by Nora Flite
I don't know how to make her more relaxed, she's nervous about everything.
Casually, I slid the glove off my left hand, covertly finding her fingers and latching on. I squeezed tightly as she looked at me, enjoying how her serious pout became a tender smile.
With our hands linked on the middle seat between us, we both watched the world roll by on our way into town. My parents lived a decent drive out from everything, a fact that only began to bother me growing up as I hit my teen years.
It was difficult, at the time, to understand their desire to be in such a private area. Especially when my major worry increasingly became trying to be social and see friends.
Now, enjoying the scenic views of the fields again, I felt a vibe of comfort.
The radio was rumbling with the repetitive music of Christmas tunes, a tradition if there ever was one. My dad hummed along, my mother singing a line here and there.
When we hit the town, any doubt that the season was here would have been crushed. Small, quaint, the area felt like a storybook with all the wreathes and garland on doors and street lamps.
The church was easy to spot, by far the tallest building among everything else. White and sharp, the sight of it brought back memories I wasn't prepared for.
Memories that tingled with warning.
Leah gripped my hand, pulling me from them before they rose from my consciousness. Flashing her a grin, I pointed to all the cars lining the road; people were bustling about, hurrying to get inside the warm building.
“It's always a little busier this time of year,” I explained. “The seasonally faithful, and all that.”
“Deacon,” my father chided, squinting at me in the rear-view mirror as he parked.
As a group, we clamored out of the doors. Instantly, people began waving to my dad, calling out greetings at the sight of him.
Always so popular, I thought silently.
With all the “hello's!” and “how are you's?” we had to fight through to get into the church, it took us far longer than seemed reasonable. The chill air was biting my nose before long.
Warmth soaked into me when we finally passed through the wide double doors, the gentle, soothing music reaching into my chest.
Standing there, looking around the huge room with its rows of pews, arching ceilings and beautiful stained glass decorations, I was awash with a sensation of falling into the past.
“It's so big.” The voice beside me was Leah, standing there, eyes glistening as she viewed the church.
“Yeah,” I agreed, gently taking her wrist, guiding her down the long aisle towards a seat near the front. She saw where we were going, gave a slight tug of panic.
“Wait,” she mumbled, plaintively looking at me. “Do we need to sit so close?”
She's so scared of this. Is it really that bad?
Giving her my sweetest, most caring smile, I rubbed my thumb over the back of her hand. “It's fine, we can sit back here, instead.” Her muscles relaxed visibly, calming my own nerves some.
Together, we slid into the pew, settling in comfortably. My parents found us soon enough, sitting behind us, still whispering with friends.
“Good morning,” the pastor started, his familiar, smiling face taking us all in. It amazed me that it was still the same man, Pastor James, that had led the service since I was a small child. “I'm pleased to see so many warm faces this beautiful morning.”
There was some light laughter; the mood in the room was one of relaxed deference. Beside me, Leah sat straight. There was likely no one else in the church that had never been to this service before. The town didn't get many new people moving in, it was just one of those places.
She can't tell he's joking about how cold it is. Hopefully the Christmas songs will relax her.
As if hearing my mental plea, the pastor spread his arms. “I'd like to open this holiday service with a song, to set our mood and spirit in the right direction. Let us rise, and we will begin.”
There, on stage, the choir members filed into place. This, too, was a step into the past.
The past, back when I was part of the choir. Back then, when I was... when I was pursuing... Oh, no.
Even as I felt the first twist in my stomach, the first hint that I knew what was coming, I still wasn't truly prepared.
All my memories, all my nostalgia, and yet I'd still managed to bury this one obvious outcome so deep I hadn't acknowledged it.
How could I have been so stupid?
Gold hair shimmered, her steps light; balanced and demure. I knew her movements, I could never forget them. The girl who'd first stolen my heart, then broken it so effortlessly.
She parted her lips, the beautiful rolling waves of lyrical perfection dancing free. The piercing soprano found my ears, wormed in deep with a mixture of pleasure and pain as the déjà vu kicked in...
And I remembered.
Seven Years Earlier
Chapter 3.
It had been seven years ago, the day I first noticed Bethany Sommer. Maybe it was because I was just starting to notice girls; notice them seriously, anyway.
I'd been fighting with my father recently, going through the stages of understanding the Bible in my own way. This way was, apparently, not in agreement with how he wanted me to view our religion.
That day, though, even as I had come into the church with frustration brewing in my heart, the moment the choir began to sing, I'd forgotten it all.
She was lovely, voice clear as a bell and unbelievably pretty especially to a boy who's sixteen. I couldn't look away as she sang, rich hair shimmering, her expression one of content joy. My heart swelled, my stomach hurt, and I realized I was smitten with a girl whose name I didn't know.
When you live in a small town, you tend to know everyone just a little bit, at least.
Bethany was vaguely familiar, but we had never talked to each other. There was little to attach us, outside of belonging to the same church. I'd never even seen her at school.
That was when I realized what I had to do, what I wanted to do.
When I told my father that I was going to begin singing in the church choir, he was ecstatic. The debates about religion were forgotten. In his eyes, I'd accepted his point of view, and this was a sign of that.
I didn't bother to argue his logic.
The church welcomed me into the fold, the pastor eager to let me sing along with the rest. To my credit, I stunned them all with my ability, made all the more impressive with my casual claims of having not had a single lesson.
Grinning, full of the pride of youth, I was let down as everyone fawned over me except the one person I wanted.
Bethany looked my way, once, then returned to reading over her sheet music.
Thus, the game began, with me trying ever harder to catch her attention while I worked my way up the ranks.
Everyone liked me. I was proving myself to be charming, funny and gifted.
Still, she never talked to me.
Each night I would go home, pacing my room, striving to understand how I could catch her attention. I didn't know her name, I didn't know why she wouldn't give me the time of day, but I was desperate for both.
I could have asked anyone for her name, it would have been easy, but in my head I had planned out my grand expectations. I acted out the way she would swoon over my voice. How I would introduce myself, while she blushed the whole while.
My brother came into my room one night, asking me if I wanted to practice with him.
“Thanks,” I said, distracted, “but I'm fine. I've got this.”
“Are you sure? I think I could really—”
“Nicholas,” I snapped, “I've got it. Don't worry about me.”
I went back to brooding, my brother leaving without another comment.
The fourth day, not even a week, I was going crazy with stress. That day, I'd decided I would take the initiative. If I couldn't get her to come to me, I would go to her.
As we were setting up for the servic
e, my knees trembled. Not from fear of the performance, but nerves over how I would finally talk to her.
On heavy legs, my bones seemingly melted and untrustworthy, I made myself walk until I was standing beside her on the stage. I knew my place was further away, I was counting on her to notice my displacement.
Those blue eyes found me as she turned, so close I could see the spattering of freckles on her nose; light as cinnamon on cream.
She sees me. She finally sees me!
“Excuse me,” she said, her words sending lightning straight to my core. “You're in the wrong spot.”
“Am I?” I asked, forcing words around my tongue that felt swollen, huge. This is it, this is it. “Oh, sorry, it just looked much nicer over here.” I smiled; the biggest, brightest smile I had ever cultivated in all my life.
She stared at me, not at all blushing or giggling like I expected. In moments, my chest was beating, a sourness in my throat.
Oh god, what was I thinking? I'm so stupid!
Before I could open up, try to salvage my pride, her peach lips curled into an unsure smile. “You're kind of weird, Deacon.”
My jaw fell open, giving me a far more idiotic expression than I would have desired. Certainly nothing like what I'd portrayed in my daydreams while imagining that scenario over and over. “You know my name?”
“Of course I do,” she laughed, brushing her blonde hair from her forehead. “How could I not?”
I was on a cloud, sick and excited all at once. She knows my name, I didn't... I never...
“Wait,” she blurted, breaking my foggy dream into chunks. “Do you not know my name?”
“Oh, uh, well,” I scrambled to find a smooth sentence. My palms were humid, I couldn't casually wipe them on my pants. “Honestly? I don't have a clue, that was sort of why I came over here.” Oh my god why did I tell her that!?
Her laugh surprised me; it was as beautiful as her singing, it eased the tension in my neck. “That's amazing, why didn't you just ask me?”
Smiling sideways, I ran my eyes to the far wall, away from her sparkling vision. “I suppose I'm asking right now. What's your name?”
“Bethany,” she answered, positively glowing. The blush I had envisioned in my numerous walk-throughs of that occasion finally blossomed on her cheeks. “I'm Bethany Sommer.”
For an unfortunate while after that, perhaps two months, Bethany and I had little in the way of interaction. I'd see her at church, sometimes at youth activities, but never anything structured.
Still, it was fantastic, more than I ever hoped for.
As the summer ended and school approached, I became infatuated with her. I wanted to make her laugh, to see her smile; to sing with her and never stop.
She'd told me the reason I'd never seen her around much, was because her parents kept her home-schooled. But, they'd decided the music curriculum offered by the high school was very good, and since their hope was for her to do well in her last two years and gain scholarships to somewhere noteworthy, she'd be joining me that time around.
I couldn't have been happier.
Quickly, I became involved in every musical class Bethany was. I asked my parents for instruments, for lessons, and continued to keep up my determined quest for Bethany Sommer.
No matter what I did, though, I was unable to get closer. In every class we shared, I'd sit next to her, or behind her, feeling the distance of a few inches like it was an endless canyon.
She knew my name, I could make her smile.
I could make her laugh.
But I want more, I thought one day, watching the sun lazily give her hair a soft halo while she sat in front of the window in English.
I want much more.
The school year passed incredibly fast. Part of me hated that, knowing there was a chance I'd see less of Bethany without classes to keep us together. Her parents had a firm hold on her outside of school. She hadn't even been allowed to come to my seventeenth birthday party.
My chance to cement a closeness with Bethany arrived during our final semester of our junior year.
****
I found the flier stuck to my locker, along with every other locker in the hallway. Frowning, I tugged it free, scanning the cheaply printed front to better understand what it was.
This is... this is perfect.
Gripping the paper so hard it crinkled, my legs carried me down the hall towards where I knew Bethany would be.
She was only just settling into her desk in Geometry, her books neatly arranged. When I slapped the flier down in front of her, she jumped, startled hard enough that she squeaked. Those blue eyes found me; confused, sparking with a hint of anger.
“What are you—”
I cut her off, leaning in close. “Look at this.”
Scowling, Bethany reluctantly stared at the paper, smoothing it to read the surface. “What, a talent contest? Why did you give me this?”
“Well, you should know what you're entering before you accept the award.”
She laughed, the metallic sound of disbelief. The smirk that crawled across my face made her stop. “You're not kidding, are you?”
Taking the flier, I folded it carefully in my fingers, talking as I worked. “Not at all. We'll be entering this together.”
“We? Both of us?”
“That's the definition of together,” I said, feeling strangely smug. Inside, there was a part of me bustling with joy, imagining our inevitable performance before we had even decided on our routine.
Bethany shook her head, but her shock was turning to amusement. “What will we do, if I may ask? You seem to have this all planned out.”
“Our song. Our win. Our victory speech,” I said, offering her the flier. I'd folded it into a heart. “I've got it all planned, yeah.”
In that moment, I truly thought I did.
She stared at the paper heart, speaking to it more than to me. “Alright. So you want us to sing together.” Turning it in her palm, she set it down gently, those curious eyes looking up at me. “So, what will we be singing?”
“I was thinking we could shake it up, maybe find a song no one would expect us to sing,” I shrugged. The bell rang for class, but I didn't react. “How does that sound?”
Bethany flinched, uncomfortably staring around me as she hissed through her teeth. “That's fine—whatever you want, Deacon. The teacher is staring at you.”
“So you'll do it, then? For sure?”
“Yes!” She was exasperated, turning red. “It's fine, just go! You aren't even in this class.”
Grinning, I glanced over my shoulder at the frowning professor, still talking to the blonde girl beside me. “And I can pick the song, right?”
“Yes, yes! Get out. Please?”
“Then I'll see you tomorrow, in the music room after school.” Before she could argue, I turned on a heel, striding smoothly out the door, ignoring the irritated scowl the teacher shot me.
Though I was trying to look as calm as possible, my cheeks were beginning to hurt from my giant smile. The biggest issue I'd had with trying to get closer to Bethany had been how little personal time I could salvage.
But now, she should be able to convince her parents to let her stay late after school to practice for the talent show. Knowing them, they'll be all over having their daughter in the spot light.
Everything was going perfectly, I couldn't foresee a single problem.
In the true, genuine joy only hopeless teen romantics could lavish in, I was on top of the world.
My last class was a study period, so I did the logical thing and slipped out of school early. Perhaps it was reckless, but truly, I felt invincible. My only concern was getting home and figuring out what song Bethany and I could sign together.
Whatever we do has to be different, we need to stand out. Something no one would expect from either of us.
My car wasn't the best, but for a new driver, I was grateful enough to have anything. Slightly dented green paint, scuffed on the bumpers; it
was reliable, sturdy. The kind of car you needed if you wanted to drive on the back roads of Kentucky.
I was planning a route of a different sort.
The trip to the nearest city, the only place I knew of to find a varied music store, was a decent length. The cool wind, placid weather, it merged with my content emotions to make the drive go by quickly.
The building wasn't huge, but it still would contain plenty of different things for me to browse over. Among the racks of CD’s, I thumbed through everything that was as far from the classical hymns Bethany and I tended to sing together.
What am I going to choose, what would be perfect for this?
I didn't know enough about rock music, or rap for that matter, since my father felt it was often inappropriate. Lifting a case, studying the woman on the cover who was bent into a seductive pose, I understood where he was coming from.
Still, it's not so bad. It's just a little skin.
Unable to handle the idea of buying something so revealing, even if my gut said it was fine, I stuck the CD back into place hurriedly.
Frustrated by my lack of decision, my eyes roamed the racks, spotting an end-cap displaying newer music.
Sliding my hands over the hard surface, squinting at the cover, I held the first CD that met the balance of edgy, but not 'sexy' or similar.
Dark, smokey, it was an image of a tulip. The stem was melting, turning into tar. Bits of glass stuck to it; a grim, yet artistic picture.
Hmn, the Killer Sons, never heard of them.
I knew that, just because I wasn't familiar with the band, it didn't mean other people wouldn't be. In fact, if this is as new as it seems, it might be exactly what I'm looking for.
Curious, and hasty to make a decision and find a solution, I carried the disk to the front counter.
****
I spent the rest of my night just listening to music. Stretched out on my bed, headphones nuzzling my ears; I fell deep into the rough, grinding sounds. They were strangely alluring.