“It took you guys long enough,” he complained as he climbed in the van. “I was freezing out there!”
“Well, you could wear a coat like a normal human being,” Logan replied.
“I don’t want to wrinkle my clothes,” he said, smoothing down a hideous, silky plaid shirt. He turned to me. “Hey Collin, is Carly going to be at the show?”
“Yeah, she always is,” I responded. “Why?”
“Her neighbor was getting rid of some red cowboy boots that I really wanted. She said she’d give them to me the next time she saw me.”
“Are you going to wear them tonight?” I asked.
“Of course! It completes the outfit!”
The rest of us just nodded and didn’t say anything. Over the years we had just learned not to comment about Jeremy’s fashion choices.
“Have you proposed to her yet?” Marco asked, looking at me in the rear view mirror.
“Not yet. I’m planning on Friday night.”
“Ooh, that’s right!” Jeremy exclaimed, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “Congratulations on taking the next step, lover boy! But she better not Yoko Ono the band. Not when I’ve got big things in the works.”
Logan snorted. “How about we work on being as successful as the Beatles first, and then we can worry about girls breaking up the band.”
*****
“You were so good tonight!” Carly exclaimed, her bubbly voice carrying over the noise of the crowded taco shop.
“You have to say that because you’re dating me,” I teased, winking at her before taking a bite of my taco.
Carly blushed and took a sip of her drink, all the while keeping her hazel eyes on me. I smiled at her, but I got the unnerving feeling that she was studying me. Her short brown hair fell just below her chin, framing her narrow face. After the show she and I had walked a few blocks to grab a late bite to eat. I always got hungry after performing.
Carly set down her drink. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“You know the last song you guys played?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “You mean, Glorious Mess?”
“Yeah,” she replied with a sly smile. “Did you write that song about me?”
I had another bite and took my time chewing it before I responded. “No, I wrote that song about a friend I had a long time ago when her parents were going through a divorce,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s not really the most flattering song,” I added. “What made you think it was about you?”
Carly shrugged. “I love that song. I think it’s one of your best, so I guess I was hoping it was about me. And when you talk about her being under her mother’s desk, I thought it might be a metaphor for when I need to take a little time for myself every once in a while.”
I swallowed back a laugh. That line would have been a good metaphor, but it really was just about a girl under a desk. I thought back to when I wrote the chorus of that song on the roof of my apartment building in Chicago. The lyrics ran through my mind, and I couldn’t help but be filled with memories of the girl who inspired them.
She could have the whole world, the moon and stars,
Fantastic vacations and fancy cars,
But she shuts the world out and dreams of Mars
Under her mother’s desk.
She closes her eyes as her life falls apart,
Smiling with a broken heart,
