Streetlights Like Fireworks

by Pandolfe, David

  “Yeah, that’s him,” I say.

  “I know,” Lauren says. “But good for you.”

  Then she’s out of the van and I follow as Trevor Harrison approaches the shiny glass doors of Gentech Biosciences.

  “What are we going to tell him?” I say, catching up to her.

  Lauren doesn’t break her stride. “I’m thinking maybe the truth.”

  We approach him as he steps onto the sidewalk.

  “Excuse me, Trevor?” Lauren says.

  He stops, looks us up and down, then nods as if that soon coming to a conclusion. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says, “but you’ve got the wrong person. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  I shake my head. “But you don’t even know—”

  “Yeah, I do. Let me guess. You guys think I used to be that bass player guy.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like that,” I say. “We were just—”

  “Listen, I know already. You guys are big Purge fans for some reason, even though that freaking band broke up before you were even born. Then you found my name on the internet—hmmm, let me guess, Facebook. Why the hell did I ever sign up for that shit? Sorry to ruin your little fantasy, but you got the wrong Trevor Harrison. Jesus, I really should just change my name or something.” He spreads his arms and pushes out his impressive stomach. “Seriously, do I look anything like the Purge guy? Why don’t you listen to some music being recorded now, for God’s sake? I have to get to work.”

  With that, he turns his back and walks toward the front door. Maybe I was wrong about his eyes. Maybe we both chose to see what wasn’t really there.

  Obviously, Lauren doesn’t believe we made a mistake. “Look, we don’t want anything from you, okay? We get it—that was like a million years ago. You have a new life now. Just give us a minute and we’ll never bother you again.”

  “It’s true,” I say. “We’re just trying to return something.”

  Trevor opens the front door. Then he lets go of the handle and the door falls closed again. He turns to face us. “I didn’t lose anything.”

  “Not to you,” I say. “To Jessica Malcom. I found her guitar.”

  Trevor’s eyes widen for just a moment. He opens his mouth to speak just as his phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of us as he answers the call. “Hey,” he says. “No, I’m right downstairs. What’s going on?”

  While Trevor listens to whoever it is, Lauren reaches into her purse and grabs a scrap of paper. She starts writing something.

  “No, it’s fine,” Trevor says. “That server should be partitioned by now. We ran the batch last night. Hang on, I’ll be there in minute.” He puts his phone back into his pocket, then returns his attention to us. “I have to get inside. I’m late. Good luck, you two, okay?”

  Lauren holds out the scrap of paper. “It really is her guitar,” she says.

  Trevor barely glances at the note before shoving it into his pocket. “Like I said, I’m late.”

  A moment later, he’s inside waiting for the elevator and we’re walking back across the parking lot.

  “He’ll call,” Lauren says. “Did you see his eyes? He really has the most expressive eyes.”

  13

  A Photograph of John Gavuzzi

  Lauren thinks we should hang around town for a while and it isn’t like I can think of any better options. So, we find a nearby mall and take advantage of the Barnes and Noble free lounging experience. We’re still there at a little past noon, both of us reading graphic novels—Scott Pilgrim for me and Lost at Sea for Lauren—when she receives a text from Trevor.

  Lauren’s eyes meet mine, her expression more than a little smug. “He wants us to meet him tonight at seven. He sent an address.”

  “No joke? Like, his home address?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Wow. Weird.”

  “Must be that trustworthy thing you’ve got going on. And to think you doubted we’d even hear from him.”

  The thing is, I totally doubted. Even while Trevor seemed to show some interest when we told him about the guitar, I still assumed he’d blow us off and get on with things. If he even is the same Trevor Harrison that once played bass for Purge, it seemed clear this morning that these days he’s just some middle-aged guy focused on his job. But maybe Lauren knows people better, or has more faith in them than I do.

  I set my book on my armrest, saving my place with my finger just in case. “So, what are we going to do until then?”

  “I’m thinking Riverfest again, but without the fest.”

  “Like, just go to the river?”

  “A much less creative way of putting it,” she says, “but, yeah. Right after I finish reading this and maybe one more. And maybe one more after that.”

  Good thing I saved my place. “So, like two hours from now.”

  “Thereabouts.” Lauren fishes inside her purse and comes up with a twenty. “Hey, do you mind grabbing me a coffee? You can get yourself a chocolate milk, if you want.”

  “Nice,” I say.

  ~~~

  Despite his evolution from lean, indie band bass player to portly middle-aged tech guy, I still imagine Trevor living in some artsy part of town. Probably in a cool old house full of CDs, records, posters and books, and possibly even recording equipment—as if no time has passed and he’s still some guy in his twenties jamming with friends at night after work.

  As it turns out, the guy who used to be T now owns an upscale townhouse on a street lined with others just like it. And while we didn’t spot Trevor getting out of his car earlier, it appears the onetime rebel musician drives a Lexus SUV these days.

  “You’re sure we have the right place?”

  “This is it,” Lauren says. “Looks like T’s doing pretty good for himself.”

  “Another rocker bites the dust.”

  “Aw, don’t worry, Pajama Boy. You can still be a poor person someday. All is not lost.”

  Even as we ring the doorbell, the weight of the guitar case dragging at my arm, I still wonder if we might have the wrong address. But just a few seconds pass before the door opens.

  Trevor hesitates, even though he invited us over. After a moment, he says, “Hey, guys. Come on in.”

  We follow him into the living room. Plush sofas, ornate coffee table, framed watercolor paintings. On the mantel, a picture of two young kids, a boy and a girl. It occurs to me that our surroundings might have been the real reason for his hesitation.

  As if reading my mind, Trevor says, “So, this is suburban life in Kansas City. Sort of. Anyway, make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to the sofas on either side of the coffee table. We take one and he takes the other.

  “Thanks for having us over,” I say.

  “I’m guessing that might have surprised you a little.”

  “A little, yeah,” I say, when actually it surprised me a lot.

  “Understandable,” Trevor says. “That thing I said this morning, about people bugging me. I wasn’t being totally honest. The truth is, it’s more about how disappointed they seem when they realize I really was T. Like I let them down or something. You know, by growing up and getting a job. By getting older and fatter. But I kind of got the feeling we already moved past that part.”

  I’m not sure what to say other than, “No, it’s totally cool. It’s been a long time.”

  “Exactly,” Trevor says. “Things change, you know?”

  I nod even though it’s a rhetorical question.

  “So, yeah. I kind of got to thinking about what you guys said. How you were just trying to return Jessica’s guitar. Even if you’re wrong about what you think you have, nothing like that has ever happened before. Usually, people want something. A photo, an autograph on some old vinyl cover, that kind of thing. It gets old.”

  “It’s not like that,” I say. “But I do think you guys were a really cool band.”

  Trevor shrugs. “Thanks. We definitely had somethi
ng. Jessica had something. Still, life goes on. Other stuff starts to matter more. Know what I mean?”

  While at first I’d assumed those pictures on the mantel were probably of a niece and a nephew, suddenly I know otherwise. “Are those your kids?”

  Trevor smiles. “Derek and Sarah. They’ll be back this weekend. I’m divorced but it’s all good. I still get along with my ex-wife. No anger. At least, not anymore.”

  “That’s nice,” Lauren says. “I mean, that you guys still get along.”

  “Yeah, it is. It’s up to us to keep it that way.” Trevor turns his attention to the guitar case resting near my leg. “So, I guess that must be it.”

  The funny thing is, while Trevor’s been telling us about his life I almost forgot about the Telecaster. For the last few minutes, his past barely seemed to matter. Now, I open the case, take out the guitar and prop it up for him to see.

  Trevor stares at the Telecaster silently for a few moments and it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. Then he reaches into his top pocket and takes out a pair of reading glasses. He sets them on his nose and hunches forward. “God, that really does look like it,” he says softly. “The finish, definitely. All that wearing across the top edge. The pickups too—they look like the same kind Jessica installed. Can you spin it around?”

  I do and his eyes lock on those same wounds I found on the back of the Telecaster that first day.

  “No way,” he whispers. “No freaking way.”

  Trevor reaches out and I pass him the guitar. He holds it up, resting it on his thigh as he examines the front, then the back, then each again. Minutes pass and it seems like years might be replaying inside his head.

  “Yeah, there’s no doubt,” he says. “This has to be it. Where did you find it?”

  “Virginia,” I say.

  Trevor raises his eyebrows. “Virginia?”

  So, I tell him about Gary’s store and how I felt like I had to check out the Telecaster that day. I tell him about our journey, leaving out the psychic and ghost parts at least for now. As Trevor listens, he keeps shaking his head as if he’s not sure what to think. Understandable, considering we’re now in Kansas City after finding a beat up old Telecaster in a small town music store nearly two-thousand miles away.

  “Okay, that’s kind of amazing of you guys,” Trevor says. “I bet Jessica would really appreciate it.” He passes the Telecaster back to me, his eyes meeting mine and then Lauren’s. “God, Jessica loved that guitar so much. Like it was part of her.”

  “It’s the only one I ever saw her with in photos,” I say.

  “Yep, that was her baby. But the weird thing was those initials she carved into the back—she did that just before our last show together.”

  Finally, I have the chance to ask about what I wondered on that first day. “Do you know why she did that?”

  Trevor shrugs. “None of us knew what to think. We didn’t know it was going to be our last show either. Then, just before she left, she told us she gave it away. Dropped it off at a Goodwill place or something like that.”

  “Seriously, she just gave it away?”

  “We couldn’t believe it either,” Trevor says, “but I guess that’s what she did. Then she was gone. There was a lot going on at the time. Jessica was really messed up. We all were.” He falls silent and puts his reading glasses back into his pocket.

  Lauren perches forward on the sofa. “Why did she leave?”

  Trevor shakes his head, apparently still not quite sure. “She kept saying she just didn’t want it anymore, that she was just done with the whole thing. I don’t know, maybe she had other reasons. Honestly, we kept thinking she’d come back but she never did.”

  “So, that was it,” I say.

  “That was it. I mean, for the band. Not for me. A lot happened after that.” Trevor gestures toward the pictures on his mantel. “All of it in some ways way bigger for me than the years in the band. Like I said, things change.”

  I wait a moment before saying anything. “Can you help us get it back to her?”

  Trevor looks back and for the between us again. “Sorry. I know what you must have been thinking but I have no idea where she went.”

  Lauren and I exchange glances. All of the hype about Jessica Malcom’s disappearance from the face of the earth couldn’t be true. Trevor had to know where she’d gone.

  “Yeah, I know,” Trevor says, having caught the silent conversation between us. “It really is hard to believe. Sorry to disappoint you guys but it was a long time ago. Believe it or not, before Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr. Almost before email and computers. People could still go off the grid and disappear. Somehow, Jessica did. I guess she timed it just right. No way she’d get away with it now.”

  I expect Lauren to look disappointed. After all, we just hit the end. But she keeps her eyes on mine as she shrugs and offers a slight smile. In that moment, I understand. At least we made it this far. The two of us, together.

  I guess maybe I should feel defeated but instead I think about that moment when she entwined her arm with mine.

  “Are you guys hungry?” Trevor gets to his feet. “I ordered some Chinese before you got here, just in case. Figured it was the least I could do after being such a shithead to you guys earlier.”

  ~~~

  We pass boxes of rice, chicken and shrimp around, doing our best to make sense of the three of us being together. On one level, it feels weird sitting in Trevor’s kitchen and I’m sure it feels equally strange for him having us drop in from the other side of the country. At the same time, he opened up to us before so now we tell him about ourselves.

  I tell him about my band and Justin and Doug. Lauren tells him how she loves reading and writing poetry and how she’s always wanted to live on the west coast, another thing I didn’t know about her. Trevor tells us how, after the band broke up, he went back to school and got a degree in computer science, then ended up being an IT guy at Gentech. He seems happy enough with that. Kind of like Gary, just pushing on with things, making a future. Looking back maybe sometimes but not regretful.

  After we finish eating, Trevor takes the plates to the counter while Lauren and I close food boxes and cap condiments. He turns on the faucet and waits for the sink to fill. “So, people know where you are, right?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say. I feel bad for lying but just can’t bring myself to open that door.

  Trevor submerges plates beneath water. “You must have cool parents. Have you two been together for a while?”

  Lauren’s smirk is so fleeting that I’m sure only I catch it. “Feels like a lifetime,” she says.

  Trevor laughs. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

  I shake my head even though he isn’t looking my way. “Not exactly.”

  He turns around, drying his hands on a dishtowel. “I’m fine with you guys staying here tonight. It’s not like anyone’s using the guest bedroom.”

  ~~~

  Once we we’re upstairs, Lauren goes into the bathroom to change. She meets me in the bedroom wearing gym shorts and a tank top. She’s tied her hair back and suddenly she looks so young. No longer the guarded, secret girl from school who everyone, including myself, never approached. We’ll be sharing the room but it’s not like that first night in the motel. I know her now. I feel more, want more, but at the same time we’re friends and I don’t want to change that. It wouldn’t be worth it.

  Lauren checks out the room. “This is nice.”

  She’s right and I’ve barely looked around. Trevor must have other rooms for his kids, but this is a tidy little guest bedroom. Who it’s meant for is impossible to say but there are curtains and framed landscape prints on the walls. A well-intentioned space.

  “You probably noticed there’s just the one bed in here,” Lauren says.

  I rummage through my bag looking for something to sleep in. “Definitely noticed that. It’s cool. I’ll take the floor.”

  Lauren peels back the covers, then wraps herself in. She watch
es me. “No need, as long as you live up to your reputation, Pajama Boy.”

  I can’t help smile. “How do you feel about sweat pants and a t-shirt?”

  “On a scale of one to ten—your cabin at camp being a ten—how bad do they smell?”

  I have to think about that. “Maybe a five?”

  “Good thing I have sinus issues,” Lauren says. “Hop on in.”

  “So, maybe I need ear plugs?”

  “Yeah, I’d grab those if I were you.”

  ~~~

  For a while, we sleep and I’m not sure who wakes up first. But somehow I know Lauren is awake next to me. Normally, I probably wouldn’t say what’s on my mind but it’s just us there in the dark and no one will burst out laughing if I make a fool of myself. Except maybe Lauren but otherwise there will be no witnesses.

  “So, are we still going to hang out after this? I mean, when we go back.”

  A moment passes before she says, “My life’s not so good, Pajama Boy. You might not want to be around it.”

  Which isn’t how I’ve pictured things. For some reason, I imagined that her life is going better than mine. “I think I can handle it,” I say. “As long as you stop calling me Pajama Boy.”

  “Then, no deal.” Another moment passes before she says, “Okay, maybe we can negotiate that point,” her voice soft as she drifts back into sleep.

  ~~~

  It feels like seconds later when Trevor knocks on the door and tells us it’s time to get up. The room remains dark, the shades drawn and I totally don’t want to get out of that bed. Especially since Lauren curled up next to me during the night.

  “Feel free to take showers!” Trevor calls out as he walks away. “Time to roll!”

  We meet downstairs where Trevor pours us coffee. He sets out milk and bowls and boxes of cereal. So far, he’s a serious contender for the title of World’s Most Accommodating Host to Total Strangers.

  Once he’s sure we have what we need, Trevor sits across from us and pours some Honey-Nut Cheerios into his bowl. “You guys sleep okay?”

  “Slept great,” I say.