by A. M. Jones
“The text messages! And this voicemail. Holy shit, Taylor.”
It’s been a while since Eli and I have shared a text convo, but I’ve never deleted anything. “You fucking snoop,” I mutter. Is this how it feels to have a sister? Shit.
“No wonder you’ve been weird. I thought it was because we’re invading your space, but you’re depressed. What gives? He—” She looks at my phone. “Has it bad for you.”
“I’m not depressed, Brenna. Without the obvious problems such as his marriage, I’m scared.”
“Big sis, I have news for you. That’s normal, so you’d better stop expecting it to go away and accept it for what it is.”
“And what’s that?”
“Those sensitive, unpredictable emotions that come with loving someone and trusting them not to break your heart as they love you back.”
“That’s not why I’m scared.” I close my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt him. I have a track record and it’s not good.”
“Puh-fucking-lease. You’re so like dad, it’s infuriating. I wanna puke.”
I freeze, and some gunk from my face plops onto my shirt. “What do you mean?”
She checks the stuff on her face, for what, I’m not sure. “He’s been in love with Eileen forever. All he does is mope instead of doing something about it. He’s so afraid of the love he feels. And the years of longing should tell anyone how deeply he loves.”
All I can do is stare at her nonchalant way of saying such a thing. “How do you figure?”
She shrugs. “The way he speaks about her. And you.”
“Brenna, he left my mom.”
She laughs. “Did she tell you that?”
I don’t remember. With the way my mom is, and always has been with men, maybe I assumed. So, if that’s not what happened, then what did? “I don’t know.” He always asks how she’s doing.
She raises a brow and rolls off the couch to her feet. “I spent my childhood watching him grieve Eileen. It’s why my mom and every woman after her left him. But wash that off.” She holds her hair in a ponytail but points to me. “It’s dripping down your face and you look like you belong in a wax museum that’s on fire.”
Just then someone puts a key in the door, unlocking it. Camden strolls in, bleary-eyed, with his hair stuck up all over his head. Brenna narrows her eyes. “I have any nieces or nephews on the way yet? Man-whore.”
He smirks at me, ignoring her. “That’s a nice look for you, Taylor,” he slurs and falls face first on the couch. He lifts his head as if it weighs two hundred pounds. “Oh yeah, your car is parked in Green Hills.”
Great.
The next morning, I lounge on the couch with my phone in hand. The twins left for Knoxville and I can’t stop thinking about my father. Everything I’ve thought about him over the years is possibly a lie. It hurts my heart because he let me think he left my mom, left us, to go to Cali. And then he married several times and worked his ass off to get where he is, which is a producer for major cable network.
I call him.
“Taylor? Is everything okay?” he answers right away. I guess this is my fault, too. I never call him.
“Yeah, everything is fine. The twins went to Knoxville for the weekend to see a band play.”
“Ah, to be young and free again.” The smile in his voice is contagious. He clears his throat. “So, how are you?”
“You let me believe you left us.”
His silence speaks volumes or maybe I’m attacking him, I don’t know, but I need to know. “Where is this coming from?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe I need therapy.”
Now he laughs. “No, you don’t, but I never wanted you to think badly of Eileen.” He sighs. “Your mother is a complicated woman. When I got the opportunity out here, she stayed. She had her interior design, and she didn’t want to raise you in California. That was her excuse, anyway. I knew she wanted space. I knew she felt smothered, so she took advantage of the situation and made it go her way.”
My heart drops and my eyes brim with tears. It sounds too familiar and sad. “What if I’m just like her?” My voice cracks even through the whisper.
Another moment of silence. “So that’s what this is about. You have a lot of your mother’s qualities, it’s true, but it’s your choice on how you deal with them.”
“Right.” I hold back my scoff.
“What’s his name?”
I swallow. “Eli.”
“I think it says a lot you’re worried you might break his heart. I think it says even more that you called me to talk about it.”
I smile. He’s always been good with the food for thought kind of stuff. “I suppose it does.”
“Tell me about him.”
So, I do.
After we hang up, I think about the night in Jackson. Eli was right about every single thing he said, including the part about me not liking Ink Slapped. It’s not that I don’t like it. I love it, but it digs too deep and splits me wide open. The song’s intense just as he is, and it’s his way of telling me he sees through me. That he sees me. I need to tell Eli how I feel. Especially while I still have the chance. One thing I don’t want to do is let him go and live the rest of my life in regret. If Eli can make a big leap, then so can I.
I only hope it’s not too late.
I dial Crockett for the second time this week.
“You’ve decided to come to Knoxville,” he answers on the first ring. “Come on, lush, it’ll be huge. I’m so excited I might make like a cocker spaniel and wee all over the place.”
I laugh. “I don’t think so.” Looking out the window, I lower myself to the couch and watch the dark clouds roll in. A gust of wind hits, making an unnerving sound against the building.
A sigh comes through the phone. “I know he said to leave you be, but he’ll be glad to see you. Not to mention, he’s been in a mood. Truthfully, we’ve all been in a mood, and we could use your smiling face for a day.”
“Does he know I called you?”
“Nope. No way. Now, are you coming to Knoxville? Simple yes or no.”
I sigh. “I have an appointment, but I called because I need another favor.”
“Anything. Just name it.”
I explain what I want to do and how I want to do it. The line stays silent and I have to look to make sure the call didn’t drop. “Hello?”
“I’m here,” he says, “But I think I did just wee a little.”
“You sure you want to do this?” Max asks with skepticism as he fingers the huge round hole in his ear.
“I’ve never been surer about a tattoo, ever.”
He smoothes the transfer paper along the side of my back where it dips down into my waist. Pulling it off, he whistles. “It’s a beauty though. You sure you don’t want Gavin inking it?”
I shoot him a look, and he laughs.
“This is why you don’t fraternize with the clients.” The next transfer connects to the last one going further down onto the round of my hip and ass as a small piece connects to the tree already done on my thigh. When he pulls this one off, he says, “Make sure it’s where you want it.”
I stand, looking at my backside in a mirror. Besides my bra and a tank, I have tied out of the way, I’m nude. I smile, turning every which way. “That’s hot,” I state, looking at Max.
He nods. “I don’t think you have any idea.” The dormant tree branches trace my thigh as they turn into leaves, and the leaves shift into little abstract ravens up my side. No color. All black. It’s a sweet tattoo until you look closer as the ravens become smaller the tattoo trails to spell out grease slapped. The first and only words I’ll ever put on my body. “All right, lie down and I’ll get started.”
Jack is drunk, and I’m not sure he can even stand to play on stage. For some reason, he thinks it’s okay to skip practice several days in a row and then get plastered before a show. With the way things are going in my life, I don’t blame him. Unfortunately, lowering myself to his state of m
ind is not an option because I have the responsibility of being an adult.
“What’s been wrong with you lately?” Milo asks, slapping him on the back before sitting in a rolling chair. Plucking mindlessly on my Martin, I’d like to know the answer myself.
He shrugs and takes out a cigarette. Lighting up, he blows a quick puff of smoke into the air. I don’t think he’s allowed to smoke in here.
We jump at the massive use of a bass drum. The current band on stage plays on the other side of the wall.
“Damn… fuckin’ gorilla foot,” Milo mutters, shaking his head. It drives him crazy when drummers use the kick to cover their lack of skill.
The door opens, and Crockett and Kevin strut in, followed by two tall, thin people. Both look around in thinly veiled disgust. The young woman catches sight of me. She looks curious as she plants her ass beside me. I lean my guitar against the love seat. I try not to be weirded out by her demeanor. It reminds me of Madison.
“Brenna,” she gestures to herself and then the guy. “Camden.”
Crockett laughs. “Twin One and Twin Two. Get it? Like Thing One and Thing Two?”
“Nice to meet you. You guys here to see the show?” I ask, feeling out of sorts. I’m not sure what it is about them.
“Meet and greet,” Crockett says, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
She smiles and something about it is familiar. “Oh, yeah. We’re big fans. We came all the way from Cali-forn-I-A.”
Milo’s mouth drops open, thrown for a loop. “What? That’s crazy.”
Camden takes an empty chair and rolls it over. “Why? You guys don’t think you could have fans on the west coast?”
“Never really thought about it.” But it’s cool they came all this way. “I’ll buy you a round after.”
Brenna and Camden smile to each other even though the atmosphere is awkward. Camden nods. “Sounds good.”
Brenna beams, showing teeth, and my heart pumps faster. I’d know that smile anywhere. I glance to Camden and he watches me with the blue eyes that haunt my every waking moment. Twins. California.
They’re the kids from the pictures all over Taylor’s refrigerator. “You’re Taylor’s brother and sister.”
Crockett laughs and stands. Brenna gives Camden a smug smile, holding out her hand to him. “You owe me a hundred bucks. Pay up.”
Camden digs out his wallet. “We made a bet. I thought we’d have to tell you.”
“We’re staying with Taylor for the summer.” Brenna leans back, crossing her legs.
“I bet she loves having you guys there.” Although, it’d be fun to see how she’s faring in her small apartment.
Brenna’s brows draw together. “You know, I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell with her.”
I smile. “I know what you mean. She lets nothing show.” I look down and flip my guitar pick through my fingers. “I’m glad she’s not there alone.” I lick my lips, trying to control my breathing and watching the pearl surface of the pick shimmer. “Is she here?” No one speaks, so I glance at Brenna. “Is she?” I wipe my hands on my jeans.
Camden answers, “She isn’t.”
“She’s starting a new project,” Crockett announces, primping in a mirror.
I exhale a rough breath and my neck feels hot as I give him a glare. “How do you know?”
“Oh, pull your undies from the crack of your ass. She called me for an opinion.”
I open my mouth, but the twins avid interest causes me to let it go.
He must think I'll give him shit because he puts his hands on his hips. “Have you found a manager yet?”
I flinch, resisting the urge to groan. “No, I’m having a hard time finding someone I trust who won’t take advantage.”
“Camden and I could do it,” Brenna throws out quickly, looking to Camden with her bright idea. “Our last year requires an internship. It’d be fun!”
“Internship?” Milo stands as the band stops playing in the front room. I follow suit, stretching. Jack is in the corner with his head down. Great.
“Yes, we’re music majors at Berkeley.”
The room goes silent.
Brenna takes our silence the wrong way and her face falls a little. “We have good contacts. We can get you in better venues and even more prominent festivals. You’ve already played at an award show. Wouldn’t be hard.”
“If you guys want to make any kind of decent money, get an internship with a recording label.” I tap Jack awake with my boot. “Get up. It’s time to go on.” This is a bar, so we’re on our own.
Crockett watches Jack, biting his lip. “He’s going to be clamming all night.” He’s right. Jack isn’t in any shape to be playing let alone the right notes. Crockett eyes me, gesturing to Jack. I know what he’s saying. We talked yesterday about getting Jack some help. I nod.
Camden continues their idea, “It’s an internship. We’ll do it for the experience.”
Milo shrugs. “It’s something to think about.”
Brenna runs her fingers across her eyebrows. “Just think on it and talk about it amongst yourselves.”
Crockett clacks his tongue. “We will, Twin One.”
“Here. Read this and stop fidgeting.” Crockett slams a pamphlet on my lap.
The Beams Nashville. The brochure is full of information on what this place does. They take in candidates of alcohol and substance abuse. Victims of neglect, bullying, various types of assault like sexual, mental, and physical. “This place is awesome.”
He nods. “Yep. They’ve helped me a time or two.”
I glance at him sharply, but he gives me a look that shuts down any questions. I sigh right when the door opens. We both stand as a brunette walks in.
“Crockett. It’s good to see you.” The woman shakes his hand, and he grins.
“Likewise. This is Eli Gregor.”
She smiles and shakes my hand. “You didn’t bring Jack?”
Crockett shakes his head and throws his thumb at me. “He wanted to meet with the counselor beforehand.”
She looks at me with renewed interest. “You think you’ll need an intervention?”
“I know we will.”
She sits behind the desk. “In order for our program to work, he has to want help. This isn’t a rehab. Although, we can look into one.”
“We want our best friend back,” Crockett says in all seriousness.
She gives us a soft smile. “I know just the counselor.”
The next weekend, I wipe fog off my mirror from the shower to brush my teeth and get dressed. When I stroll from the bathroom, I catch the guy’s conversation while they wait on me.
“Honestly, she kind of blew me away.” Jack’s statement is directed at Crockett as he shuts the window on the fire escape. I’m surprised to see him here. Luckily, he’s not drunk and looks a little better. The intervention with him went better than I thought it would and he went to a counseling session with the recommended alcohol abuse counselor. With only one session, I owe this counselor big time.
“Who?”
They both turn. “The lead of Dead Storm. Jack did the nasty with her.” At that, Jack sneers. Crockett produces his phone.
“Huh,” I say, already losing interest. I obtain my Strat from its stand. “When’s Milo supposed to get here?” Jack brings out his Gibson LP with a flame top—the one he uses for gigs. “Something happen to your Ibanez?”
He pulls the strap over his head and plugs it in. “POS, and I didn’t feel like changing the strings.”
The Ibanez is far from a piece of shit. “What the hell is wrong with everyone?” I place my strap over my head, shredding a riff from Ink Slapped—the one becoming an all-time favorite—as I stare at the huge photograph of Taylor. One day, I resolve to have a recent shot of her. One I want to take myself without her fucking arms crossed. One open and honest in all of her inked glory.
She reminds me of rock music with bones. Rebellion. Strength. Dark Rhythm. Her beat jump starts my adrenaline and soothes
my fucking soul. Who am I kidding? A picture will never be enough. I can’t live without rock-and-roll.
“It’s not us. It’s you. You’ve been moody—like a woman,” Jack says as I jot my thoughts on a little notepad.
I’m not the one who just had an intervention for his drinking.
He hits his whammy bar, efficiently cutting off any remarks I might make. He goes into improvisation to cut heads—wanting to battle and blow off steam. All for it, I raise my brows—challenge accepted.
This is what I love most, just jamming and playing whatever, however we want. I whip his ass, throwing in smears and a few slaps that even grab Crockett’s attention from his phone.
Kevin rushes in to watch, carrying his keyboard, which is almost bigger than he is. Jack chucks his frets, and I do the same.
“What now? Tired of getting your ass kicked?”
Jack smirks. “Nope. Need a drink.”
Crockett balks. “Water.” Jack flips him a finger.
“Dang, dude. How long you’ve been playing?” Kevin asks me.
“A long time, Kevy Wevy.” Crockett stuffs his phone in his pocket. “Remember when you played a talent show? What was it, fifth grade?”
“Yep,” Jack throws in. “I remember ‘cause watching you was the first time I knew I wanted to learn to play.”
I laugh, thinking back. We’ve all known each other since grade school, except for Milo. He didn’t move here until the ninth grade which is when we all became friends and started the band. The summer after graduation was when Madison moved here—when we became a real band. “The glory days.”
“So, fifth grade?” Kevin prompts.
“I don’t remember. I’ve always had a guitar. In fact, I think my mom still has the first one—from a yard sale.”
Jack flinches and laughs. “Talk about a POS.”
I continue, “I saw it and wanted it really bad. Eventually started lessons in third grade, I think. Don’t hold me to that one.”
A knock on the door sounds through my apartment. We glance at each other. Usually people just walk in unless I have it locked. I try not to hope as I go to open it. “Brenna?”