by A.R. Rivera
36
-Avery
I am curled up in the corner of my cell: knees tucked up into my chest, my arms curled around them, trying to hold myself together, like always.
I think the problem was that everything was changing too fast. When we left that morning, I had never felt so alive, so free, so at peace, but by that same night, I could hardly catch my breath. I should have been content with leaving my screwed up life behind. I should have been happy standing beside Angel as the one thing she had in her life finally came together.
But I couldn't.
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The bathrooms in the Mystic Muse were perpetually disgusting but I'd had like three sodas. I had to wait for someone else to open the door to let me out because I didn't want to risk contact with the handle.
When a fat chick barreled in with a spray bottle and a push broom, I slunk out into the hall opposite the bar. The whole club smelled like beer with subtle whiffs of green smoke and urine. It seemed strongest near the trash can that'd been left outside the ladies room. It smelled like someone pissed in it.
As I wandered around, people were pouring in. The night looked promising.
When the first band was introduced, Jake left his spot near the front, pushing past the growing crowd and I noticed how so few people recognized the greatness passing by. I knew that, in a few years, when him and the band were well-known, the clueless lot that let him through might recall that they once saw Analog Controller perform at a local club, but none would recall the tall, hot guy with the boyish features currently pressing into the crowd against traffic, repeating, "excuse me," in an oddly polite way.
I loved Analog Controller. But unlike Angel, the guys in the band never seemed anything other than normal to me. I didn't get why making music would suddenly elevate a person inside the minds of the people that heard them. Was a persons' capability so closely entwined to their value as people? If that was the case, I was in trouble because I could barely breathe most days. The guys did make great music, but they were still people.
Angel was leaning against one of the pillars in back and I kept an eye on her, but wanted to see where Jake was rushing off to. As I pushed through a group of guys, one of them grabbed my ass and squeezed. Normally, something like that would have me pivoting to sucker punch the asshole, but I felt the constant ice in my chest melt for a second and it threw me off. Took me a second longer to mull over what should happen next.
Who the hell did whoever think he was, touching me like he knew me? What gave him the fucking right to familiarize himself with my body? The black inside me wanted to boil over, but I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay in control. To be careful.
I spun back around, catching the drummer and bassist from Anemic Psychos laughing at me. Morons, that's what they looked like, with their nicotine stained teeth and chain wallets. I wanted to punch them both before killing one to force-feed his remains to the other. I'd seen them at sound check, but didn't know their names. They were both tall and lean, both smiling at their probing conquest. The fucking egos were twice the size of the puny Indie label they were on.
"Which one?" I pointed at them each in turn.
The drummer pointed at the bassist, while the bassist pointed at the drummer. Neither spoke.
"That's the way you want it?" I stepped in between them, threw both my hands out, and simultaneously grabbed both their scrawny asses, kneading a shocked musicians' cheek on each side of me. The drummer jumped, belting out a surprised laugh, but the bass player leaned into me.
Yeah, he's the one, I thought, and looked him square in the eyes. "Don't touch me. Ever. Again."
When I turned back towards the stage, Andrew was watching me. Well, gaping might be a better description. I winked at him and walked back to the pillar where Angel was watching on the opening act.
Amid my little foray, I'd lost track of Jake, but he'd turn up sooner or later. I took the time to talk myself down. Grab-assing was par for the course at shows like this. Both those idiots smelled like booze, too. I wanted to dismiss it and set my mind on the show I was supposed to be enjoying instead of the shitheads trying to ruin it for me.
The second band, Proselytes, took the stage and it was a major improvement over Playing Doctor. As I listened, I noticed Jake peeking from a doorway just off stage. Studying him, I saw something mischievous in his eyes. That look . . . it meant he was planning something. It had to be something for Angel.
For some reason that I could not unearth, that upset me. Being left out was nothing new, actually it was standard procedure. But what was new to me was who that feeling was being directed at. My girl was getting what she wanted and I was happy for her. Wasn't I? And why did her fulfillment make me feel so angry with Jake?
From the beginning, I did not think Angel's life would change because of him. I had never seen a relationship bloom before. I didn't know what the buds looked like. I thought their little encounter would start hot and fizzle fast; for whatever reason it didn't.
Jake wasn't exactly some douche trying to get Angel to give it up under the bleachers. I knew what he did with me played no part in how he felt for her. He never had to say it. It was obvious. It didn't bother me. Not at all. I knew I was not the 'take home to mom' type of girl. Angel was. And those two had this . . . connection, like this visible thread that seemed to tie their souls together when they locked eyes. It was nauseating to watch half the time, but seeing the way she smiled made it worth the pukey-burps.
I'd made a habit of disappearing when Jake came around Angel. So it was no different when Jake walked onto the stage during the second performance. I always came up with an excuse-I had to go to the bathroom or needed some air, or a smoke, or whatever would fit in the moment. Angel never noticed the excuses. She never noticed anything but Jake.
But then he sang for her. Sank to his knees for her. Poured his heart out for her in front of a room full of rowdy, drunken strangers as they openly made fun of him.
Angel was the third person to fall to her knees. First it was Jake, when he asked his question. And then it was my turn. I couldn't believe he was asking. And then she said yes! She sank to her knees and said yes. What was he thinking? She was seventeen years old. Didn't she want to continue with school? We grew up watching the shit that happened to girls that married too young and hadn't we decided that an education and independence was more important? Weren't we supposed to get a place together in California? Then, she said yes. To him! And that made me realize that my answers were no. Hell no.
After the shock had time to sink in, I went and had a nice conversation with my reflection in the bathroom mirror; reminded myself that I loved Angel and wanted her to be happy, that the whole trek out to the land of sunshine was for her.
Jake gave her the forever kind of memories, the kind she'd look back on and smile, long after they broke up-which was inevitable and unmentionable as far as my best friend was concerned. I didn't want to take that connection away from my friend-but also I really didn't want to look at Jake when he was looking at Angel.
Jake's proposal surprised the hell out of her. He left her no choice, really. Angel would never humiliate Jake by turning him down in front of an audience. It seemed that Jake had no problem with putting her in that position, though. Did he ever ask her what she wanted? Did he care? Being Mrs. Haddon had never been part of Angel's dreams. She would have talked about it with me, otherwise. Even though there were things that I did not tell Angel about my life, she told me everything. She loved Jake-that was obvious-but that love wasn't supposed to lead to marriage. What a selfish asshole.
This was wrong, but I couldn't jump into the fight and take over like I usually did. This was Jake. Angel had never been so entangled with someone else, aside from me. And she was such shit at protecting herself, which was why I had to do it for her.
I'd have to watch for her. I'd have to do my duty as her friend, and decipher how Angel really felt. If she needed me to step in I would, but if she didn
't I'd have to bide my time. Watch and wait. No pushing until the time was right.
I put on the happy face and left the bathroom. Made my way to the front and held her spot. I felt the conviction of my choice as I embraced her. Warmth flooded through me and into my eyes as I took in the burning smile on her face. She was floating, which told me that the weight of her decision had yet to sink in.
And then I disappeared to my place in front of Andrew. I watched the show-which was awesome. Gary may have looked too old, but had the energy of a young guy. He had the transitions down. He was really good. Played every song exactly like he was supposed to, took the stress off of Jake, too, and he sounded better than ever.
But then, after the show, Gary fucked up. He was giving out band stickers. I admired his tenacity, and knew he was right; it was good advertising. People were going to put those stickers on their bumpers or car windows or binders, and other people would see them and wonder, "Who is Analog Controller?"
I wanted to say something, but Andrew was eyeing me. He was always watching. He walked away from Gary and towards me. "I saw what you did. That was fucked up. And it wasn't the first time."
I set my lips as close to his ear as I could without touching. "Are you jealous?"
"I'm telling him."
"Who, Jake? Go ahead." I wasn't sure what he was referring to but refused to ask. Jake had no claim on me and Andrew had no right. "I should care because . . . ?"
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We'd been back at the motel for a while. I was done swimming, but Angel hadn't given me the signal that she was done with Jake-she was supposed to open the window-so I had to wait.
Damn, Angel had it so bad for him. It worried me because that girl worked herself up over everything. Perfect example: that first show at The Mystic Muse, when those two first hooked up. Jake showed some interest and a little kindness; Angel overreacted and slept with him. He asked for marriage and she couldn't wait to drop her life and leave school.
I made mistakes, too. For one, I forgot to remember that Angel isn't normal. That sounds bad. She was normal-yeah, Angel totally was. But also, well, she kind of wasn't. Really, never has been. She's always been kind of needy and dependant. Not that that's a bad thing-so long as she's careful about who she leans on. I didn't say the right things when Angel told me Jake wanted to bang her. I pushed my friend into it, figuring a good rub down might do her some good. The way Jake carried himself I knew he'd be good. I stood in the background and watched Angel do her thing because I loved her more than anyone. I loved her too-tender heart and super-thin skin that sometimes seemed stretched over a vacuum. Angel was too vulnerable and it sucked people in. They sensed how ready and capable she was of loving so completely that she completely blinded herself to any of their faults. People like Jake were totally not worthy of her level of commitment. I didn't deserve it either, but at least I was looking out for her best interests. Feeling responsible for her like I do made it necessary to take a step back when Angel was around Jake. I didn't want to control her, but the more I thought over the na?ve choices she was making, the more I realized I couldn't just watch.
I needed to know what was going on inside that room. Did they talk? It seemed that Jake was acting strange since his surprise at the concert. Maybe Angel told him she'd changed her mind. Why else would they look so weighed down when they walked from the bands motel room back to the one I wanted to be inside of right now?
I sat by the pool in the dark, passing my fingers over the water, watching the ripples bend the moonlight, waiting for the window to open.
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