dissonance. (a Böhme novel)

by Sarah Buhl

  He laughed. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well, you keep surprising me. I had this idea of you after we met last night. I believed you to be a young kid who just wanted to get laid. A jock actually—I imagined you as a jock.”

  He looked to the sky and let out a loud, deep laugh, and in an instant he stopped laughing and looked straight into my eyes. “I was trying to get laid.” His serious expression faltered as he laughed once again at my annoyed glance. “In actuality, I wanted that, but a stronger—louder— part of me wants more. You. Are. Beautiful. Brecken McNett. I won’t say it often, but I want you to know, every time I look at you, I’m thinking it.” He looked at me with his sincere, kind eyes and I read his declaration in them. He was telling the truth.

  “Well, Blake, I’m not one to shy away from feelings or thoughts. I will tell you what I think and what I feel, no holding back. I'll tell you what I want. I’m not the chick that'll expect you to read my mind and if you don’t, I get pissed and blame you. That’s not me. So, that said, I want more too and I'm afraid that our mores might just be different.”

  He smiled as he stepped near me again and let his hands cradle my face as he bent himself to my height. “I don't care if they're different and besides how would we know if they were different if we never gave us a chance?"

  Damn him and his rationality that echoed my own thoughts.

  "Does your lack of a response mean you disagree or does it mean you’re giving me your phone number?" he asked with a shy smile.

  I met his eyes and took a calming breath, as I stepped toward a complete mistake or toward what held the potential to be one of the best things for me. "Yes, Blake, let's figure out our differences. But don’t fuck up. I’m known for running from the fuck ups,” I said as I kissed his nose. I couldn't resist him.

  “Deal,” he said as he walked me to my car.

  __________

  I had four text messages from him by the time I made it home.

  Blake: This number is going to be used...a lot.

  Blake: What time do you get off work tomorrow?

  Blake: I kind of miss you already.

  Blake: I should have kept that last text to myself.

  The writer walked the alleys trying to find the perfect building for the next painting and found it at the end of a darkened street.

  An old brick home stood abandoned and had been so for years. The windows were broke out, but the front door was still intact. The writer stepped to the door and examined the texture. The wood was still too perfect and the writer couldn’t cover it. It would be a shame to cover something that beautiful.

  The writer started painting around the door. Flowing colors streamed as they began to form into a design that brought all attention to that door. Then after completing the design, the writer began to paint the words.

  When will you let me in?

  7

  Blake

  “How many times are you going to text her?” Mason asked as he climbed into my Jeep. I volunteered to drive him and Karl to the twenty-four hour burger joint we frequented after nights out.

  “As many times as I want—I have no limit,” I said on a laugh as I started the engine and waited for Karl. The others had left earlier to meet us.

  Mason let out a laugh next to me as he turned up my stereo. “Mind if I change this?” he asked.

  “Knock yourself out,” I said as I looked at my phone to read my text from Brecken.

  Brecken: I get it. I’m kind of a big deal. I'd miss myself too. I finish at the bakery at 2.

  I smiled as I read her response. She is so fucking cool.

  Brecken: You’re ridiculous by the way.

  Me: It’s part of my charm.

  Brecken: If you say so.

  Me: Still going for burgers and you are more than welcome to meet up with us… or we can pick you up so you can rest. :)

  Brecken: Nope, I’m going to bed. You have fun though.

  Me: Okay, sleep tight… and I can’t take credit for anything I do in your dreams—that’s all you. So if it’s bad don’t hold it against me. If it’s good and you get tingly—you’re a perv and you can hold it against me.

  Brecken: Wow. Someone is full of himself.

  Me: I’m full of something, that’s for sure.

  Brecken: HA! Good night Blake.

  Me: Good night Brecken.

  I put my phone in the cup holder and Mason laughed.

  “I see you found the end to your text conversation?” he asked.

  “Yeah, she works tomorrow,” I said as I looked at my phone to check the time, wondering what was taking Karl so long.

  “So, what’s your story?” I asked Mason, trying to pass the wait without silence.

  “My story?” he asked with a crooked brow.

  “Yeah, I figured we should talk about something instead of sitting here in silence waiting on Karl,” I said as I tapped on my steering wheel.

  He scoffed. “Okay, I came here because I wanted to step away from my parents. But it’s not the tale most tell—turn eighteen and leave home out of rebellion. I didn’t do it to run from them, but more so to… find myself,” he said.

  “I wasn’t eager to leave home when I was your age. But either way, I forget you’re eighteen. You seem older. Older than me, actually,” I said.

  “Well forgive me for not wanting to stick to the societal norms of my age group. I don’t speak in acronyms. I use a thesaurus. I’m more interested in doing something with my life than watching television. I don’t dream of my dreams; I make them happen. I’m not going to wait for the go ahead. I want to push myself and not settle for mediocrity,” he said as he pointed at the dash with every syllable of his last sentence.

  “I guess I got more than I bargained for with that question. Your determination is inspiring,” I said with a hint of sarcasm as I looked out the driver’s side window. Mason was serious and mature for his age, which led my running thoughts down a new path.

  “Are you interested in Brecken too?” I asked, and he gave a sarcastic smile. “I’m serious. Not that it matters to me. I’m not going to call a duel or some shit. I’m just curious.”

  He looked at me for several seconds as he tried to gage how serious I was, and his face broke into a relaxed smile.

  “If you’re meaning do I want in her pants—no. If you’re meaning do I find her interesting as a person—yes. Can’t I like her and be interested without the former?” he asked.

  “Yes, I suppose you can. But I’m interested in both,” I said with a laugh.

  “Don’t you think she might be out of your league?” he asked with skepticism.

  “Out of my league?” I raised my brow in question, having had the same words cross my mind earlier.

  “Yes,” he said. “She’s a woman and I sound like a tool saying this, but are you ready for an actual woman? You seem to be more of the guy that wants to have someone that agrees with everything you say so you can move into caveman mode. Plus she is a force to be reckoned with—that’s apparent.”

  “Whoa, that hurts man. You think that highly of me?” I asked with fake sadness.

  “I don’t know you well enough to cast any judgment on you. It’s just an observation and you seem to be a person that floats through life, right? Have you ever had an experience in life you’ve done with the sole purpose of learning from it?” Mason asked.

  “Of course—who hasn’t? Everything in life is a learning experience and has purpose,” I said. This kid was starting to remind me of Wynn. “Are you guys aliens? I mean I’ve got Wynn, Gabe and Karl—now you’re starting in with these thoughts on life and figuring out who we are in the universe bullshit.”

  Mason laughed. “I’m glad to be mixed in with those guys. And it’s not bullshit. What’s the point in having conversations if you don’t speak of things that matter?” he asked.

  “I don’t know—to get to know people?” I said.

  “Well, what better way to do that than by having real
conversations. Besides—you must appreciate speaking of bullshit yourself Blake. You were the one that asked for my story.” He smirked.

  “Okay, point taken,” I said as I toyed with the cover on my steering wheel.

  “Blake, do you have inferiority issues?” Mason asked with a smart ass laugh. I wanted to punch him. Not in the kick his ass way, but as a younger, annoying brother that needed a good punch now and then way.

  “What?” I laughed as I looked back to the steering wheel and picked at a string that came unwound from the cover.

  “I’m serious. I noticed you got defensive when the conversation went a deeper bullshit route—to use your word. So maybe you’re worried that you don’t measure up to others. My observation is that you have spent so many years playing the role of happy go lucky Blake you tucked away any thoughts you might have that aren’t surface level. So, you get defensive or change the subject when deeper subjects start.”

  “You might be right, man,” I said. “I think I do it because there’s enough serious shit in the world. I tend to focus on the happy, free moments in life. So yes, I do float along, but that isn’t a bad thing. It just means I enjoy life and whatever it gives me—I will take it.”

  “That’s commendable, Blake. But sometimes I think you have to push yourself and not just accept everything given to you. And just because something is deep doesn’t mean it’s not happy. Think of love, art, music, or creation itself.”

  “True. So you caught me, I can be deep then, I guess,” I said with a laugh as Karl jogged out of the building and climbed into the backseat, ending my conversation with Mason.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Karl said as he shut the door. I looked in the rear view mirror and watched as he gave a shake to his shoulders and rolled them as he continued. “I’m hungry. My body feels as if it’s been eating itself for the last few hours trying to keep from freaking out in there. I hate putting my shit out for random pretentious people to judge. It’s art, and it’s personal. I don’t need their approval.”

  Mason turned in his seat to face Karl. “Why’d you do it then, man? Why even have the exhibit—just keep them for yourself,” he said on a laugh.

  “Everyone has something they need to share no matter what other people think. If you don’t yet, I look forward to when you find it,” Karl said.

  “Me too,” Mason said as he turned back in his seat and looked out the window again. We drove past the latest painting of the microphone, and I realized it echoed Karl’s words.

  I just hadn’t found my something yet.

  We pulled into Frankie’s shortly after midnight. I saw Gabe’s car and assumed the others were here too. I realized Wynn had to have purchased a car. There was no way he could take a pregnant Hannah on his motorcycle. I looked around the parking lot to see if I could figure out which car was his. Then I saw it and laughed. It had to be his—an old Mercury Grand Marquis, plenty of room inside, with plenty of windows so he doesn’t feel claustrophobic.

  The three of us walked in, and it wasn’t difficult to find our group. A long table sat in the middle of the room and it looked like everyone decided to come tonight, everyone but the one person I wanted to see.

  I smiled as I thought of Brecken. I lowered my head as I walked and gave a light shake to it, trying to erase my grin that kept getting bigger.

  I took a seat next to Gabe and across from Wynn who spoke with Hannah and Sid. Petra sat in quiet seriousness with Toby’s hand lying face up in hers.

  Gabe leaned toward me, “Toby is getting his palm read,” he said as he nodded toward them. “You seem happier than normal, by the way.”

  I laughed as Mason and Karl took their seats. “I see that Toby is indeed getting his palm read. And I am happy—when am I not and when did you start charting my level of happiness?”

  “She reads palms?” Mason asked in shock.

  Karl looked toward Petra. “Yeah, her family members are gypsies, right?” he asked as he turned back to me. Thankfully Mason’s question and Karl’s quick response changed the topic from my happiness.

  “Yep,” I said, looking over my menu.

  “Hey guys,” Toby said. “Sorry I couldn’t make it Karl.” Then he turned to me with an overly eager expression. “I heard Brecken was there.” I looked over my menu at him, wishing him as shy as he once was. I missed the quiet Toby. I gave him a glare and he retreated into himself and focused back on Petra’s serious expression as she evaluated his hand.

  “Yeah, she was,” I said as I checked my phone to see if she might have sent another text—she hadn’t.

  “Well, well, well,” Gabe said. “It looks as though Blakey Boy is smitten.”

  “Smitten?” Hannah asked with a laugh. “I think the 1940s wants its word back.”

  Wynn leaned forward and gave me a skeptical expression. “Smitten is actually the past participle of smite. And that’s interesting, because smite means to be struck with a heavy blow. That said, smitten is a perfect word to describe Blake’s appearance,” Wynn said in complete seriousness. Sometimes I wanted to punch him when he turned into a walking dictionary. Other times, I wanted to give him a bro hug. This was one of the latter times. But he was right, I couldn’t stop smiling and I was positive my expression looked like someone hit me upside the head.

  “Thank you, Wynn, for validating my choice of words. Look at that smile on his face,” Gabe said as he waved his hand toward me. “Blake like likes Brecken. I’ve seen you with many girls over the years my man, and Wynn has as well, I’m sure. But I’ve never seen you like this.”

  Everyone at the table went silent, and I looked at each of my friends as they gave me a knowing smile.

  “Yes, I like her. I like her enough not to want to get into her pants… right now,” I said as I glanced at Mason, hoping he got the hint.

  Everyone laughed at once.

  “That’s very noble of you, Blake,” Mason said with a nod.

  “Now my young friend, you need to understand something with Blake. His comment is monumental for him. Our Blake is not a man-slut, but he’s also not one to shy away from life’s pleasures. So to hear him say he’s not going to pursue the contents of Ms. Brecken’s pants is quite noble,” Gabe said with a raise of his brow.

  “Okay, enough. Why do I hang out with you, man?” I said as I shook my head. “This is getting moronic. Yes, I like her and we’re going to drop it.”

  “Damn. You do like her,” Wynn said as he leaned back in his chair. His jaw dropped and he gave me a weird smile. “You know how I know?” he asked.

  “How?”

  “Because you usually never keep quiet about women—it’s as if you try to convince everyone else and yourself why they’re wonderful or why they’re perfect for you. But what I see now is a whole new level,” he said as he waved his hand in front of me. “You want to stay tight lipped and that’s an uncharacteristic approach for you. Ever since we were kids you were relentless with making sure I met women you date and you told me every detail. Sometimes more than I care to hear. That said, seeing you this way is surreal and I’ll honor your wish to stop speaking of it.” He smiled and waved to the waitress to come to our table.

  Then in true form, the topic of conversation moved onto things we found ourselves usually discussing—life’s purpose, art, music, video games, movies, and wherever our minds took us. As everyone began to discuss the happenings in their lives as well as where their thoughts have taken them, I realized I was just like them.

  As the conversations continued around me, my thoughts drifted back to Brecken and I wondered how she’d get along with my friends.

  As I looked to each of their faces and took in their smiles I thought of what Mason said earlier. Happy topics and the love of life were just as inspiring as the heavy stuff. Here I was getting deep again.

  These were my people. I was thankful in that moment for each of them. Not everyone has the opportunity to talk about things that are important. To most people the group of us looked strange. The older
man covered in tattoos, the gypsy, the teenager, and everyone in between—each fell along the spectrum of the one thing we had in common. Individuality. How strange is that—our individuality was a common trait?

  Maybe I did have deep thoughts because I was having one now.

  __________

  After saying good-bye to my friends, I decided I wasn’t going to check my phone again. I wasn’t going to get on the computer either. I needed to unwind.

  I went to my grandpa’s woodshop because I needed to do something with my hands. My grandpa once told me if I have extra energy it should never be wasted. “Don’t sit if your mind is going—put it to use and do something.”

  Karl’s words on finding the something we need to do reminded me of what my grandpa once said and I figured I should listen to both of them. One was a guy in his seventies and the other a crazy guy in his twenties—both had the right idea.

  I picked up a piece of wood my grandpa left sitting on the bench and tipped it from side to side, examining it. I tried to see what hid from me and then it started to show itself.

  My thoughts drifted back to Brecken as I began to work. I wasn’t going to get much sleep. When I started one of these, I couldn’t stop until I finished.

  __________

  “Why won’t you do it too?” Wynn asked.

  “Shit, that hurts man—don’t cut me deep please,” I said, feeling ashamed at my fear. I couldn’t cut my hand like him. He was the brave one. I just stood back and watched as he cut deeper than I did. Even at that age I did it too much—just watched him take the brunt of everything.

  “When are you going to realize that it always heals—everything does,” Wynn said with hesitation. He was saying it out of hope more than surety.

  “I can’t do more than this—I’m sorry man,” I said as I ran from his house and across the yard to my own.

  I ran into the house and let the door slam behind me.

  “Blakey boy what’re ya doin?” my father asked as I ran past him and into my bedroom.

  I slammed the door and hid in my closet. How could I be there to protect Wynn if I couldn’t even cut my hand deep enough to become his real blood brother? I was failing him.