Shape of My Life

by DC Renee

  “So call Cassidy,” Cody responded.

  “She’s not either.”

  “So keep trying until one of them picks up.”

  “Try her parents. She has to check in with them sooner or later, or they’ll worry,” Gavin added. “Fuck, she doesn’t go a day without talking to them.”

  “And if they don’t pick up either?”

  “Then you’ll know she’s talked to them and they hate your guts, but at least that means she’s okay.”

  “And what do I do until then?” I asked, beaten.

  “You exist.”

  So I did. I didn’t sleep that night at all. I spent it calling Brook and Cassidy, neither picking up. I listened to her voicemail just to hear her voice, and I was too chicken shit to call her parents. Afraid they would pick up, afraid they wouldn’t.

  It wasn’t until Cassidy finally called me back that I breathed a very tiny sigh of relief, only to be followed by fear. If Cassidy had no idea where Brook was or what I was mumbling, and I know I was mumbling because I can’t remember what the hell I said, then I was fucking worried.

  I was this close to telling my friends to go to hell and spending my days and nights looking for Brook. And then Cassidy called me again. I wasn’t sure if her call was worse than the first.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know how much of it involves you or her own personal demons, but she’s fine. That’s all I know.”

  “What do you mean that’s all you know?” I screamed.

  “It means that she won’t tell me where she is, but that she needed some time away.”

  “Where the fuck did she go, Cassidy?” I roared.

  “That’s all I know. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to hate you right now or not, but considering she told me I could give you even this much info, I think you’re safe for now. But, I swear to God, Grennan, if I learn you had anything to do with this, I’ll kill you with my own hands.”

  “I … I …” I didn’t know what to respond. I wanted to admit it was all my fault, but I was a coward.

  “Then again, she hasn’t been herself lately, so maybe you are behind this.” I could hear her sneer through the phone. “What’d you do? Mess with her? Force her to do something she didn’t want to? Give her drugs? She’s never done drugs, Grennan,” Cassidy said matter-of-factly. “Not even at her peak. Most people would have. I bet you did your fair share when you got famous. But not her.”

  “Cassidy, what the fuck? I didn’t give her any drugs. She just ran off, and I’m worried.” I didn’t elaborate that I had technically run her off.

  “All right, fine, whatever. The point is that she’s okay for now.”

  “Thank God for that, at least.”

  “Yeah, well, I got to go.”

  “Cassidy, please, will you keep me updated?” I pleaded.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said and then hung up without even saying goodbye.

  I had tried drugs here and there, but it hadn’t even all been when I got famous. Some in college, some after. But what bothered me about her statement was that I didn’t understand what she meant when referring to Brooklyn. Her peak?

  I tried to figure it out, but I couldn’t. That night I realized if I was going to survive the rest of the tour, I would do it numb. I never thought I’d be that guy. The one who used alcohol to drown his sorrows. Alcohol for fun, sure, but not for depressing thoughts. But I became that guy. I became him in all his glory.

  Thanks to alcohol, I got the courage to even call Brook’s parents. I didn’t remember the conversation all that well, but I knew they said the same thing Cassidy had. I knew Brook was doing okay thanks to Cass’s texts; although I was sure she might not have responded had I not continued to text her until she did. But that was the extent.

  I realized much later, much, much later that I could have hired a private investigator to find her, but rational thoughts like that didn’t find purchase in my mind.

  I was just drifting through life that week, but I was also thinking. Apparently, alcohol made me think lots of crazy thoughts.

  I continued to read her lyrics over and over, and they were getting to me. She hadn’t just talked about me; she had also mentioned herself. She had talked about her own mind betraying her. I knew she was acting differently. I was remembering all the little things that hadn’t struck me as odd at the time until after Gavin pointed them out. I recalled the conversation we had. Everything was sharper in my mind thanks to the alcohol, which I knew was ironic since it was supposed to make everything fuzzy.

  I played over Cassidy’s words and her own odd behavior.

  None of it made sense. None of it fit together. It was almost as if Brooklyn was two people. The sweet, innocent one without a whole lot of life experience, and the one with secrets, talent like no other, talent that didn’t just manifest itself out of nowhere, knowledge beyond what was possible, and a past that seemed nonexistent.

  I was missing something. It couldn’t have been all me. She would have let me explain, I told myself. I knew part of me was trying to find a conspiracy where none existed just to ease my own mind, but I couldn’t help it. Some things just weren’t adding up, and now that I had time to think and drown in my self-pity and misery, I was thinking of these absurd things.

  Something else must have been troubling her. Not just me. I was grasping at straws, but they felt like very large, very real straws. She had been acting off. Maybe she just needed some time to sort some things out and then she’d be back.

  One of the last days of the tour, I finally dreamed, at least a dream I remembered. It wasn’t a dream so much as a memory.

  “I thought you were talking about Jourdan,” Paul had said. He’d brushed it off at the time. “I thought she was Jourdan for a minute. Thought I was dreaming, then seeing a ghost, then maybe thought I’d died or some shit,” he had added later. And then the last thing he said about Jourdan shook me up.“Gren, you never noticed her eyes? I never did, but fuck if they aren’t like looking at Jourdan’s. And in the right light, she looks like her. Like maybe they’re cousins.”

  I woke up with a gasp, robbed of breath, the alcohol still stirring in my brain, the dream still lingering in my mind. Brooklyn’s eyes had been the first thing to draw me in. So similar to… but no … it couldn’t be.

  Grennan

  It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t … possible? I was having a conversation with myself. No, more like a debate. And I was sure the part that believed in impossible situations was winning. It had to be the alcohol. Except …

  I remembered the little things I hadn’t noticed before. That she wrote lyrics, period. But also the way she wrote them with such passion, pouring every feeling, every emotion into them. Jourdan had written her own lyrics, had taken from her own experiences. And Brook’s writing was eerily similar.

  I remembered the way she picked up music like it was second nature to her, like it had always been a part of her, like it flowed through her veins. It was like that for me now, but it hadn’t always been. And it wasn’t something that I learned; it had been acquired through the years. For Jourdan, it had been seared into her being. Sometimes, when I watched Brooklyn chewing on a pen while bouncing her head as lyrics flowed through her, it reminded me of Jourdan. I hadn’t admitted that to myself before, and I never said it out loud … until now.

  The other coincidences, the way her parents and Cassidy wanted her to stay far, far away from anything having to do with music, including me; their panic when they thought she might be in the limelight. Let’s not forget Cassidy’s reactions and unease with Brook having a tendency toward music. It was odd at the time, but it was unnerving to think about, looking back. Even Gavin’s concerns about Brook seemed more and more valid.

  But I think what cemented my thoughts veering toward the improbable was her voice. Her truly angelic voice. It stopped my heart and had it beating in double time all at once. It came from within. It was full of joy, wonder, and even a desire to convey life. J
ourdan had been beautiful, truly beautiful, inside and out, but I know her voice had captured everyone’s hearts. That was Brook’s voice. It was like that story about Christmas during World War I. Both sides agreed to stop fighting so they could enjoy the holiday and the meaning behind it. One note from Jourdan, one note from Brooklyn, could bring about world peace.

  And as if I needed a cherry on top of the ice cream, I remembered a time when I had caught Brooklyn singing her lyrics to a tune that seemed so familiar . Really? What were the chances? What were the chances that Brooklyn put her lyrics to the beat of a song by Jourdan? But no, it wasn’t just any song. It was an unreleased song. One of her first that never made it to any record. I knew it simply because I knew everything about Jourdan. I followed her like I had just pulled an all-nighter and she was my much-needed sleep.

  It was only now, on a startled groan and loud, “Holy shit,” that the moment flashed back in my mind and I placed the tune. It was impossible. Yet … it wasn’t.

  I had to know. I had to know for sure.

  I picked up my phone to dial the one person I knew who could answer my questions, and it was as if the universe was sending me a sign.

  “Cassidy,” I spoke her name urgently like I was a dying man and needed help. And that was exactly how I was feeling at that moment.

  “She’s not with you, is she?” she asked.

  I didn’t need to ask to know who she was referring to. “Where is she?” I demanded, all my previous thoughts vanishing.

  “It’s … just …”

  “Cassidy, tell me what the hell is going on. Where is she? Is she okay?”

  “I … I don’t know.” I heard her break down.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “She’ll kill me,” she whispered.

  “Not if you’re worried. She’ll understand. But you need to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I lied, Grennan. She was here the entire time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I swear I don’t know what’s going on with her or between you two, but she said she needed to clear her head. That was true. She told me I could tell you she was okay but not to tell you where she was.”

  “And where is she now?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And her parents?”

  “Freaking the fuck out.”

  “Tell me what happened,” I demanded again.

  “Everything was going okay. I mean as okay as expected. She was distant, obviously unhappy, but she didn’t want to talk about it. And then she just disappeared. Left some bogus note for her folks and slipped out. She even left her phone here so we can’t track her.” The thought to track her phone had stupidly not occurred until that moment. But I’d only be able to do it if I had the right resources, which I didn’t. Sure, I guess I could have paid someone, but logic hadn’t been my best friend while in a constant alcohol-induced trance.

  “What?” I roared. I must have been louder than I thought because the guys ran into the room with worried expressions on their faces.

  “Her parents called in some favors to try to find her but nothing yet. I didn’t think she’d come to you, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

  “We’ll find her,” I responded, no doubts in my voice.

  “I don’t understand.” She paused. “Where would she go? Where would Jour … where is she?” She slipped; she caught herself, but she slipped first. It was enough. It was all the confirmation I needed. Yet I wanted to hear it.

  “Tell me, Cassidy. Tell me everything.”

  “I told you everything I know.”

  “No more lies. Tell me everything, Cassidy. Tell me the things you’re trying to hide.” I was met with silence on the other end. After several moments, I whispered her name. “Cassidy?”

  “You know, don’t you?”

  “What do I know?” I wanted her to tell me, not the other way around.

  “But how?” I could hear the surprise in her voice.

  “Tell me,” I demanded, a little harsher than I intended, not caring that the guys were staring at me with a mixture of confusion and concern.

  “She doesn’t know, Grennan. At least, she didn’t before she left. Now … I don’t know.”

  “What doesn’t she know, Cassidy?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t know she’s Jourdan. She doesn’t know that she was born Jourdan Brooklyn Coupper and not Brooklyn J Cooper. She doesn’t know anything. But you do.” It wasn’t a question.

  “How, Cassidy? How the hell is all this possible? Jourdan is dead!” I said it even though I no longer believed it. “How the fuck doesn’t she know? How does the goddamn world not know?”

  “It’s a long story, Grennan, and it’s not my story to tell. I shouldn’t have even said anything. But we need to find her.”

  “We will,” I promised.

  “Where would Brooklyn go? Or …” She paused like she was afraid to even speak it let alone think it, even though we both knew it was a possibility. “Where would Jourdan go?”

  “Where would Jourdan go?” I repeated, and I looked at the faces of my friends knowing they had heard the conversation from both ends, the phone loud enough to travel. They were frozen in shock, and I would have been too had I not figured it out and had the night to process. “Where would Jourdan go?” I asked out loud again.

  And then it was a tiny spark, a little piece of information nagging at me. “I know,” I said. “I know where Jourdan would go,” I spoke triumphantly. “Cass, I’ll call you soon. Got to go.” I hung up.

  “You know I have to leave,” I told my friends who still looked like they were just told the earth was actually flat.

  “Uh, yeah … We’ll figure it out,” Gavin finally spoke, and Trevor and Cody nodded.

  It was only one more show anyway. They’d make do. But even if it had been a thousand shows, it wouldn’t have stopped me then.

  “Don’t worry, Brooklyn, I’m coming for you.”

  Grennan

  Even in big cities like San Francisco, little hidden gems always existed. Those places that only the locals knew about and never frequented because they were too busy with their lives. But when you’re a teenager, especially one with low self-esteem and bullying issues, you seem to make time just to get away.

  A small, secluded beach tucked away where you had to hike about five miles to get to in the Bay area. It wasn’t unknown, but you rarely saw people there, especially on gloomy days. I went those days. I’d just sit on the beach, stare at the water, and enjoy how vast the ocean was. It seemed endless, and I had liked the idea of endless then. Like endless possibilities, endless potential futures, and endless ways to end the cycle I was in.

  Sometimes, I’d sit for minutes, sometimes for hours. It just depended on my mood and how badly I had been picked on that day.

  The day Jourdan had shown up as my savior, I went to the beach. Not because I needed to get away from life, but because I wanted the beach to have a happy memory.

  It was maybe about two months after that day when I first saw Jourdan standing with her feet in the water just staring out. I knew the water had to be freezing, but the way she stood still, one hand in her pocket, the other holding her shoes, she made it seem like she was just wading in the warm water.

  I didn’t have the courage to go up to her that day, but I watched her. I watched her face, every little expression, the way she worried her lips between her teeth, the way her brows creased. She had something on her mind that day, something that seemed to trouble her. I never knew what, but that was just the first time I saw her at that beach.

  I guess she had either just discovered that beach that day or started a new trend, but I saw her often after that. I never went up to her, and she never seemed to notice me standing or sitting off to the side.

  I no longer went to the beach to think; I went to watch her.

  It wasn’t until right before I knew she was going off to college that I finally found my voice.
r />   “Hey, uh, Jourdan?” I asked as I walked up to where she was standing. She jumped, and I knew I had startled her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No worries. I was just lost in thought, didn’t see you.” We both paused awkwardly.

  “It’s nice here,” I said to break the silence, and I fought the urge to slap my forehead with how stupid I had sounded.

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I like to come here to clear my head.” She took a breath. “My family used to come here when we were younger to avoid all the crowds. Not sure why we stopped. But I always missed it.”

  I didn’t want to say anything. I just wanted to continue to listen to her speak. We stayed silent for a little longer and then she spoke again. “I like knowing there is so much out there,” she stated as she pointed out toward the ocean. “I like knowing things are going on and there are places to see and lives to be lived across the ocean. I like knowing that I don’t have to just stick to this one spot, to this one life I was given.”

  I had thought at the time how profound she sounded, how wise beyond her years. She had been one grade ahead of me, but I was sure I was older than her, seeing as I started school a year late because of my parents trying to unsuccessfully homeschool me. I wondered when Jourdan spoke about there being more to life; how someone at least my age, if not younger, understood the world better than I did. And that had just been another reason to add to my list of why I loved her.

  She turned to look at me as if she had just realized I was standing there, and I understood she had been speaking more to herself than to me.

  “Well, I’ll see you around,” she said and walked away.

  I just watched her retreating form without saying a word.

  I would have missed her. I almost did. It was dark, and no one was around.

  I had been calling her name. Well, I had been calling her, “Brooklyn. Brook. Brooklyn.” There had been no answer. I didn’t dare speak the name Jourdan.

  I was ready to give up, ready to walk away, and then my heart plummeted.