Gus (Bright Side #2)

by Kim Holden

  “No hurry. I plan on getting out in the water this afternoon, so I won’t need it. Take your time.”

  I climb out of bed, and sift through the pockets of the jeans I wore last night. Pulling out my keys, I toss them to Pax.

  He attempts a smile when he catches them, but it’s still strained. “Thanks Gus.”

  “No worries.” And then something else crosses my mind and I start digging through my nightstand drawer. I toss him a handful of foil packets.

  He catches them, but when he realizes what he’s holding, he drops them to the floor. Then he scrambles to pick them up again. It's clear he's baffled and embarrassed.

  I laugh, trying to calm his nerves. “Put a raincoat on it every time, dude.”

  He shakes his head, staring at the condoms in his hand. “I don’t need these.”

  I’m smiling again because the kid’s innocence kills me. He’s never been on a date and clearly he’s a virgin. It’s like spotting a golden unicorn. “You don’t know that, dude. Maybe not today—”

  It’s his turn to interrupt. “Definitely not today.” I swear I almost see him shudder in fear.

  I nod and try to stifle a laugh. “Okay. Not today, but sex is in your future at some point. You’re human, for Christ’s sake. Take them. Keep them. Use them when you’re ready. Come back for more if you’re scared to buy them. I won’t pry, but I will supply.”

  His eyes are big as saucers, but he stuffs them in his pocket. “Okay. Thanks again, Gus.”

  He’s walking to the door when I stop him. “Pax?”

  He turns with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah.”

  “You’ve got this. Just be yourself. You’re awesome.”

  He smiles and for the first time in the last few minutes, it’s genuine. “Thanks.”

  When the door shuts, I have to laugh. The last five minutes were like an awkward PSA. I love that damn kid.

  Monday, December 4

  (Gus)

  I’m sitting at Ma’s piano now, because I picked up my guitar for the first time in weeks this morning and it felt like a burden in my hands. It felt like rejection. Like it didn’t want me there. So I set it back down in the corner of my bedroom and went down to the basement.

  I haven’t sat on this piano bench for over a year. I rarely write music with the piano. I almost always write songs using my guitar, but sometimes inspiration strikes and I come up with a melody while I’m messing around on it. Let’s hope this works. I need luck. I need music. I feel empty without it.

  The ivory keys are cold. Neglected. Ma doesn’t play much anymore either.

  I move my fingers over the keys, gliding through a few scales. I let my mind wander and play the first thing that comes to mind. My fingers move in a familiar pattern and I begin playing a classical piece. Mozart. I learned several piano concertos when I was growing up and taking lessons. Ma insisted. She’s good; piano is definitely her instrument.

  One song flows into the next, pouring from my memory. It feels good to play. I feel affirmed as my fingers remember the keys, the intervals, and the sounds of the piano. There’s acceptance in it. The house is quiet and calm, and the music fills the room. It fills the empty space like a spirit, another being. And suddenly I don’t feel so alone.

  Alone. I think that’s what bothers me most about losing Bright Side. With her I was never alone. Even when she lived hundreds of miles away, I was never alone. I could feel her. She filled me. Like the music is filling the room right now.

  The song I’m playing now was one of her favorites. Debussy. She used to always say Debussy was sexy. I used to laugh at her, but she was right. She’d ask me to play this song over and over again. She loved it.

  So, I’m playing it for her now. “I hope you’re listening, Bright Side,” I say out loud. I know she’s around. I know that sounds weird, but sometimes I just know she’s nearby. It’s like a fleeting glimpse of comfort … and then I blink and it’s gone.

  I miss her so much.

  As I reach the final decrescendo, I see something move out of the corner of my eye. I swivel on the bench and see that Impatient is standing on the last stair, watching me.

  “Hey,” I say, a bit startled. “How long have you been peeping on me?”

  She shrugs and a small smile appears. I love that smile, probably because I so rarely get to see it. “A while.” In those two words, soft and simple, is the fleeting comfort I mentioned early. I’m not alone.

  I nod. “You like Debussy?”

  She nods. “If that’s who that was, yes. It was beautiful. I didn’t know you played.”

  “Ma made me learn when I was a kid. Speaking of Ma, shouldn’t you be at work?”

  She shakes her head, as if to clear away the moment. “Yeah. Audrey needed a file she left on her desk here. I came back to get it, and I also made some egg salad. I came down to see if you want a sandwich. There’s plenty.” She’s always trying to feed me.

  “Sure. I’ll be up in a minute. Thanks.”

  She smiles again. I’ve noticed more and more that doing something for someone else makes her happy. Even if it’s making a sandwich for lunch. So, I never turn her down when she offers something. Even if I’m not hungry. I like making her smile.

  I play another song before I go upstairs, because the comfort is still clinging to me.

  And I’m clinging back like hell.

  As I’m playing, a few notes stand out. The way they fit together strikes me in a way I hadn't heard before. I stop the song and play the notes again. Then I transpose it to a lower key. The combination flits across my mind. There and then gone.

  I start the song again, and when I get to those notes, I stop. The new melody springs back into my mind, and I play those keys again.

  Followed by a few more.

  I find the bass notes in my left hand, and the sound becomes fuller. I play it again.

  And suddenly I can hear it in my mind. I can visualize the strings and frets of my guitar, and I hum the sound to myself. This is no simple chorus. This is a hook. And it actually sounds pretty damn good.

  And now I’m smiling. I’m smiling while that hook repeats on a loop in my mind, a tiny ember flickering to life.

  I guess sometimes all you need is a little inspiration. And sometimes inspiration is a smile from the right person at the right time.

  Tuesday, December 5

  (Gus)

  It’s time.

  After seeing Keller and Stella last week, I know it’s time.

  After experiencing my first glimpse of musical inspiration in months, I know it's time.

  All day, I've been staring at the disc Bright Side left for me. It's been sitting in my room for months now. It’s dusty. I haven’t touched it.

  Until now.

  Now I’m inserting it in my laptop.

  I hold my breath and hit play. And suddenly I hear her voice, just like I knew I would.

  “Hey, bestie.” She pauses. She hasn’t called me that in years, and she’s giving me time to absorb that. Then she laughs, and the sound of it hits me full-force, right in the heart. Jesus, I’ve missed that laugh. She’s laughing because she knows I hated it when she called me “bestie” when we were younger. I always told her only girls call each other that. Today, I can’t deny how much I love hearing it.

  She continues. “I know you’re listening to this months after I’m gone. Who knows, maybe it’s next year already.” She knows me. She knew I’d put this off as long as I could. “And I know these past months have been shit. How do I know? Because, I can’t even imagine our roles being reversed. I can’t imagine losing you. I don’t know what I would do without you, Gus. You’ve been the one person I’ve clung to my entire life. You’re my life preserver. Whenever I thought life was just too damn hard or that it couldn’t possibly get any worse, all I had to do was think about you or talk to you and that made everything better. For twenty years. You. Your laid-back attitude. Your wicked fucking sense of humor. Your caring nature. Your love. It sav
ed me. Every. Single. Time. It reminded me of the goodness in the world. You, me, and Gracie. We took on the world together. We were a team. The best.

  “I know that God put certain people in my path in life to teach me something. Not only did you teach me how to swim, and how to surf, and how to play guitar, and how to drive, and how to swear,” she pauses and that beautiful giggle comes through the speakers again, “but you showed me what unconditional love feels like. I knew, without a doubt, my entire life, that whenever and wherever I needed you, you’d be there for me. Whether it was to help me work through a song I was writing and struggling with. Or to watch the sunset with me. Or to love Gracie as much as I did. Or just to talk. Or to hug me because I just needed a hug. Or to hold my hand while I had blood drawn or IVs inserted, even though you hate needles. You always knew how to make me feel better, even if you didn’t know you were doing it. There’s always been a connection between us. I knew what you were going to say before you said it, because I knew what you were thinking. I could see it in your eyes. I could see it in your expressions. I could hear it even when you didn’t vocalize it. And I know it was the same for you. You could finish my sentences … and they were always way fucking funnier when you did, dude. I’ll miss the way you answered the phone when I called. I’ll miss your lazy, beautiful smile. I’ll miss being called Bright Side. I loved it when you called me that. It made me feel like I could do anything. Get through anything. It was a badge of honor I wore proudly. Because it meant that I was special to you. And that meant the world to me. Please know that as friends go, you hold the prize, dude. You’ve mastered friendship. You’re a goddamn friendship Jedi. I could live a thousand years and never have a better friend than you.

  “I love you to the fucking depths of my soul and back again. You’re part of me. Probably the better half. I know your mom always joked about us being long lost twins, but I don’t think that’s accurate. I mean, we don’t even look alike. I’m way better looking than you are.” She’s trying to joke, but I can hear her voice getting thicker, heavier. “Whatever,” she whispers. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t even think blood relatives have the kind of bond that you and I have. It was a gift. You were a gift. A gift that made my life worthwhile. A gift that made life fun. A gift that filled me with music. A gift that filled me with love. A gift that inspired me to live on the bright side.

  “Gus, I know you. I know you’re dealing with me being gone, that you’re accepting it, or you wouldn’t be listening to this right now. I know you’re trying to figure out where you go from here. I want you to keep writing and performing. Please. I’m begging you. Aside from being on Earth just to be a stellar fucking human being, you’re also here to share your unfathomable talent with the rest of us mere mortals. If you need a kick in the ass, open up my laptop and start poking around. There’s a folder titled ‘Gus’s much-fucking-needed inspiration.’ That’s right, I know you’re probably struggling with writing. I know you shut down when you’re stressed and I would imagine my departure has brought on some mammoth goddamn stress. Please let the stress and the sadness and the anger go. It’s time to do epic again, dude.”

  I glance at the tattoo on my right arm and smile. She continues. “Listen to ‘Gus’s much-fucking-needed inspiration’ and let it inspire you. There are a few songs I wrote that you’ve never heard. There are a few choruses that I never wrote the rest of the song around. There are guitar riffs and violin arrangements. There are words or phrases that for some reason stuck with me. I tried to pick out the best of the best and put it all in one place for you. If you only listen to the audio files once, that’s fine, but please listen to them in their entirety. I know you; don’t skip out early because it’s hard. Just be brave, put your big boy pants on, and do it. Something you hear is going to click with you and you’re gonna run with it. And it’s going to turn into a kickass Rook song.” She’s right, it’s time. It’s time.

  “Two more things. I know if you aren’t already smoking that you want a cigarette right now, so I’m gonna say it. You should quit. I tried not to be bossy or nag the hell out of you, but you really need to. ASAP. I like you alive and healthy. I’m not going to say this because I’m trying to put a guilt trip on you. I’m going to say this because it’s the truth and I only want what’s best for you.” She pulls in a deep breath, which only helps reinforce the message she’s trying to convey. She was on oxygen when she recorded this and I can hear the labored breath. “Cancer fucking sucks, Gus. You don’t want this, dude. I don’t want this for you. Please quit.” She pauses again. I need the pause. Her words hit me right in the gut. They take my breath away. She’s not trying to be mean. She’s not trying to throw guilt rocks. She’s just trying to get it through my thick fucking skull that smoking is killing me. This is first time in my adult life that I’ve felt like I want to quit smoking, not that I need to. There’s a difference. That difference is the motivation that makes things happen in life. I reach in my pocket and pull out the pack I always carry with me and I drop it in my trash can. A flash of panic hits me before I hear it hit the bottom. As soon as I hear Bright Side’s voice again, the panic fades.

  “Last thing, but equally important,” she says with renewed determination. “I hope you find someone to give your heart to. If our friendship is any indication of your capacity to love, the woman you end up with will not know what hit her when you fall in love with her. I hope you find her soon so that you have an entire lifetime to love her and she has an entire lifetime to experience all of the greatness that is Gus Hawthorne. Besides, the world needs Hawthorne babies. Lots of them. Kids love you, Gus. And you’d totally show up all the other dads when you go to Gus Junior’s third grade career day. Just imagine: after little Johnny’s dad introduces himself as a stuffy-ass stock trader, you can introduce yourself as the Rock God of Rook. How badass would that be? I’ll be watching, because I totally want to see that play out.”

  There’s a pause again. She’s trying to figure out how to wrap this up. I hear her sniffle and I know now that she’s trying to hold back tears. “I know this is the part where I’m supposed to say good-bye, but we agreed not to say good-bye anymore. And the truth is, I don’t want to leave you. So, I’m going to tell you instead that I’ll always be with you. I’ve already talked to God about signing on as your guardian angel.” I don’t doubt that she actually had that conversation out loud. She always talked to God like an actual person who was going to talk back. It always made me laugh, but I also liked the unabashed faith she had that it might actually make a difference. “I think he’s cool with it, so, you know, I’ll be around. I’ll be watching and listening. Except when you’re having sex, been there, done that; I know what you look like naked, dude.” I hear her teasing smile winning the battle against the impending tears. “I’ll leave you be and give you some privacy for the love sessions.” I laugh out loud at that. Only Bright Side would talk about God, guardian angels, and sex in the same string of thoughts. “I guess I just want to say thank you, dude. For everything and more. I love you, Gus. Always.”

  My chest feels tight, but I’m not crying. I thought listening to this would crush me, destroy me, set me back months. Instead, I feel calm. I feel peaceful. I’ve just been given something I never knew I could have. I just got five minutes with my best friend again. I got five minutes to hear her familiar voice and her beautiful laughter. I got five minutes to hear her encourage me to be better. To do epic.

  I don’t waste anytime opening up her laptop.

  And picking up my guitar.

  And you know that feeling when you just know something fucking amazing is about to go down?

  Yup, that’s exactly how I feel right now.

  Wednesday, December 6

  (Scout)

  Gustov has been playing his acoustic guitar a lot this week. He always leaves his bedroom door shut, but since my room is right across the hall, the sound seeps in. Even with my door closed and my hearing aid removed, I hear him faintly. I’m n
ot complaining—it’s the best imaginable way to fall asleep. My fondest memories of my dad are the times he would play his guitar and sing me to sleep when I was little. I haven’t thought about that for many years, but this week it seems like everything’s come to the surface.

  It’s ten-thirty and I’m lying in bed. I should be sleeping because I’m helping Audrey with a big presentation at work tomorrow morning. Instead, I’m listening. Gustov didn’t come out of his room tonight for dinner. I haven’t seen him at all today and I feel a little off because of it, like I can’t end my day without seeing his face.

  And then I hear something that makes me strip back the covers and put my feet to floor. Before I know it, I’ve inserted my hearing aid and I’m standing in my pajamas in the hallway in front of his door.

  Just standing.

  And listening.

  He’s singing. His voice is barely audible. More humming than words. But he’s singing.

  I sit down next to his door with my back against the wall and I listen.

  The humming continues and meshes with the guitar. He strums over and over, each time changing something, fine tuning. Pretty soon the humming gives way to words. A verse at a time, but I swear it’s like listening to the creation of magic. Pure magic.

  His voice has invaded me. I’m not just hearing it. I’m taking it in through all five senses.

  It’s intimate in a way I can’t even begin to explain.

  It’s not the tactile sensation normally associated with intimacy; it’s cerebral. All in my mind. It’s steeping and brewing within me.

  It all morphs and evolves into an entire song within a matter of hours. And when the music finally descends into silence, I feel so lucky that I was here to witness this, to experience it, to share it with him. Even if he had no idea.