Page 9 of Strum Me

Chapter Five

Emily

Eight Years Ago

I can hear the metallic rattle of the beat-up car drive up and the banter going on inside it long before it hits the driveway. There are voices rising higher and higher, their speakers always trying to compete to get a word in. There’s a roar of laughter and I imagine Marius has become the butt of someone’s one-liner, probably Jez. Then it quiets. That’s never a good sign. But it doesn’t last long and soon another roar shatters the car windows and echoes down the empty, silent suburban street and up into the cracked windows of the neighborhood.

A car door slams and I lean over to peek out the window and see Brad stumble up the driveway.

He sways a little as he stands in the glow of the motion sensor light, slowly flicking through the three keys on his key ring, as if choosing the right one that opens the front door is a matter of life and death. I see him finally make a decision however, and he rocks back on his heels once, creating momentum to propel his body forward the last few steps up the driveway to his house[JD2] where I’ve been waiting.

I should’ve known he’d have a drink tonight.

Weeks away from the end of the school year—well, school life, really—it’s not like he was worrying too much about his future, unlike the rest of us. The boys in the band were just going to keep being the boys in the band. Taking them wherever their charm seemed to carry them. I hadn’t heard a flicker of fear or a peep of insecurity from them about their futures.

Lucky them.

The heavy wooden front door slams shut and I can hear him mumble something to himself. Sinking back into the bed, I pull the blanket around me, waiting for him to make his way up the stairs and to his bedroom in the dark. The pillow cradles my head, comfortable, probably because of the hours I’ve spent in it, molding it to my shape. There have been hours spent in this room with Brad listening to music, discovering new bands—old classics and mainstream guilty pleasures.

I envy him.

Him and his friends. They always talk about their future as if it is a given. Music. It is to be all about the performance, the creation, the complete immersion of their bodies and souls with music. They won’t have it any other way, won’t even entertain the thought that that is what their lives are not going to be centered around.

I love music, but I just don’t have the talent. It didn’t take the last four years at a prestigious music school to learn that. I could’ve told you that from the first day.

So I don’t know how the next five, ten, twenty years of my life are going to go. Hell, after what happened tonight, I don’t even know what tomorrow will hold for me.

The memory of the night drops the black cloud over my head again, and the tear that’s been lingering at the corner of my eye falls.

Just then the door creaks open and Brad stumbles inside. I lift my hand up to cover my eyes from the shock of the light, but it doesn’t turn on as I expect. There’s the sound of a shoe being kicked off and I watch the shadow move against the wall. Brad mumbles something to himself as he struggles to pull his T-shirt off and suddenly he’s there, on top of me. In his bed. The weight of his body suddenly crushing my ribs shocks me out of my sadness.

“Ahh! Brad! Gerroffme!” I press both hands against his chest and roll over until the wall is against my back.

“What the freaking, flying herd of crazy bats?!” He scrambles around on the bed until he can see my face illuminated by the moon filtering through the open window.

I can’t help letting a giggle escape at the look of confusion on his face.

“It’s just me, dick-wad.” I roll my swollen eyes and reach out, giving his ear a soft tug.

“Oh, for a minute there, I thought my mattress had come to life and was about to swallow me.” His body relaxes and he wriggles his lanky body against me so we can both fit on his tiny bed. Reaching to the end of the bed, he pulls his blanket over us, tucking it under our chins as we’ve done a hundred times.

“Hey! I’m not as big as a mattress!” I respond in a raised whisper, offended, against his shoulder.

“No, but parts of you are just as soft and squishy.” He pokes me in the side, knowing I hate it.

I squeal a little too loud and he reaches over and covers my face with his hand.

“Quiet, Butter! Always such a loudmouth!”

I scrunch my nose up and bite his palm, and he pulls his hand away revealing my grinning face.

“Wench.”

And then suddenly, I’m crying.

I don’t know if it’s the familiarity between us and knowing that I’m in a safe place, or if it’s just that I couldn’t hold it in anymore. All I know is that the tears are streaming down my face and I can’t stop them.

“Hey!” I can just hear Brad through the roaring in my ears. “Butter, what’s wrong, babe?”