Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story)

by Lisa Loomis

  “You guys suck,” Sam said.

  “Totally suck,” Sara said.

  “Yeah, we’ve been out there looking for you,” Pat said, a bit hurt.

  He was so non-confrontational, I felt bad for him.

  “That’s the funniest part,” Mathew laughed.

  “Assholes,” Sam said, slamming the door.

  Mathew laughed as we listened to them tramp down the hall. I hadn’t moved from my spot on the bed, still flush from his touch. Mathew rotated the chair slightly so that he had his back now to the door and was facing me. I watched as he plucked, placed his fingers on the strings, and then tuned. He picked at various chords, and then started to play. I watched his hands. One of the hands I had held in the backyard, one of the hands that had touched me. They glided almost sensuously, easily across the guitar and its strings.

  When he got into the music, he didn’t seem aware of much else. As he played, I finally loosened back up and folded my legs, crossing them, getting more comfortable on his bed. His bed. I fantasized about him kissing me here, touching me. Gayle and I talked about sex. We knew the basics and Keri had filled in a lot of the rest for me. I wondered if he ever thought about kissing me. I was thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him when I realized he’d stopped playing. I looked up at him, feeling naked.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  I felt the emotion fill my chest, my face feeling hot. The tingling I’d felt between my legs was now a dull ache.

  “Nowhere,” I answered, looking away, pushing my feelings down.

  “You looked like you were thinking about something serious,” he said.

  “Nope, nothing serious. Maybe feeling bad about hiding. Keep playing.”

  He mixed it up, but his favorite was the rock-and-roll stuff. Some of it I recognized from the radio, some I didn’t. He would sing now and then, but mostly he played. His fingers moved so knowingly over the strings. When he played, his hair would flop forward over his face, and he would move with the music. When he was so wrapped up in his music, I could observe him closely. I watched his expression change with the chords and the song. Goddamn, he was good-looking. Somehow he seemed older than me, so comfortable with himself. He interrupted my thoughts again when he set the guitar down. I hadn’t even heard the music stop. I was looking at his lips and quickly shifted my focus to his eyes.

  “There’s that look again,” he said.

  He was putting me on the spot and my thoughts had been going places I didn’t dare discuss.

  “What look?” I asked.

  “I said serious before but that’s not it, somewhere else maybe.”

  “Enjoying the music, you’re playing, that’s all,” I said.

  “Do you have anyone you like at school?” he asked. “A guy, I mean.”

  The question was awkward. I hesitated, trying to figure out his reason for asking. As of yet we hadn’t discussed very much about the girl, guy thing, certainly nothing about any connection between us.

  “School’s out,” I finally answered.

  “Duh, you know what I mean, when you are in school.”

  “I don’t know,” I paused, thinking. “Not really. I have a lot of guy friends.”

  I thought about some of the boys in my class, and they all seemed immature compared to him. Mathew could be immature too, but most of the time when we were alone together he wasn’t.

  “When the guys and I get together and play, we have girls who come and hang out. Some are pretty cute. Some bring stuff.”

  I pictured him playing and beautiful girls sitting, watching him as I did. I felt my lips tighten at each side, I was jealous. What stuff did he mean?

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked, feeling slighted.

  “I don’t know, just thought about it. We played last night over in Sean’s garage, and some new girls came by. One girl brought beer. So me and the boys had some drinks with the girls.”

  I could tell he was feeling proud of himself. Maybe trying to make me feel like he was hot stuff, which I already did.

  “I’m happy for you,” came out more sarcastically then I intended.

  Mathew cocked his head and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” he said as he picked up his guitar and resumed playing.

  When he next put down his guitar, he surprised me by getting up and moving toward me. As I watched him get closer, he gave me a knowing smile. Knowing what? My thoughts? That’s what it felt like. I took a slow breath in as he dropped down next to me on the bed. The bed bounced, and I had to put my hands down to keep from falling over.

  “You like it when I play?” he asked, running two fingers down my bare arm.

  “I do,” I answered, not looking directly at him, afraid of my feelings.

  “Why?” he asked, turning my face to look at him.

  I jerked my head back away from his touch, which made him grin.

  “Why do you ask?” What did he want from me?

  “I don’t know. Just wonder what goes on in that head of yours,” he paused.

  I wondered why it mattered. He was getting more bold in things he asked me, maybe more comfortable.

  “When you look like you're someplace else, where is that?” he asked.

  “Didn’t think you paid that much attention,” I said, surprised.

  My heart raced, and I could feel a throbbing in my throat. I could only hope what was happening inside was not openly obvious on my face. The nearness of him seemed to create emotions inside I couldn’t control. One minute I’d be fine and the next going to mush. I could no more tell him about my someplace else than fly; my thoughts were all about him.

  “Morgan,” he said, lifting my chin to look at him. “Are you okay?”

  He seemed genuinely concerned as I struggled to contain my emotions.

  “Of course, I’m okay,” I laughed, pulling away from him.

  I wondered what made him ask: my startled look or the lack of color in my face. I felt as if the blood had drained right out and raced to my heart.

  “I think I’ll head downstairs,” I said, uncrossing my legs.

  I was worried he’d realize how I felt about him and that he wouldn’t feel the same or think my feelings were stupid. He put his hand on my thigh and gave it a squeeze. I was having sensory overload: I could smell him, feel the heat of him. I looked toward the door and slowly got up. His hand dropped from my leg. Breathe, Morgan I told myself breathe. When I reached the door, I pulled it open and turned around. He sat where I had left him, hands on the bed, watching me. He tilted his head to one side, his gaze still questioning. I drew in my breath to slow down my thoughts. He was waiting, wanting an answer. To what? I couldn’t remember.

  “You didn’t really answer my question,” he said.

  “I said I’m okay.”

  “Not that one. Why do you like watching me play?” he asked again, smiling

  Now I remembered.

  “Because I think you’re good,” I answered.

  “Thanks,” he said, obviously pleased with my answer.

  He lifted his hands and pushed back his hair.

  “Really good,” I said, exiting quickly, shutting the door behind me.

  I felt like I had barely escaped without all my feelings and thoughts spilling out somehow; beyond my control.

  Chapter 9

  In early July, my parents let Pat and I know that we would be joining several families in Rio Del Mar in Santa Cruz for a week on the beach in August. Seven families to be exact. In various accommodations along the beach. My mom had told us we'd be staying with the Powers in a house right on the beach.

  We had done several camping trips with the Powers. Our families got along well and we enjoyed similar things. Their girls were a little younger than Pat and I, but not much.

  “I think you'll have fun, there'll be lots of kids coming, much of the usual group. The O’Conner’s included,” she finished, giving me a look.

  I
hadn’t confided my feelings to anyone about Mathew except Gayle, but my mom could tell I liked being around him. That Saturday we were due at Bobby’s house for dinner for the adults to finalize plans for the trip. The weather was warm, and I knew all the kids would be hanging outside. When we arrived, Mathew and Bobby were off riding bikes, and I settled in with the rest of the gang on the front lawn. Around dusk, Mathew and Bobby rode up. As they got off their bikes, I walked over to where they were.

  “Hi, guys,” I said, excited to see them, “where have you been?”

  They both looked at each other and snickered. I suddenly wished that I hadn’t left the group to greet them. I pushed my fingers into my jean pockets. I looked at Mathew; his lack of expression surprised me. I could tell this was different, different than the last time the three of us were together. Entirely different, from the night I had left Mathew’s room. I wasn’t sure what had happened. Maybe Bobby made it clear at his house I wasn’t to be included.

  I thought Mathew and I had grown to be good friends. I felt foolish standing there, my stomach tightened into a knot. I glanced back to the circle of kids on the lawn wanting to retreat. I was mad at him and then mad at myself for caring.

  “We’re going up to Bobby’s room,” Mathew answered finally.

  I looked back at the two of them, hearing his voice. They got off their bikes, walked them across the driveway, and leaned them up against the garage door. Mathew looked in my direction as they walked to the house. I kept a straight face and turned away from him in the direction of the group. I swallowed hard and could feel my mouth get hot and bitter. I walked back to the group on the grass and sat down.

  “They can be jerks when they're together,” Sara whispered to me.

  Sara, small and petite, her strawberry blonde hair blowing in the breeze, looked at me with those big blue eyes that reminded me of Mathew’s.

  “Don’t take it personally,” she said.

  I could tell she knew I was hurt. I did take it personally, but I smiled anyway to try and hide it.

  “No big deal, they wanted to be alone, I guess.”

  I found myself trying to rationalize his behavior. Okay, so boys could be jerks, I knew that. So why did it feel like a big deal? I thought he was different, that’s why. I thought he wasn’t like the other boys, but he was. I listened to the other kids talk while my hurt turned to anger.

  When dinner was ready, we had the option of taking our plates out in the backyard or to the family room; the adults were headed to the dining room where Bobby’s mom was filling wine glasses on the table. I hung back until Mathew and Bobby got their plates and headed to the backyard. Good, I'd eat in the family room; it would be far enough away. I felt ignored by Mathew, like here at Bobby’s I wasn’t welcome to hang with them. Sara sat next to me while we ate, as if she was silently trying to be supportive. Some show I hadn’t seen before was playing on TV; no one was talking.

  “Can I get your plate?” she asked, standing up when we’d finished.

  “Thanks,” I said, handing her my plate and trash.

  She disappeared from the family room and I got up and made my way down the hall, in the other direction, to the bathroom. While I washed my hands I stared at my image in the mirror and wondered why I cared about him at all. He’d never led me to believe he felt anything special towards me. I needed to think of him as only a friend and then I wouldn’t be so hurt. As I came back toward the family room, Mathew came inside from a side door. I moved to my right to avoid his path, but he fell in beside me, bumping into me gently.

  “Having trouble walking?” I asked angrily, not looking at him.

  “Ahh, bad mood, I’m guessing?” he said.

  “Not at all,” I replied.

  I stopped and faced him. I searched his face, his eyes. If he felt bad, I didn’t see it, and I flashed him a smile.

  “Nothing to be in a bad mood about,” I said flippantly and turned to go.

  He got purposely in my way. I crossed my arms in front of me and waited, my anger was back. I didn’t understand his behavior, but maybe I was making too much out of it. He didn’t say anything and I frowned at him.

  “Mathew, get back to Bobby, he’ll be worried about you,” I said sarcastically.

  I pushed him to one side and went around him. He didn’t try to stop me. When I got back to the family room, Sara was back. I sat trying to focus on the TV program and couldn’t. The anger blended into frustration, he definitely confused me. It seemed that when we went to the O’Conner’s, Mathew seemed glad to have me around. We had fun together and were able to talk. When we were in groups, I never knew how he would behave towards me. Sometimes I was included, others I wasn’t. I could understand him not wanting me around all the time, but why make me feel bad.

  Tonight I felt like the two of them removed themselves from the group and blatantly excluded me. Stupid boys, who cares I tried to tell myself, but it wasn’t working. Mathew considered Bobby one of his best friends. It didn’t seem to matter that they saw each other less than Mathew and I did. I thought about Gayle. It made sense, didn’t it: guys hang with guys, girls with girls? Why would it be different with Mathew? Just because I wanted it to be? I wanted him to think of me as one of his friends. I realized that as often as I saw Mathew, Bobby won out over me, hands down. They thought they were cool. Unfortunately, we all thought they were too.

  “I think you made him up,” Gayle said, referring to Mathew.

  “Shut up, you know I haven’t.”

  I envisioned his face and felt my heart jump a little.

  “How? I’ve yet to meet him. You have no pictures of him. Maybe he’s your imaginary secret friend,” she teased.

  She was lying in the grass next to me in my backyard as we looked up at the sky and drew pictures in the clouds.

  “It looks like a tree. See the branches there, and the trunk?” I said, pointing to the big puffy cloud above us.

  “I see a clown with sad eyes.”

  “Not in the tree?”

  “No, there. See the face and Bozo-like hair? The sad eyes are there.”

  I watched as my tree turned into a clown when you looked at it a different way. I loved these afternoons. We could spend hours trying to get each other to see what we saw in the clouds. It didn't matter how miserable I might feel, this time together was like meditation. Peaceful. Healing my frustration. The grass was starting to make my legs itch, but I didn’t want to move.

  “You’ll meet him sooner or later.”

  I closed my eyes and saw him throw back his head and laugh.

  “Morgan,” my mom called from inside the house.

  “Out back,” I shouted.

  She opened the back slider.

  “Hey, Gayle, how are you?” she asked, noticing Gayle lying next to me.

  “Good, Mrs. Mallory, I mean, Patty. You?” Gayle answered, not changing her position.

  “Good, thanks for asking.”

  I sat up and looked at her. I didn’t know if I’d changed or she had, but we were getting along better these days.

  “Morgan, the O’Conner’s are stopping by. They’ve been out to look at the lot again. They won’t stay long, but I asked them to stop by for a drink.”

  A drink I thought that could be hours.

  “Okay, I’ll be around. I think Pat is next door.”

  “It’s probably just Ann and Brad, but stick around in case the kids are with them,” she said, closing the screen.

  “Okay,” I replied, lying back down next to Gayle.

  “Oh, look there, is that Mathew’s face?” she said pointing to a cloud.

  “No, he’s much better looking than that,” I joked.

  I hoped Mathew would be with them. Probably not though, he was not excited about the prospect of the lot, or the thought of moving.

  “Uh-huh, my chance to meet the fictitious parents,” Gayle prodded.

  “Gayle, you can be such a bitch,” I said, pounding my fist into her thigh.

  �
��God damn it, Morgan,” she said, pinching my arm. “That hurt.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh, and Gayle and I found several more things in the clouds as they moved. It was awhile before we heard a car out front. Doors slammed and then the doorbell rang. I knew it must be the O’Conner’s.

  “Come on. Might as well meet them standing up,” I said, pulling at Gayle’s arm.

  She let me pull her to standing, and we cut through the living room to the entry.

  “Hi, guys,” my mom was at the front door greeting. “Come on in.”

  She stepped back opening the door wider for them to come in. I watched amused as the whole O’Conner family walked in. I gave Gayle a cheesy grin.

  “My secret friend and his fictitious parents, in the flesh,” I whispered to her.

  “You shut up,” she said under her breath.

  “This is Morgan’s friend, Gayle. Ann, Brad, Sara, Mathew, and Sam,” mom said, pointing to each one of them as she introduced them.

  I wanted to look at Gayle’s expression, but I didn’t dare. I knew what she would think of Mathew.

  “Morgan, you might want to show the kids the house,” my mom volunteered.

  “Oh, Mom, they probably could care less about seeing the house.”

  I was embarrassed she even suggested it. It was even worse then run off and play.

  “Go ahead. Go with Morgan,” Ann encouraged.

  Ann had been to our house before. I felt goofy about giving a tour. Really?

  “Meet ya out back,” Gayle said sarcastically. “I’ve had the tour.”

  I shot her a stupid look before I took Sara, Sam, and Mathew on a quick run-through the house and then ended my tour out back. Pat heard us from next door and looked over the fence with the two neighbor boys.

  “Sam, Sara, you want to come over and see the frogs we caught,” Pat called out.