dissonance. (a Böhme novel)

by Sarah Buhl

  “Blake, my boy,” Gabe yelled over the sound check coming from the stage.

  “Hey man, what’s up?” I asked as I leaned on the bar next to him and lifted my chin to the bartender to say Hello. She grabbed my brand of beer and popped open the bottle before handing it to me with a wink.

  “Not much,” Gabe said before taking a drink. “Have you talked to Wynn lately?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I talked to him before I came here. They’re still working on updating Hannah’s mom’s place. I guess it needed serious help,” I said.

  Hannah’s father died last year and her parents had lived on a farm that went to shit. Now Wynn was helping get the place back in working order. Which was funny itself—Wynn was not a farmer.

  I hadn’t seen much of Hannah or Wynn since they moved out of town. But I didn’t see Wynn often when he was here either. Our friendship has been a constant in both our lives, though we didn't hang out as often as we did as kids.

  “We should plan something. I miss those two. They’re newlyweds and haven’t had a chance to celebrate—with taking care of Henry before he died and now fixing up the place,” Gabe said as he nodded to the bartender for another beer.

  “Plan something? You’re going to have to elaborate,” I said before taking a long drink of my beer.

  “Well, we should surprise them with something. A party,” Gabe said with a proud smile. He was the party planner. I guess it comes with his job and I hate to say it, but it's just his nature to plan parties. Yeah, I'm an ass and I’m stereotyping him, but he’s gay, and he enjoys planning parties. I’m just stating two equal facts. That’s as far as the stereotypes go with the guy, though. I didn’t realize Gabe was gay until several months after hanging out with him and he introduced a date to me one night.

  “A party?” I asked

  “Yes, a party. They didn’t have one after they married—just that small dinner,” he said.

  “I don’t know man. You know Wynn's feelings on parties, but if you keep it small that's cool,” I said as I began looking around the crowded bar. Yeah, I was specifically looking for chicks, but that’s beside the point.

  “Oh man,” Gabe said as he stood from his stool. “Where will we have it?” he asked with an enthusiasm I wasn’t expecting.

  “I’ll let you think of that,” I said as I noticed a tattooed blonde at the end of the bar. “You pick out the place and date and I will get him there,” I said, continuing to watch her.

  “Well, there you have it, Blakey. We’re going to throw a party,” Gabe said as he squeezed my shoulder.

  “Okay, sounds good,” I said with distraction, keeping my eyes on the blonde chick. She toyed with the sticker on the side of her water bottle and looked determined to peel it off with her thumb nail, oblivious to the dancers and drunks bumping around her. She held me locked to her movements as I watched her determination at removing a stupid sticker from a bottle.

  Her blonde hair looked white, and she wore it pulled back in two short, stubby pony tails. She wasn't frail or delicate—she was fit yet still held a gentleness to go along with it. They were two contrasting attributes that kept my interest.

  Tattoos covered her upper arms, and she looked as though she'd kick my ass if I said the wrong thing to her. This might be interesting. I left my conversation with Gabe to press my luck at talking to her.

  As I leaned next to her at the bar, I towered over her. Twisting my lip to the side, I smiled slyly. It usually worked.

  She lifted her brown eyes to me without turning her head and scowled. “What?” she asked. A personality to match her looks—at least she’s consistent.

  “My name’s Blake Lawson. What’s yours?” I asked, and felt anxious for the first time since being twelve at talking to a chick.

  She looked back at her bottle and continued to pick at it. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sparky.” Her voice was deep and sultry and it made me want to throw her over my shoulder and take her home with me. But I kept my cool. She obviously didn’t want to hear my typical banter.

  “Sparky?” I asked with a laugh and cocked eyebrow. I thought of a good response as I quietly watched her. I could see my watching her made her nervous, despite her trying to appear uninterested. “I’m really not one to bark up the wrong tree. I know exactly which tree I’m barking up.” I leaned closer to her. “So why do you think I’m barking up the wrong tree?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “You seem nice enough, but I’m not interested in being hit on right now. I’m just trying to relax for a few minutes,” she said as the big guy seated next to her stood with a laugh and walked toward the stage. She pulled his now vacant stool toward her and sat on it, while not giving any attention to me.

  “Well, I’m not hitting on you. I’m just talking to you. Don’t you hate that term by the way? What does it even mean—hitting on?” I asked as I leaned onto my arms resting on the bar and gave a nod to the bartender as she laughed at my pursuit of what seemed to be a woman uninterested in me. “I only wanted to introduce myself because I haven’t seen you in here before,” I said, as I leaned closer to her and let my arm touch hers. Women always enjoyed that little flirt of a touch. I saw her eyes jump from looking at the contact I made with her. Yeah she was trying not to let me affect her.

  “I’ve never given it much thought, but you know those sayings always start somewhere. It’s an idiom—as is barking up a tree. Maybe it’s in reference to cave men or some shit,” she said with a raised eyebrow at me with a glare. “While we're on the topic of caveman bullshit—you’re saying you come here often enough to know who has been here before and who hasn’t? Is this your territory?” she asked with a cocky tilt of her head.

  "Yes, I’m a regular, but not because I’m picking up chicks regularly. I know the owners," I said. "But no, it's not my territory." I laughed. "So are you new around here?" I asked, trying to get her away from the topic of my dating habits.

  “Oh good lord, are we going there now?” she laughed. “No, I’m not new here. I grew up here, but I just came back to town. From the looks of you, I grew up a few years before you,” she said as she looked me over as if gauging my age by my legs.

  “What do you mean?” I asked with skepticism. She couldn’t be much older than me.

  “How old are you? Twenty-two… three?” she asked on a scoff.

  “I’m twenty-four. You?” I asked.

  She threw her head back and laughed to the ceiling. I noticed she had a small tattoo of an elephant behind her right ear as her movement showed the full length of her neck.

  Her laugh was loud and if the clanging of the guitar’s sound check wasn’t such a competition, her laugh could have taken over the bar. It was perfect. It was the laugh of someone who felt the humor in life. It consumed her. “I got a decade on you, Sparky,” she finally said as she turned to me, still laughing lightly.

  I tilted my head to look at her fully. She didn’t look to be in her mid thirties. She took better care of herself than most people my age. “Why are you laughing?” I asked with the soft voice I tried to use on ladies. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. By the look on her face, it wasn’t working.

  “Why am I laughing? Well, because I used to babysit a kid with the same age difference between us,” she said as she pointed back and forth between us.

  “That was another kid. It wasn’t me. Besides, you’re not old enough to be my mom, so why does it matter?” I asked as I pulled my lip in. I noticed my new friend tensed at the mom mention and I thought I might’ve pushed too much. I lifted two fingers at the bartender with a nod and she brought over two beers.

  “So babysitter, will I ever get your name?” I asked coyly.

  She finally gave me her full attention and rested her left elbow on the bar as I handed her a beer. She took the bottle from me with a nod and smiled as she took a drink. “My name’s Brecken.” She turned and walked backwards toward the stage as she kept her eyes trained on me. “Thanks for the beer, Sparky.”


  Brecken jumped onto the stage, handed her beer to the guitar player and lifted her chin to the singer before taking her seat behind the drums. She fidgeted in the seat, grabbed her drumsticks and began to let them dance in her hands as if she were testing their weight. With a roll of her shoulders she leaned forward and tapped on the side of the snare drum to count in the song.

  She’s a musician. She’s a hot as fuck musician.

  I shook my head as she began to play and I returned to the guys.

  “Who’s that?” Gabe asked when I leaned back against the bar.

  “That my friend—is Brecken,” I said on a smile.

  “Brecken?” Gabe asked with a shrug. “What kind of name is Brecken?”

  “I have no fucking clue, but she wants nothing to do with me which makes her more interesting,” I said as I turned my eyes directly on her.

  “Dude, check your four,” Karl said as he returned to the bar near us. He nodded in the direction he was referring. “Abby’s on her way here.”

  I felt more than saw her approach. She walked right up to me and put her hand on my shoulder as she gave my bicep a squeeze.

  “My, Blake, I don’t think I could ever get tired of you. That job of yours sure pays off,” she said as she rubbed the muscle in my arm. She looked up at me with the seductive look she always tried and then turned to the others. “Boys,” she said as she nodded toward Gabe and Karl. I pulled my arm from her and tried to step around her, but she pushed herself against me, ultimately locking me between her and the bar.

  “Abby, what brings you over in our direction?” Gabe asked, not hiding his annoyance.

  “I just came to say hello, no worries Gabe,” she said as she turned her shoulder to him and faced me. “Blake, will you get me a drink? I was hoping to pick up where we left off last week. You didn’t seem to mind my attentions when we were here last night,” she said with a wink and I got flashes of her trying to follow me into the bathroom last night. I saw her eyes were glassy, and I knew she had been drinking before she got here and I didn’t want to recreate the events of last night.

  “Are you for real Abby?” I asked as I crossed my arms.

  “Yes Blake, I’m serious. It’s the least you can do after how you’ve treated me so crappily. I don’t understand why you’re acting this way. I don’t appreciate this viscous circle we’re stuck in. Don’t you think I deserve at least an apple-tini?” she asked with a pouty face and fell into me as she stumbled in her heels. Man I hated it when she tried to use what she thought were big words only to get them wrong. Viscous? I don’t think she realized how appropriate that word actually was for what we were involved in together.

  “Abby, I’m not getting you a drink,” I said as I removed her hand from my arm again. I looked over her shoulder to watch Brecken. “Look, I broke up with you months ago. You need to realize it's officially over—no more. And I did give you an explanation. Don’t take me wrong.” I sighed before continuing, “Please take this for how I intend for you to take it—you are a demanding, inconsiderate bitch. First, how you acted toward Hannah that night—claiming I was flirting with her. Then to go and get pissed because I needed to be there with my friend when his father in law died,” I said, running my hand across my hair in frustration. “Man, I can’t be with someone who expects me to put them first and above everyone else. Frankly Abby, no one will ever be better and more important than yourself in your eyes. I don’t need or want that shit.” I had to be a bastard with her to get her to back off me. I didn’t owe her a softer version of the truth. She had to take it as it was.

  Even though it was the truth, it was still hard for me to say and I was trying to convince myself that what I said was needed. I saw her try to hide her embarrassment at my words, then she changed her expression to her usual pride filled one, and what I just said had no effect on her. She was going to play it as if she were the one ending it. I didn’t care, just as long as it ended.

  She turned her shoulder to me and with a scoff pranced away as if she were the queen of the place. “Have a nice night asshole,” she said as she left.

  “Did she just say viscous?” Gabe asked.

  “Yes, she said viscous. She gets her words wrong most of the time. I thought it cute at first, but now it’s fucking annoying. Ironically I think she was more correct in her mess up,” I said as I finished my second beer.

  I turned to Gabe. “Punch me in the throat if I drink enough to want to go home with her. If I went there again, there’d be hell to pay for it,” I said with a shake of my shoulders.

  “Oh believe me, I won’t let it happen,” Karl piped up from the other side of Gabe.

  “Thanks,” I said as the song turned over into a new one. I looked at Brecken one more time and saw she was watching me. I smiled at the absent stare in her eyes. Her thoughts were lost to the beat of the song as she watched me and I knew she was interested. As much as she tried to claim she wasn’t—she was definitely interested.

  The street was dark and the writer walked without looking suspicious—they were supposed to be here. The writer learned if you acted suspicious, people will find you as so. The best move was to walk with intention and the writer did.

  The need to get the questions answered was consuming. The writer knew the questions were creating a response from people and hoped one person in particular would read them.

  The writer created the painting in the background before posing the question. The painting was of a man with his back turned on the world, escaping into the chaotic pain in front of him.

  Why did you do it?

  2

  Brecken

  Damn it Brecken, keep your head in the game.

  That kid wasn’t someone I needed to let into my life. And being ten years younger than me, I definitely saw him as a kid. He looked like he stepped out of a prime time television show aimed at teenagers. He’d play the part of the guy who partied often and more than likely took a different girl home every night and kept tally on his headboard.

  Yes, it was a good idea to tell him to bark up another tree. I’ve been there before and am old enough to understand that men who act as little boys are just that—boys. This guy was barely a man.

  I didn’t need that shit—especially now that I saw he was friends with Karl. I have memories of wiping Karl’s butt as a kid. Interest in one of his friends was out of the question.

  But unfortunately Blake held a lure to him and I kept finding my eyes drifting in his direction, and questioning my own emotions. The repeating beat of the song Jonesie chose for the start of our set didn’t help matters. The constant, mellow rhythm brought me to the place of meditation I craved from music. I didn’t realize I stared at Blake until a smile formed on his face. That small motion broke me from my zone and I skipped one tap of my snare which caused a reaction from Jonesie. He glared at me with those beady eyes of his.

  I got into this gig because I loved to play—even in a cover band. Plus, the pay helps. I had known Jonesie since high school—Saul our bass player as well. But the annoyance Jonesie brought with him made the band not worth my time. As I continued on with the song, I lifted my left hand during a break and flipped off Jonesie. He hated it when I did that. He told me one time that flipping people off was reminiscent of the 90s and I needed to act my age.

  I told him that the flip off will never grow old. Conall and Saul both gave me a smile for my defiance. It was unavoidable. I enjoyed pushing Jonesie’s buttons.

  The dull crowd swayed aimlessly to the music, and I wondered how we ended up in this place. Usually, the crowd enjoyed hearing a live jukebox. We played a good mesh of punk, rock, and folk, but for the most part this evening sucked.

  I turned my eyes from the crowd and watched as Blake spoke with a bitchy looking chick. I smiled to myself as I watched her. She was obviously more his normal choice. She embodied the definition of arm candy, the girl who wanted to be pampered and treated as everything that mattered in the world.

  I
couldn't be that girl. I was too damn stubborn. I understood that fairy tales didn't exist. Prince Charming wasn’t going to save me and life throws more shit than roses.

  _______________

  An hour later I was happy to pass things over to the DJ. I began to pack up my gear and kept my eyes from the crowd of dancing bodies.

  I don’t mind newer music, but I can’t dance to the stuff. I was born in the wrong decade. As I looked at the younger faces dancing, I knew I came from a different decade than those gyrating across the floor. The lust filled room suffocated me. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex as much as the next person. But sex for the sake of sex was empty. I had enough emptiness and learned years ago it can’t be filled with the physical. I need to connect on a deeper level.

  I turned and picked up my kick drum as Jonesie jumped from the stage to join a group of girls on the dance floor. Only a year younger than me, Jonesie always enjoyed the attention of the girls after his set and rarely helped move our gear. It looked like that had not changed. He never recognized the work the rest of us put into shows before, and he still didn’t. He played music for the attention it brought him and not for the love of music.

  I shook my head as I descended the steps and walked toward the side entrance, hoping to make a clean exit. It was dark as hell and the bodies standing in front of me blocked my view of the door. I hated parading through drunken idiots in the light and the darkness made it worse. The loud music filling the room then made it difficult to ask for passage to the door.

  “Hey that was fucking hot up there, missy,” one of said idiots chose to voice as I tried to push my drum between him and his friend to get to the door. Oblivious to the large object I was carrying, the guy stood in my way and continued to try and work his charm. “Come on, why don’t you come get a drink with us?” he asked with a slur to his speech. He lifted his hand to touch my hair, and I shook my head away to avoid it.