by Sarah Buhl
The painting made me uncomfortable. It was an odd sense of understanding that came with it. They each waited for the next move of the other person, as each of us wait in life—waiting for someone else to make the first step. We hid from ourselves and each other but were desperate for the same thing. Yet, sitting in silence, neither is ready to move forward.
“Why do you think they do it?” Jess asked. I turned to her with a smile. She was a tall, strong blonde, who had been with Conall since they were thirteen. They were perfect together. Neither had a wish to be with anyone else; they were sickening they were so sweet. She was also brilliant, and I had to admit to myself I was jealous of them having what I once thought I had.
“I have no idea. They must need answers, as the rest of us do,” I said as I turned back to the painting one last time before walking to the Böhme.
When we walked into the gallery Conall was speaking with his band mates. I wanted to take longer to get here, but in true Brecken form, I was ready to leave an hour before I needed to be. I was nervous as hell.
When I’m nervous, I need to move. I even took the time to get a work out in before getting ready. Along with my need to organize, punching things helped relieve stress. I made the trip to the gym to punch out some of my agitation.
I became agitated with myself because I wanted to see Blake, but I didn’t at the same time. I decided years ago not to put any hope in a relationship. Relationships were not important to me. But, today seemed to hold importance to me. Blake seemed of more importance to me. But this entire day had moved in fast forward—rushing me to get to this place and wait for Blake. I hadn’t had this anxiousness at seeing another person in years.
I took a deep breath, and on the exhale I pushed my thoughts to the side. I’m a grown woman. There’s no reason to be this unsure and nervous. My mom once told me, “Brecken—boys are going to make you nervous. Boys are going to make you want to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Boys are going to piss you the fuck off. Love and life do that to us. But never forget who you are, never change yourself for anyone. The universe will lay the right path for you. Don’t try to mold the universe to what you want. It will bring you what you need.”
I absently watched Conall’s band put their instruments on the stage. I hadn’t met his band yet and guilt for not seeing them live struck me. Conall noticed our arrival and gave me a wave to come over as Jess went to get something to drink.
“Hey Aunt Breck, come meet everyone,” Conall said as he put his hand atop my shoulder, pulling me into the circle of his band mates. With his other hand he pointed to each of them in turn as he gave me their names: “Stephen, Colin, Matthew, and Pete.”
“Okay, who’s the drummer?” I asked.
The one named Matthew nodded. “That would be me,” he said.
“Cool man. I can't wait to hear you guys tonight,” I said.
“So I heard you’re going to sing a couple songs with us,” the one named Pete said with a smile.
“Did you now?” I asked as I turned to Conall and gave him the eye.
He shrugged and gave me a smile. “Sorry, I knew you'd do it, no need to give me the evil auntie eyes.”
I punched him in the shoulder lightly, before he left to find Jess. She had stopped to speak with a young kid with dark hair. The kid nodded toward me and I nodded back, wondering why yet another young guy was giving me his attention.
“So, you’re in a band with Conall too?” Matthew asked.
“Yep, I play drums,” I said as I stretched my back. I normally wore chucks. The heels I wore today were killing me.
“I don’t understand how either of you could be in that band,” Matthew said.
“Yeah, I get it. Cover bands aren’t the best, but being in one helps pay the bills.” I smiled as Conall walked back toward us with Jess and his friend.
Matthew smiled. “I meant being in it with Saul and Jonesie. I don't see how either of you can do it. Those guys are full of themselves, man,” Matthew said.
“Yeah, they aren’t the most fun to be around,” Conall said as he nodded to Matthew and stepped in to join the conversation.
“Brecken, meet Mason. He’s new around here. He plays drums too,” Conall said as he waved his hand toward Mason. Okay, that explains why he was looking at me that way.
“Hi Mason, nice to meet you. You were at the show last night, weren’t you? How long have you been a drummer?” I asked. Speaking of drumming, my neck was stiff from last night’s show too. Add that to these heels and I thoroughly ached. As I waited for Mason’s response, I put my hands atop my hips and stretched my lower back with a tilt of my shoulders. I turned my head from side to side to stretch my neck and when I turned to the right I saw him—Blake.
Every movement of the others and every word wavered from my acknowledgement as my attention went to him. Everyone in the circle of conversation could have shrunk into gnomes around me and I wouldn’t have noticed because Blake occupied my every thought in that moment.
He wore black pants that weren’t tight and damn it if he wasn’t wearing chucks along with them. His shirt was a plain gray tee, and the sleeves were snug around his biceps. He was more subtle in his dress than his personality.
He was in deep conversation with the guy he was with last night. It was the tall guy with perfectly trimmed dark hair and bright blue eyes. Both men wore glasses tonight, and I smiled as I imagined the two of them planning it together. Hey Blake, you wearing your glasses? Yeah man, me too.
Blake met my gaze through those plastic rimmed frames of his, and the same big smile he wore last night filled his face. I swear, that guy’s smile was the most genuine I’ve ever had the privilege to see. It consumed him and if Beethoven could package the essence of Ode to Joy in one small package, it would be Blake Lawson’s smile.
“So you use a Zildjan kit,” Mason said, bringing my attention back to him. Conall and his band had returned to the stage to set up their equipment, leaving me alone with Mason. I turned my back fully to Blake and his friend to put my focus on my fellow drummer.
“Yes, I do. What do you use?” I asked as I crossed my ankles and tilted my hip just enough. What the hell am I doing? I’m acting ridiculous in the hopes that Blake might notice the curve of my side or the line of my dress.
Yeah, on stage when playing my drums, I want to be just a musician. But right here, waiting for him to talk to me, I was just a woman. Stubbornness be damned I wanted Blake Lawson to want me.
“I don’t have a kit of my own. I played on any I had the opportunity to use back home. Don’t hate me, but I love to play on an electronic kit,” he said with a timid smile. “Traditionalists are offended by them, but they still play an electric guitar. I find that hypocritical. So if you’re a traditionalist, get over it,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve been here for a few weeks and you’re the first drummer I’ve met since moving,” he said as his smile turned to a boyish one that showed his age.
He was a cute kid. He was several inches taller than me and I was wearing four inch heels. He possessed innocence, but his eyes held a profound depth. He was at the age where he still hadn’t grown into his body. But by the way he carried himself he demanded attention.
“What style do you prefer?” I asked, completely interested in his response. There’s something to meeting people who share my love of music. The rest of the world disappears as we discuss what makes our hearts beat.
“Well, I play punk, rock, and industrial usually. But as long as the message is the same I don't mind the genre,” he laughed as he traced the toe of his skater shoe across the floor as if he had it resting atop an invisible skateboard.
“What do you mean by message?” I smiled. Every musician possesses a need to tell something in their work. If not, they end up being a musician in the form of Jonesie—loads of talent but more interested in sticking his dick somewhere than in creating something worth a damn. Mason was capable of doing something worth a damn. He needed to.
Mason's e
yes danced along the wall behind me while he pulled his pierced lip in deep thought. I studied his face as he contemplated his response to me. He had his lobes stretched and his hair cut short to his scalp. It was that one cut that lays perfect but isn't a buzz. He was cute as hell for a kid.
For a kid? Who am I trying to fool, he was closer in age to Blake than I was and here I am interested in Blake. I might as well go for the kid too. No, not going to happen. But it did put things into perspective. Blake was young.
Mason finally decided on his thought, and helped me escape mine. “Well, there’s crazy shit going on in the world, and music is an excellent tool to enlighten. I want to enlighten people. I want people to understand they aren't alone in the world. It’s scary as hell and we all need to know we aren’t alone.”
“That’s fucking cool and a breath of fresh air. Seriously, I love hearing that. So, if you pulled out your MP3 player now, what bands are on it?” I asked, even more curious of his interests after hearing his last comment.
“I dig System of a Down, Muse, KMFDM, and my favorite is Flobots. Woody Guthrie is another and Bob Dylan. But overall, I love music that sticks it to the man,” he said with a light laugh.
“Wow, kid. How old are you?” I asked.
He turned away from me with a sigh as if his age was a burden to him. “I’m eighteen.” He pulled his lower lip in again and chewed the ring that wrapped around it. “I know I’m young. But Bob Dylan was barely in his twenties when he started. So I’m heading in a good direction. As long as I continue to follow my oppositions, I will be fine.” He must have seen the confusion on my face. He laughed before continuing, “Anytime I have the need to run I’ll stay put. Anytime I have the need to stay put, I’ll run. Opposition. Right now I have the need to run like hell, so I'll stay here. It keeps me on my toes.”
“Believe me, I understand what you mean. Sometimes running is the only thing you can do to empty your head of the bullshit in life. Your passion is inspiring Mason, and I imagine you’re capable of great things,” I said with a smile.
“Hey, Mason. How you doing, man?” Blake asked as he came up behind me. The smile in his voice traced along my shoulders and the chills raking over me at how close he was didn’t help my anxiousness. Control your nerves Brecken.
“I’m doing well. What happened to your sweatpants?” Mason asked with a grin. I stepped to the side so Blake no longer hovered behind me and for a moment embarrassment flashed across his face before his smile formed.
“Uh yeah, I thought them slightly inappropriate for this evening’s festivities.” He laughed before giving his attention to me. “Brecken, you clean up nice,” he said with a flirtatious grin. This guy was something else. Then his smile turned genuine and he met my eyes with sincerity. “You’re breathtaking.” His smile turned shy for a moment and he gave me a nod.
With a deep breath I tilted my chin to the side and lifted my head. I had to remind myself that I didn't get shy. But his eyes filled with so much kindness it ate away at me and I fought against my urge to turn away. There had to be something wrong with him, a guy couldn't be that nice. Granted he gave a smart ass statement before the nice one, but I understood that to be his own awkwardness at being sincere.
“Why thank you, Blake.” With exaggeration I examined him as I crossed my arms. I could play the part of being brave. I noticed he had a couple tiny moles on his upper cheekbone near his eye. Others may see those as a flaw, but I found them to be a distinctly cute characteristic that made me want to hug him. Hug him?
I tilted my head and evaluated him further. The muscles in his jaw twitched, but not in anger, more in his own nervous habit. “Hmm, you appear to be put together as well as you could be, I suppose.” I said with sarcasm and a smile so big my face felt tight. As much as I couldn’t believe him to be as kind as he let on, I was never one to not give the opportunity to prove me wrong.
His own nervousness was obvious, and it was endearing. I decided to trust that he wasn't who I originally thought him to be—at least for tonight.
He laughed a deep laugh as he put his hands in his pockets, “Thanks Brecken, and I thank you for accepting my online friendship,” he said with an odd sense of professionalism that made me smile.
“You are most welcome, sir,” I said with a salute.
His friend came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned into him. That was close for two guys to be and it made me wonder what was going on between Blake and his friend.
His friend reached around him and put a hand toward me. “My name is Gabe, my dear,” he said as he moved from behind Blake and gave a small bow of his head to me. “Blake didn’t want to introduce me. It had something to do with his own boyish embarrassment.”
Blake gave a serious stare to Gabe, and it made me laugh. He threatened his friend in that stare as if to say, "Speak no further, for you speak the truth." My inner monologue found itself in prime form this evening.
"Hello, Gabe. My name is Brecken," I said as I shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
“And it's very lovely to meet you. Both Blake and Karl speak highly of you. You’re quite the lady. And how are you doing Mason?” he asked as he gave a nod toward Mason.
“I’m great, I’ve been looking forward to this,” Mason said with a nod.
“Brecken, I didn’t get your last name.” Gabe said.
“McNett. Brecken McNett,” I said with a smile. I noticed Blake kept his eyes turned to me during the entire exchange. His attention made me conscious of my every movement. Push hair behind my ear. Place hand gently against my hip. Tap my toe to the side.
“Well, I’m going to go mingle. It was nice meeting you Brecken,” Mason said as he put his hand toward me to shake. Mason met my eyes and his smile brought nostalgia with it as if I could spend hours with him and never become bored. He was one of those people that you meet and have an instant connection to right away. A kindred spirit.
“I will follow that cue, my boy,” Gabe said as he turned to go talk to a group of women by the stage.
“Hey Mason, let me see your phone,” I said, calling him back to our conversation. He pulled it from his pocket and handed it to me with a smile as he glanced over my shoulder at Blake with a wink. I chuckled to myself as I programmed my number into his phone. “Give me a call if you want to play drums sometime. I’m sure Conall is up for jamming with us too.”
He took his phone back and continued to give Blake a proud smile. “Thanks Brecken, I’d love to,” he said as he turned to talk to the others.
Blake gave me a quizzical expression. "So Mason can get your number, but I can’t?" he asked as he rocked on his feet.
“Yes, Mason’s not trying to get in my pants. We discussed music. If you chose to talk to me, I might give you my number,” I said as I turned my foot on the heel of my shoe, knowing full well that there were many things I wanted to give to Blake.
“Ouch. Did you forget our car discussion? Cartoons? I kept myself up last night for hours researching them,” he said with the big ass smile of his that reminded me of the joy I experienced as a child. Blake carried no burdens, and he was the lightest person I had ever met. He didn’t hold anger in him and it was astonishing. I never met someone with that much kindness. Again, another questionable trait of his—no one could be that carefree.
“I didn’t forget. It was impressive. Not many guys know cars.” I made a point to over express my comment on guys knowing cars. There is always that comment regarding chicks that dig cars. It makes us resemble unicorns as if we were nonexistent. I hate that.
"Not many people, male or female, can work on cars these days. They just take them to the shop and pay someone else to do it. That’s one thing the modern era does that confuses me. Why wouldn't you want to know how to do things? My parents wanted me to take care of myself," Blake said. "So they taught me from a young age to value self reliance."
When he spoke he gave his full attention to me. He didn’t fidget and glance aro
und the room. He didn’t lift his eyes over my shoulder in hopes to find another conversation. He didn’t look up as he thought of what to say. No, Blake's attention was on me. He met my eyes with quiet determination.
“My parents were the same way. They wanted my brother and me to be able to take care of ourselves. They said the best thing they could do as parents was teach us independence.” I tapped my fingers on my elbows as I crossed them, before continuing, “They didn’t want us to expect someone else to fulfill our dreams. We were the only ones that could do it.”
“What are your dreams, Brecken?” Blake asked with sincerity. Damn, he really wants to know. His voice was deep, and he spoke with patience. He was amazing and I needed to decide if he was worth waiting for the inevitable bottom to drop out.
“I’m living it, Blake. Travel, play music, just living each day—that’s my dream,” I smiled shyly. Shyness again, good lord—he made me shy.
“What do you do when you aren’t playing music?” he asked, and I raised an eyebrow at his question. “I mean, what’s your day job, or do you only play music?”
“Well, I bake. I work with my mom. I traveled for a while though. What about you?” I asked.
“No traveling for me, but that’s cool. It’s awesome to work with family. The roofing company I work for is my dad’s. I'm not sure if I mentioned that last night.”
No, you didn’t, but I read it on your profile.
“Roofing. Nice,” I said, trying not to let my thoughts on imagining him shirtless on a roof show. I cleared my throat. “Donnelly's on Broadway is the bakery. Have you heard of it?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, I've driven past, but I’ve never been there. That’s the place that’s organic and puts vegetables in the cakes right?” he asked.
“Yep, that’s the one. My mom opened it after my dad died,” I said as I looked away briefly.
When I said my dad died, empathy touched his eyes and tugged at my heart. Damn it, how could one guy be this fucking nice? His skeletons had to be well hidden somewhere.