by L A Tavares
“Hey, are you with Bad Feeling?”
He turns around to face me, still leaning into the doors to the outside. “Kelly just called a group but no one went up…”
“Bad Feeling broke up about”—he looks at his watch—“four minutes ago, give or take.”
“Oh.” I scratch my head. “What do you play?”
“Football,” he says, pointing to the school’s team logo on his shirt.
“Yeah…not what I meant. What instrument did you play with Bad Feeling?”
“Oh. Guitar. Keyboard. Drums sometimes.” My jaw falls slightly open.
“My band just had an opening for literally any one of those things if you still want to do the show.” He considers the offer but doesn’t accept right away. I reach into my pocket and unfold the sheet music to the song Alexander and I had taken and added our own twist to, handing it to him for his consideration.
“This isn’t half bad.” He looks over the music. “All right, you’ve got yourself a new band member.”
“Great!” I say, too quickly, too loudly. “I mean, well…cool. I’m Blake, by the way.”
He reaches a large hand out and I clap my palm against his.
“I’m Julian. Julian Young.”
As we head back into the auditorium, Julian stops to talk to one of his countless friends and I practically run to Alexander to share the good news, but he doesn’t share my excitement.
“Julian Young?” Alexander says in complete disbelief, “Have you lost your damn mind? He literally exists to ruin people’s lives. It’s his sole purpose on this green Earth.”
“He doesn’t seem that bad. Besides, he plays three instruments and writes songs. He’s really good for the band—”
“We’re not a real band, Blake! You are doing all this to impress some girl. It’s not like this is all going to end in a best-selling album and an international tour,” Alexander says with a scoff, loud enough that it draws attention from the other talent-show contributors.
Kelly’s heels click across the wooden stage and she calls my name.
“Can you please, just this once, get over your preexisting impression and give the guy a chance?”
Alexander sighs, but eventually nods and gets on stage, taking his place in front of the microphone.
I was right about one thing. The boy could sing. I’m not terrible, but I’m no lead singer either. Alexander drew the attention of everyone in the room, and Julian? He drips talent. I’ll admit that I was skeptical. The closest I had ever come to Julian Young was holding a football roster with his name on it in my hands at the one game I ever went to. I knew his name and I knew he was a talented athlete, but I never would have guessed he was this talented as a musician. I suppose this is why we’re taught not to judge books by their covers.
Chapter Seven
Now
The last few weeks of the tour flew by, especially once we started to stray from the set list and began playing with some spontaneity. Every show was different with each one more exciting than the last. We’ve been missing that over the last few years of touring, perhaps even plateauing slightly, until now. The buzz surrounding our shows has us trending upward again both on the charts and on social media. Just when we were falling into a bit of a rut, our new format skyrocketed us back to the top. It was fun while it lasted, and there are parts of me that can’t wait to get back on stage, but right now a much greater part of me is looking forward to something else.
The hired car pulls up to the curb and I step out.
Home.
It feels good to be back. As I climb the stairs to my front door, it swings open on its hinges and Kelly waits on the other side. Damn, have I missed her.
I wrap my arms around her and she gently presses her mouth to mine, biting at my lower lip. She pulls me inside, closing the door behind us.
“How many hours do you have until you have to meet the guys for the show tonight?” She kisses me between each word.
“I don’t know. Four?” I say, as she pulls my shirt over my head.
“Perfect,” she breathes in a whisper. She looks at me with an earnest, flirting glare, then pulls me by the belt loops down the hall to our bedroom.
* * * *
The Rock Room is packed, as it always is when we’re in town. Every seat has a body in it and the standing-room-only sections are easily over capacity. We outgrew The Rock Room years ago, but it’s where we started. We have to visit at least once every tour. CommOcean is a new, outdoor venue suited for much larger crowds, and typically we play there too, but tonight we are at home on the stage that allowed us to be introduced to all of the other stages across the country.
“Xander!” an excited voice calls. Jana runs across the backstage area and leaps into his arms, all but tackling him to the ground. Jana and Xander have been best friends for years. She’s been in his corner since the moment they met, and they’ve grown their relationship from friendship to family. Natalie kisses Jana on the cheek then signs to her, and Jana signs back in a seamless fashion. I wish I’d picked up on ASL as fast as Jana has. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m working on it. Everyone else in my circle communicates with Natalie so easily, but she and I are still at the texting or pen and paper stage.
Jana stands with Xander and Natalie, having an excited conversation as they fill each other in on all the goings on since they’ve seen each other last.
Xander is lucky to have so many people to come home to, so many people waiting here when he gets back. I have Kelly, now, but for so many years it was just me. I don’t have a Jana to come home to—a neutral party, someone who’s not a girlfriend and not a band member.
“Blake,” Jana says, waving me over. I join their conversation and she wraps her elbow around mine. She includes me in their tiny family they have built but still, I’m just the add-on—the extra one included because there wasn’t anywhere else to go.
* * * *
Then
My mother sits on the porch swing, and though she’s unconscious, snoring away with her head lolled against the wooden swing, an open bottle of vodka has been knocked over and spilled on the deck boards while a lit cigarette glows in the ashtray. I’m not worried about it, though. This is pretty typical.
I place my guitar case down inside the door and extinguish the cigarette, cap what’s left of the vodka, then wrap my arm under her shoulders.
“Come on, Mom.” I take all her weight and carry her into the house. She’s dead weight and no help. I can only get her to the couch, but it’s better than being outside.
A heap of laundry sits in the corner that piles halfway up the wall. It hasn’t been done in weeks and I’m down to my last clean outfit. She’d said she was going to get to it today—and yesterday…and many yesterdays before that.
I place a blanket over her and throw a load of clothes in the drum of the washing machine, but there is no laundry soap to be found. I take a deep breath and look up at the sky like it holds answers or it might start raining laundry detergent, but I’m just not that lucky. Mother snores loudly on the couch. Giving up on the laundry, I head to the kitchen and open the refrigerator and freezer door, but a putrid smell exits and no cold air joins it. The thawed, rotting food suggests the fridge has been down for days but no one noticed. That’s what happens when home-cooked meals—or meals at all—are a rarity, if ever.
The next morning when I wake up, I slide down the banister and head to the couch to wake my mother but she’s gone, and who knows for how long this time. She usually at least drops me off at school before leaving me to head out on one of her undisclosed adventures. I dial Alexander and his mother answers.
“Good morning…uhhh…Ms.…Mrs.—”
“It’s just Debbie, Blake—like I’ve been saying for years.”
“Okay, Debbie. Is Alexander around?”
“No, Blake, I’m sorry. Julian picked him up early this morning. Did you need something?”
“Umm, no that’s okay. I’ll just walk to scho
ol.” I look out of the window at the black clouds rolling in.
“Blake, it’s supposed to get really bad out there…”
“It’s okay, Mrs.—uhh, Debbie. I’ll be fine. Thanks again.” I quickly hang up the receiver.
I head to the door and reach for my guitar in its usual spot, but it’s gone. I think back to last night. Did I leave it somewhere? Did I even bring it home? I don’t remember. Already late, I leave the house without my guitar and head down the road as the sky opens up and downpours, leaving me soaked head to toe as puddles fill the road. I pull my jacket up over my head and walk as quickly as I can, but I still have quite a way to go. A car pulls up behind me and I turn to see whose headlights I’m standing in.
Alexander’s mother leans her head out of the window and yells to me.
“Get in, Blake. You’re going to catch pneumonia out here!”
“Blake?” Alexander’s mother asks before I exit the car in front of school. “This is none of my business, but I have to ask. Is…is everything okay? At home I mean?”
My mouth goes dry and I’m not sure what to say.
“Of course… Why do you ask?” I speak too quickly with not enough force in my tone to convince either of us.
“Alexander says you’re home alone most of the time. I’m not trying to pry. I’m just…concerned. You walk miles to school and you’ve been in the same clothes all week. That eye… I just wanted to make sure you are being taken care of.” Her eyes are kind and warm, genuine—a look I don’t recognize from my own mother.
“I can take care of myself.” The words come out with more of a point than I had meant. I know she means well, but my problems are not her problems. I avoid her eyes as I open the car door.
“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. Alexander and I… Well, our door is open if you need a hand.”
I think long and hard for a moment. I’m grateful, but I’m embarrassed too—once for myself and once for my mother. “Thank you again for helping me today, but I’ll be fine.” I close the car door and she waves through the window, pulling away from the curb.
* * * *
After a few nights of scrounging together something to eat for breakfast and bringing Tupperware to school to ration my lunch and make it last until dinner, I come home to find my mother’s car in the driveway.
“Mom?” I call from the entryway.
“In here!” She kisses me on the head as I enter.
“Hey, Mom, where have you been?”
“Working,” she responds, throwing ramen noodles into a pot.
“You…you got a job?” I grab a cup from the counter and fill it with tap water.
“Something like that,” she says—but offers no explanation.
“Okay, well, I have a project I have to try to catch up on. I’m a little behind in school. I’m going to head upstairs.”
“Great!” She obviously missed the part about me falling behind.
“Oh, and Mom?” She looks at me over her shoulder. “Have you seen my guitar? I can’t find it anywhere.”
She stops stirring for a moment and turns toward me. “Oh, Blake,” she says, a feigned hint of sorrow in her words, “I sold it.”
“What do you mean you sold it?” I screamed, dropping the glass I was drinking from onto the counter. The glass shatters against the old counter top. “Are you kidding me? That guitar is literally the only thing I care about.”
“Maybe that’s the problem, Blake,” Mother said. “You were spending too much time around music. Time to experience something new. This is for your own good.”
“You know nothing about what is good for me!” I yell in a voice that cracks, and tears stream down my face. I don’t try to hide or stop them. I just let them fall. Years of neglect and hurt fuel this moment. It was bound to happen. “You can’t even bring home laundry detergent. We haven’t had a real meal in months!”
She steps toward me and jabs a finger into my chest as she yells, hard enough to knock me off balance, “I don’t need this!” Then she screams, “Everything I do, I do for you!”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” My voice is quiet as my chest tightens. “When you leave for days and weeks at a time without so much as a note… When you sell the item that means more to me than anything else I’ve ever owned… You’re only thinking of me?”
She glares at me and crosses her arms, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I’m going to stay at Alexander’s house for a while,” I finally say, standing up for myself, maybe for the first time ever.
“No, no, Blake. Please, stay here.” She shows emotion for the first time all night. “Blake, you are all I have left.”
I look at her, into her eyes that mine are an exact replica of. Then, I look around the house I have been in by myself more than I care to admit.
“That guitar was all I had left, Mom—and you sold it.”
* * * *
I bang on Alexander’s door with only a bag full of dirty laundry, standing in the pouring rain that hadn’t let up over the last few days.
“Hi,” I say, thankful that the rain might hide the tears I’ve been crying.
Alexander takes the bag of laundry and claps a hand on my shoulder, leading me into the house where his mother is cooking a delicious-smelling meal with fresh vegetables on the counter. I can’t even recall the last time I saw fresh produce.
“Blake,” she says, the warm smile she always wears in full bloom, “are you hungry?”
My stomach rumbles loud enough to answer yes for me.
“Everything smells delicious.” I smile a grin that matches hers. “Do you think… Do you think I could use the washer and dryer?” A lump of embarrassment forms in my throat.
“No.” Her response leaves me confused. A bright red paints my cheeks. “You’re a kid, Blake. Go be a kid. Julian is here too. Join your friends. I’ll get that load of laundry in after dinner is ready.”
* * * *
Now
“We’re back…” Xander says into the microphone, but he doesn’t even finish the word before the crowd erupts into a noisy volcano of thrill and anticipation. Chaotic. It’s the only word that suits our hometown crowd. As I look out at the faces that look back at us, many of them are familiar, probably because we’ve seen them at every show we’ve performed at this venue for thirteen years.
Xander flirts with the audience, dragging out the introduction and making them wait for the highly anticipated music. I strum a few patterns quietly behind Xander’s back and forth with them, and Theo fingers a twinkling, gentle sound on the keyboard as Xander walks back and forth across the stage, telling the group a story about how we wrote the song we plan to open with. They’re soaking it up, hanging on to every word he speaks.
“So, ladies and gentlemen, here it is,” he says, wrapping up the song’s backstory, “written by your very own Blake Mathews.” They applaud, I give them a few hard riffs and wave.
“This one’s for my mother,” I say, the same way I always do. The lyrics aren’t kind in nature—a perfect parallel for her, really.
Dom leads us in, a turbulent beat composed between the bass, cymbal and toms that flows together so intricately that one would be convinced he has more than two hands.
Playing in Boston, it’s like we blink and the event is over. The atmosphere is so loud, so energetic that the show is complete in what seems like seconds.
Backstage, the power and volume are gone and quiet sets in again. The adrenaline that coursed through me has dissipated, faded into a nothingness that won’t rear its exuberant head again until we step back on a stage—and I don’t know when that will be.
I miss it already. Crave it, even. And I know it won’t be long until I start searching for something to take its place.
“Blake,” Xander says, crashing onto the couch next to me. He smiles a large grin that grows deep into his cheeks and shows his teeth. After spending so many years beside the dark, gloomy version of Xander, happiness looks weird
on him. “Kelly still has a few hours left here finishing up with the crew and staff. Do you want to join Natalie, Jana and me for food and drinks?”
I brush my hair back off my forehead and take a deep breath. In many ways, I want to go. But in other ways, going out with them is another reminder that I don’t really belong anywhere. I never have.
I’m not sure when it all changed, when these feelings started settling in that I don’t have the sense of family that it seems everyone around me does. I have Kelly and I’m grateful that I do, but Kelly has two loving parents, a cousin who is more like a sister, a group of friends she can’t live without and a band of employees who see her both as a boss and an acquaintance.
Me? I just have the band.
“No, no.” I shake my head and put my feet up on the table. “I’ll probably just wait here for Kelly.”
“Suit yourself.” Xander pushes himself away from the couch and wraps his arms around Natalie and Jana’s shoulders, one on each side of him.
I leave the venue and walk around the city streets under a black, cloudless sky. The bar fronts are illuminated with signs, and loud music plays from inside while people line up outside, waiting to get in.
There’s a hole-in-the-wall bar at the end of the road that only a few people occupy. The bouncer nods as I walk in, allowing me to pass without showing ID. I pull up a bar stool and order a drink.
A young brunette waitress takes the stool next to me. “Up for a game?” she asks, flashing pearly whites behind a smile covered in red lipstick. She holds up a handful of cash and a whiskey cup with five dice in it.
“How do you play?” I ask, turning toward her.
“It’s so easy!” Her voice raises an octave. “It’s five dollars to play and you get three rolls. Keep any matching numbers on the bar top and reroll the others. If all five dice match at the end of your three rolls, you keep the pot.”