The Hush Society Presents...

by Izzy Matias

  "Who is this?" I ask, unable to place the band. "I’m loving them already."

  "Oh Wonder," Lily says in a whisper, but with a big grin. "My fave!"

  Cassie sings as she motions for Amber and Lily to join her in the large space between the gramophone and couches. They shake their hips, head bang, and dance so awful it’s hilarious.

  As Lily bobs and sings to the chorus about losing it, I hum along. This is the most spirited I’ve seen her since we arrived.

  The power music has to shift our moods and influence our actions.

  "You better not post this on Snapchat!" Amber warns Benji, who already looks as if he’s trying to get footage of them.

  "I was trying to get blackmail material," he says, not letting go of the mobile in his hand.

  "Put ya phone down and enjoy the view," Eric says and sighs. His head rests at the back of his arms and his legs are propped up on the edge of the couch.

  "Not at all obvious," I point out.

  After we’ve listened to three more Oh Wonder songs, the gals collapse on the mattresses on the floor.

  The room has quieted down. Benji and I do a music session where we take turns picking a song to play on guitar and let our mates sing along as we listen to them converse.

  Amber and Cassie debate about which 90s boy band rules the kingdom. "Backstreet Boys are the best!" Amber shouts.

  "No way," Cassie says. "NSYNC over Backstreet Boys."

  "Girl, you won’t want me to tell you about that NSYNC conspiracy theory. It’ll change your mind."

  "Amber!" Cassie sighs, falling into a pillow fort.

  #

  Benji plucks the melody to one of the songs he normally plays when he volunteers at the local music centre in Beverley. I spot Amber in a funny position, eyes shut tight, but with her mouth hanging open. Eric is another beautiful sight with his body dangling near the edge of the couch.

  I peek at Lily. She has finally dozed off to sleep. Benji, Cassie and I are the last ones standing, but judging from the way Benji's strumming his guitar, he is about to konk out soon, too.

  I join Cassie on the mattress adjacent to my couch.

  "I don’t think I can sleep," I say, setting down my guitar.

  "Me neither. All this music’s got me like a live wire."

  "Ha. I see what you did there," I tease with my newfound knowledge about Oh Wonder. She’s referring to the song called "Live Wire."

  Benji’s singing voice falters into a whisper.

  "Get some shut eye, would you," I tell him and Cassie bursts into giggles.

  Benji nods. He sets his guitar aside and nestles into his couch. He mumbles something—I can’t understand what—and then, within seconds, starts to snore.

  "Well that was easy." Cassie’s still giggling.

  I shrug and inch closer. "Everyone’s asleep. We’ve got the world in our fingertips," I say and rub my hands together like a mad scientist.

  "What shall we do first?" Cassie plays along and strokes her chin.

  "Probe into the deepest, darkest depths of the human mind."

  "You’re not thinking like the King again, are you? That would be creepy at this hour."

  "I left his paperbacks in my terraced home, thank you very much. I can survive the tour with just my guitar case."

  "That doesn’t sound like you, Evans." Cassie feigns shock. "We’re on the road for weeks."

  "I have everything I need in my guitar case." I smile and then whisper, "Music is life."

  "It’s not the end all be all," Cassie says.

  Woah. I can’t believe my ears. I look at her like she’s not making sense.

  "Relationships are as important, if not more important." Her words hit me like a bull’s eye. She doesn’t know I have risked everything—my family, my degree, my future—for music. I don’t want to know what she’ll think of me when she finds out that I was turfed out my own home.

  I stay silent and let her words dangle in the air, taunting me.

  "But tonight, music sure was a life-saver," Cassie continues with a far-away look in her eyes. "I was terrified."

  I put my hand on her shoulder. "Thanks to Eric’s quick thinking, music lured her away from her darkness. You’re not the only one who felt useless."

  "This is exactly why I began The Hush Society. I want people to feel that they’re never alone. Music, together with the people you meet and connect with because of music, can and will be there for you during your dark hours."

  "You’re amazing, you know that?" A bold line, but I wonder how many people remind her of it. She touches so many lives because of her story—how music moulded her into who she is. I wonder who she was before that and how she became this beacon of strength and positivity.

  "So I’ve been told." Cassie flips her hair in an attempt to look posh, but I’m not buying it and laugh out loud.

  She panics at my volume, glances at Lily, who stirs. Cassie pulls me by the cotton of my black shirt and leads me toward the hallway.

  "Walk outside with me?" I say as soon as I get a glimpse of the sky through the large windows.

  Cassie nods even though we both know once we step out, we won’t have a way back inside unless someone wakes up.

  The lock clicks as Cassie closes the door behind us. I look ahead at the cobbled roads, thinking which route to take. Lily told us that one of the streets would lead us to the ocean, but I don’t know if that’s where we’re headed now. I don’t ask, neither does she, so we let our feet take us where they may.

  "You’re lucky your parents are supportive of you going to Uni for art," I say as we walk.

  "They weren’t at first. My life was like a series of tick boxes waiting to be checked off. They were moulding me to be the perfect daughter, but c’mon, no one’s perfect. I snapped—like a full-on meltdown—at the pressure."

  I look at her, unable to imagine the now-confident gal who works great under the pressure of organising secret shows having a meltdown. Is that the reason why she started organising these gigs? Was that her dark time? Did she, like Eric, use the negativity to channel into something productive?

  "I told them I was grateful that they had adopted me, but the pressure was just soul-sucking, you know? I had no time for art or music…the things I live for."

  "You were adopted?"

  "Yeah. I’ve heard a number of stories about adopted children feeling resentful, but I’m thankful. In their own strict way, I know they care. I just couldn’t be who I wasn’t. And after I learned I was adopted, I questioned everything."

  We’re walking side by side, our hands bumping into each other every now and then. I resist the urge to grab her hand even if I can feel this pulsating energy when our fingers brush against each other. I stare at her hand, tempted to make a move.

  When her elbow bumps into mine, my mind blanks and before I know it, I’m holding onto her finger. I don’t get time to process how it feels. Just as quickly I let my impulse to hold her take over, she pulls away.

  "Cameron." Her voice is squeaky.

  "Yes."

  She clears her throat. "Please don’t go there."

  I let go, as if a shock of energy pulls us apart.

  "Okay." I try not to let my disappointment be evident in my tone. I guess it’s true, then.

  "Thanks."

  Embarrassed at her outright rejection, I don’t have the courage to ask her about her no-musicians rule. Instead, I go back to our previous topic.

  "So, uh, do you know who your birth parents are?"

  "No," she says with a quieter tone. "I’m not ready for that yet. I don’t know if I even want to know…Of course, I wonder why they gave me up and all that, but I’m trying to be content with where I am and who I want to be."

  There are so many things I want to know about her. I’m glad we have the rest of the tour to get to know each other. Then maybe have more courage to ask her why she doesn’t date musicians. There are so many things I still don’t know. I shouldn’t rush it. Maybe what’s best for b
oth of us is to be each other’s friend.

  "Well if you do decide to seek them out," I say, "you’ll have a support group behind you. And you can count me in as part of that group." I nudge her left shoulder with my right as if to emphasise my point and add a touch of banter in our serious conversation. I don't know if she can see me smiling in the dark.

  "Thank you."

  "Anytime."

  "Okay, mister," Cassie says with a more playful tone. I’m relieved that she doesn’t make a massive deal out of me wanting to hold her hand. Nor does she make it awkward. "My turn to ask thought-provoking questions." The way she phrased that reminds me of Judy and Nate, fellow DJs at URadio.

  We enter a narrow dirt path and—yes!—the waves crash in the distance. We must be going the right direction.

  "Shoot," I say with my hands up in the air. "What do you wanna know?"

  "What made you pick up and learn the guitar?"

  "You weren’t kidding when you said thought-provoking." I laugh. This gal’s going deep.

  "We’re past all that shallow small talk. This is the fun part."

  The breeze is cool for a summer day probably because the sun isn’t out yet. The world seems quiet and peaceful when everyone’s asleep. I love it this way. I glance at Cassie—I can just make out a hint of a smile; I can tell she loves these kind of conversations, but somehow she doesn’t make them feel too heavy. On the contrary, with her, these topics feel freeing.

  "Being an athlete was out of the question," I tell her, "since I was horrible at football. I had to think of the next best thing to reel in all the gals. Musician’s charm, yeah?"

  "Pfft!" Cassie laughs. "I don’t get that arrogant musician vibe from you."

  So why’d you shoot me down? I want to ask, but don’t. "I keep it on a down low. You haven’t seen us play a gig yet now have you?"

  "Fair play," she says.

  "I guess it was because of Benji’s dad," I admit. "We were at one of his rock band’s reunion tours and I saw him play. All I knew was that I wanted to be like him and do what he did."

  I pause to do a fiery, air guitar solo impression whilst head banging.

  Cassie bursts into laugher.

  "Eric, Benji and I would spend almost every weekend rummaging through all the music shops in Beverley looking for our next favourite band. We’d shut ourselves in either Eric or Benji’s house and play our instruments the whole day. When we were fourteen, we joined proper bands, contests, and eventually played at pubs when we were old enough."

  "No wonder the chemistry between you guys is organic."

  Our path leads us straight to the shoreline. I’ve no idea if we’re near the pier, but the waves crash near us and the strong saline breeze surrounds us as we venture near the dark water in the distance.

  "Benji’s a natural—his dad was in a famous rock band in America before he and his wife settled in Beverley, so he’s been playing since he was little. For Eric, drumming was his way of getting through a tough time. I admire how he channeled his negativity into something positive like music. In a way, they influenced me now that I think about it. If I had grown up with different friends, I’d probably still be into music, but not as much as this."

  I can’t believe she’s gotten me to monologue. I’m a chatty lad—that's what a stint with radio does—and it feels good to be intellectually stimulated with conversations like these. That’s why I said yes to radio even if it was out of my comfort zone. Even if I was terrified of making a right mess of myself live on air.

  "Really? Somehow I’d like to think you’d still be you." Cassie plops herself on the pebbles. I think back to how Cassie’s eyes went wide and her face touched the glass of our van when we arrived and she saw the refracted reflection of the sea.

  "We'll never know." I shrug and laugh. "But do you really believe that? That we’d still be who we are even if we’d grown up differently?" I join her on the stony ground.

  "Not a hundred percent the same, but most of who we are, yes." The sky turns from black to dark blue and Cassie’s silhouette is becoming clearer. She combs through the pebbles beside her. "If we have different parents, then yes, we’d be a complete 360. They pass on certain qualities of themselves to us. Sometimes I wonder if it were my mum or dad—my birth parents—who was the artistic one."

  I nod, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts.

  "But it’s also our environment," she continues. "Where we grew up, who we surrounded ourselves with—that shape us. Most importantly, the art we immerse ourselves in—the art we choose that influences us."

  "I wonder," I say, "if I chose to become an athlete, would I still like the music I like or was it because I was exposed to so many genres thanks to my best mates?"

  "Maybe you still would, but not the same way you do now. Or maybe at a later period in your life."

  "But what about you? What if you’d grown up with a different family? Do you think you’d still be this version of Cassie?" I nudge her one more time.

  "I’d like to think that somehow I’d get to where I am because it’s where I’m meant to be."

  "Huh," I say and let her words sink in.

  We don’t say anything else to each other, but sit and listen to the sound of everything around us, soaking in the now.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We gather on the mattresses on the floor and gobble down our breakfasts. Lily’s parents are set to arrive from their flight a couple of hours before the show. It’s her first time hosting The Hush Society in Brighton and she’s doing it in her loft. Being in this room for more than twelve hours is sort of like a pre-show preparation—getting more than acquainted with the place.

  "I’m thinking fairy lights and candles—the whole shebang!" Lily explains to Cassie.

  I haven’t heard anyone use that word ever. I stifle in laughter.

  "Fairy lights? That’s so cliché!" Eric says from the other end of the room. He’s concentrated on beating his high score in Plants vs Zombies 2.

  Lily blushes from embarrassment. I glare at Eric for his insensitive comment, but his nose is buried in his iPhone.

  "It’s your show, but I’m a little skeptical about the candles," Cassie says, ignoring Eric’s comment. "We wouldn’t want to burn your house down."

  "Point taken. Maybe—err—just the fairy lights then."

  "It sounds so Pinterest-like," Amber says, chewing loud on her cereal. "Perfect for photos and snaps."

  "Yes! Another creature who knows their social media, thank you," Benji says to Amber. She rolls her eyes.

  Eric and I are not heavily into social media, so Benji doesn’t get that social-media geek partner in crime he longs to have.

  I borrow Benji’s extra notebook as I don’t exactly carry one around, even though I know I should, and scribble down a few lines to process the last twenty-four hours. Music’s my way of processing experiences and making sense of what’s happening. When a line hits, I grab whatever’s around and use it as a blank sheet of paper: tissue, receipts, flyers, table mats, you name it. I’ve got lots of "paper junk"—as Tamara calls it—in my room.

  Today my mates and I debut as The Fortunate Only. Are we ready for this? It’s been my top one question for the last couple of days, even though we’ve been practicing non-stop since the day my mates and I agreed to form a band.

  What if we’re terrible compared to the other local talent here? What if the Brighton crowd doesn’t welcome us?

  Everyone will know that I’m complete rubbish. They’ll be rubbing it in my face—no wonder his previous bandmates left him five times. Serves him right because of a lack of talent.

  I can’t mess this up.

  I let the fear flow to my fingers and transform the nervous energy into notes, melodies that speak of the darkest corners of my mind. The melody forms in my head and then I remember how music helped Lily through a panic attack. Music is my outlet, but what if I want it to be something more than that? Words bubble into lyrics. I write and rewrite them to fit the tempo.r />
  I close Benji’s notebook satisfied with the progress and make a mental note to show it to him and Eric later.

  I spot Amber walking towards the grand piano. "Play something," I shout from my spot and she jumps as if being caught in the act.

  "How do you even know I play?" she quips and I smile back.

  "Why would you approach the piano if you didn’t play?"

  "Cheeky!"

  "Where’s everyone?" I ask, noticing the empty room. Guess I blocked out more than I thought while I was writing: movement, sounds, thoughts.

  "Out to grab supplies for tonight and making sure everything’s in order. Weren’t you listening?"

  "Naw."

  Amber sits at the grand piano. She stares at it a while, almost statue-like… as if she’s scared.

  "You do play, don’t you?" I ask in a quieter tone.

  "I used to."

  "What do you mean you used to?" She looked fearless jumping off the pier yesterday. Now…it’s like there’s a different person in front of me.

  "It reminds me so much of who I was before—that anorexic. It’s stupid, I know. Music’s supposed to be my solace, right? But what if it’s also what reminds me of my destruction?"

  "How?" I ask, trying to comprehend her perspective. I never thought music could be two sides of a coin.

  "My father…he plays the grand piano and forced me to take lessons. He plays every day for an hour before bed. He kept telling me I was fat. I associate the instrument with him, with his hurtful words."

  "Don’t you see, this is the perfect opportunity to rise above. Get over that fear. You jumped off that pier without hesitation. I would have hesitated. You didn’t. You’re braver than you think."

  Amber laughs nervously.

  "Come on, I’ll help you get over the fear," I say getting up from the mattress on the floor. "Do I just tap at any key?" I joke, sitting down beside her. But Amber doesn’t move. She stares at the piano.

  "Play for you," I say. "Don’t think about your dad, or about who you were. Let who you are now take over."

  I tap at random notes—the sound is horrible, but it gets Amber laughing.

  "When I used to work at URadio, we’d have this segment where we’d ask our listeners to vote between two dares," I say. "The winning dare is then recorded for the world to see."