings with
a loud huff.
“Now I’m just embarrassing myself,” Finn muttered. “But I’m man enough to admit that song’s just too damn hard. How ‘bout something else?”
“Sure,” I laughed, clicking over to another Red Hot Chili Peppers song. “How about ‘Californication’?”
“Yep. Do it.”
This time, the slower, simpler chords were a little easier for him to pick up and he strummed along for a few bars until he called out to me, “Hey, how ‘bout this one?”
He jumped into something faster, obviously well-practiced, but it was a little more aggressive, a little angrier even, like he was somehow channeling the frustration of the song...whatever it was.
“I don’t know that one.”
“Gimme a second,” Finn called back and within moments, those same acoustic chords played back for me almost exactly how he’d just played it. “You don’t know Jack Johnson?”
“Not really.”
“Ah, gotta get on that one. He’s great. Real chill, too. This one is ‘Sitting, Wishing, Waiting’.”
It was almost like he knew I was silently taking his suggestions and immediately downloading them into my library. I already had a search for Jack Johnson going before he even told me the name of the song.
“How ‘bout this one?”
He launched into another song, starting slow and quiet before upping the tempo, strumming back and forth in a way that had me bobbing my head right along with the rhythm.
“I take it you don’t know ‘The Pretender’?”
“No, I don’t recognize it, but I like it.”
“Okay, you go now.”
I scrolled through my library, looking for something that would throw him off completely and came across the perfect option. All I heard was silence on the other side of the wall as Finn listened, trying to place the song, and when the singer started in with, “Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight”, Finn let out a quick burst of deep laughter and I could practically see him throw his head back against his chair with his shoulders shaking as he sang along.
“Aw, man,” he chuckled. “I feel like I need to go watch Anchorman now.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “Me too.”
“What about this one?”
His strumming turned into something a little folksier now with a more staccato twang, but I still couldn’t place it.
“I don’t know that one either.”
“‘Skinny Love’ by Bon Iver,” Finn told me as he continued plucking away. “Fun fact: the lead singer of this band, Justin Vernon, is from Eau Claire. This whole album was recorded in a cabin about four hours up north from here in Medford, I think.”
“Well, look at you with all your musical knowledge,” I laughed.
“Hey, I try. And—that album’s actually called For Emma, Forever Ago. I’m pretty sure the entire thing is all about one break-up, but still, that’s crazy, right?”
It wasn’t as if I didn’t expect him to remember my name. I just hadn’t expected him to...I don’t know. This whole thing was starting to make me itchy, my palms were already sweaty, and my heart did a few jumping jacks in my chest to drive the point home. He was being friendly and neighborly by sitting out here like this with me, playing along to whatever I threw his way and tossing a few songs of his own into our little game. That old familiar twitch worked its way down my spine until both my legs jumped with anxiety.
My eyes immediately flew to the time on the top right of my laptop. It was only 9:30 and while I wanted to stay out by Oliver for longer, I couldn’t have predicted the turn this night had taken, especially since I still wasn’t sure how I felt about said turn.
Now, he was strumming something that sounded a lot like a Radiohead song; I just couldn’t tell which one it was. For reasons I didn’t quite understand, I found myself scrolling through the few Radiohead songs I had in my library to see if I could place the one he was playing. I tried “Fake Plastic Trees” to see if it matched the acoustic guitar playing from the other side of the wall and all I got was Finn’s low chuckle.
“Nope,” he laughed. “That’s not it. Try again.”
The next attempt was “Karma Police”, but right away, I knew I was way off-track with that guess. The tempo wasn’t even close to what Finn was playing.
“You want me to save you some time?” Finn called out to me.
“I’m no quitter,” I shot back. Yes, you are. Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Alright, alright,” he laughed right back. “Sorry.”
Now, my determination to prove something to someone for once dominated pretty much everything else raging around in my mind and I tried “House of Cards” even though I knew I wasn’t even in the ballpark.
“Nope.”
I shot an annoyed glance at the brick wall even though he couldn’t see it. “I know. Just hold on. I’ll get it.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second. Here, I’ll start over,” he offered and jumped right back into the opening progression again. When he got all the way through the first 20 bars or so, he jumped back into the opening again to make sure I could figure it out.
I listened intently from my chair, head tilted to the side, eyes squinted in thought, and then…
“I got it!” I shouted victoriously and did a mental fist-pump as I clicked over to “High & Dry” to hear the matching guitar chords coming from my computer.
“Nice. I figured you’d get it eventually.”
“I think I would’ve driven myself crazy until I figured it out,” I laughed.
Now, I heard some more shuffling and the whoosh of a screen door opening as Finn called out to me, “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
So, here I sat, feeling awkward and out of place even on my patio, my gaze darting back and forth to the cat drowsing next to me and the brick wall separating me from my neighbor. When the screen door opened again from the other side of the wall, I sat up a little, my heart seizing at the footsteps shuffling from the edge of his patio and drowning out when he hit the grass.
Finn materialized from around the wall with a bottle of beer in each hand and he stopped short when he breached the threshold of the wall separating our two patios. His light eyes widened, which was probably an understandable reaction given the way I’d frozen still in my chair, eyes wide with terror like he’d morphed into Jeffrey Dahmer or something.
Melodramatic, I know, but the sight of my neighbor—the type of guy only someone as messed up as me would find terrifying—was more than I’d been prepared for tonight. To be completely honest, I hadn’t really been prepared for any of it, but my eyes still darted over to the safety of my own screen door and briefly contemplated hauling ass inside before he could get a word out.
Now that would be melodramatic. And absolutely insane.
“Uh…” Finn managed to croak out before glancing down at the beers in his hand. “I just wanted to…” his lips pulled apart in a grimace and he shot a quick glance over his shoulder, “I ran in to get another beer and thought I’d grab one for you too, you know, to say thanks for the fun night, but I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay!” I cut in abruptly and I don’t know who was more shocked by my outburst: me, Finn, or the cat. I sucked in a deep breath and blew my bangs out of my eyes in exasperation. Now I looked even crazier and more pathetic than I did last night when he obviously overhead me talking to my cat.
“I mean, um, that’s really nice of you. Thanks,” I tried to press on a smile, but at this point, it probably looked more like a pained grimace than anything. Not attractive.
One side of his face tugged up in a grin and he dared a step closer, like he half-expected me to just up and bolt. I guess I couldn’t really blame him. That grin on his face only widened when his eyes flicked to Oliver, who was eyeballing him warily from his perch, and as Finn ventured closer, he held out the beer in his left hand for me to take. I stood to slide it carefully out of his hand and then, kicking myself for my cageyness, still couldn’t stop myself f
rom plopping back down into my chair as soon as the beer was in my hand.
Talking to him with a barrier between us had been easy and fun. Now that the safety net was gone, I just didn’t know what to do with myself.
To his credit, Finn stepped back until he was leaning against the edge of the wall separating our patios, careful to keep himself as close to his side as possible and out of my bubble. Still chewing on my bottom lip, my eyes fell to the bottle in my hand and I frowned at the label.
“Matthews Brewing Co.,” I murmured, still frowning as I tried to remember where I’d heard that name before.
Finn shoved his free hand deep inside his pocket and glanced down at his shoes. “Yeah, it’s good stuff.”
“I’ve heard of this place before,” I mused, my eyes still on the bottle. “This girl I work with tried to talk me into going there last Saturday.”
His eyes widened and he stood up against the wall a little straighter. “Did you go?”
“No, I had some work to do,” I shrugged and finally, dared a sip from the bottle. It wasn’t so much that I worried he’d laced it something nefarious or anything, but it was beer. The sour taste of hops and barley swirled around in my mouth, but there was something sweet there, too, that I didn’t mind...honey, maybe?
“That’s not bad,” I told him and took another quick pull from the bottle. “I normally don’t really drink beer, but I can live with this.”
A smile tugged across his lips, crinkling around his eyes, and he gestured to the empty wine glass underneath my chair. “Yeah, I can see that. It’s a good thing you didn’t spit it out all over the grass because that would’ve been awkward.”
He waited a beat, anticipating my confusion, and unearthed the hand from his pocket to point his index finger at the label on the bottle. “That’s my family’s brewery.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah,” he laughed and the sight of that wide, happy, almost relieved grin stretching across his too-beautiful face made those butterflies kick soccer balls around my stomach.
“So, you’re a brewer? Not like the Brewers, obviously, but…”