dissonance. (a Böhme novel) (2 page)

I lowered my head with a laugh, knowing what my father thought of her. “No, thankfully I didn’t, but she became damn persistent last night.”

He looked to the sky and shook his head, “Lord have mercy, that girl needs help. Yer mother’d be pissed. She told me if she was younger she’d show tha’ girl a thing or two about a thing or two. But I’ll refrain from telling Vera though.”

He’d tell her. Those two didn't keep any story from each other.

Damned persistent herself, though, my mother wasn’t selfish. Her persistence stemmed from her need to make sure everyone was happy and safe. She didn’t handle conflict well either. But where I avoided it, she made sure to end it.

“Yeah, mom’d be pissed,” I said.

The day my mother met Abby, she told me she wasn’t the girl for me. I knew it then too, but at the time, I still held out hope that maybe she wasn’t as bad as I imagined—again, my usual way of searching for the best in people.

I know I can’t attribute it all to my nice nature. I’m a guy. You get me drunk and rub against me enough, I’m not going to have a problem unloading myself. I mean if it’s either blue balls or hooking up with Abby—and if circumstances were right for her yet wrong for me—we’d go home together. But that doesn’t mean I won’t regret it the next day. Maybe other guys don’t. But those guys may have never had an Abby in their lives.

“Okay enough of that for now. We’ve given ol’ Abby too much of our morning. Take a look at what we’re working on today,” my dad said as if he could read where my thoughts traveled.

I took a glance at the paperwork. “So we’re just working on the roof over the porch today?” I asked, as I looked at the large church.

“Yeah that’s it. The place is too damned big to get every part done in one day.”

_______________

Around noon my mother showed up and made the day more enjoyable. I’m not meaning that sarcastically either. Without sounding like a psychopath, I have to say my mother is one of my best friends. Yes, it’s lame, but it's true.

Vera Lawson was the pillar of determination as she approached me. Her eyes set in a scowl as she turned her chin to me, “Blake dear, your father tells me you have a headache today.”

“Yes, I’m working on it though, no worries,” I said as I turned my side to her, not wanting to have the conversation. Both my parents kept involved in everything I did.

An example of how involved they were—my mom made me a sign the day after I went to prom my sophomore year.

Why? Well, when I woke up the next morning, there was a sign that said,
“Congratulations Blake—you’re a man!”

From a young age they always wanted to keep an open line of communication with me. I could tell them the ins and outs of my life for the most part. But there were secrets I always kept to myself.

“Good boy,” she said as she squeezed my cheeks and walked back toward my dad. He must have kept my run in with Abby to himself.

I watched as my dad took my mom into a big hug as he always did. He said hugs should never be half-assed. I agree. My dad was a man that made sure his wife was without want. That wasn’t in material possessions though. That was in the fact that he made it a point to let her know she was brilliant and wonderful. She never felt alone in their marriage and he never did either. But what makes their relationship great—they don’t expect the other to do it. There are no demands on each other. They just are.

I climbed back up to the roof where the other guys and Karl were working. Karl made a point to give me his annoying grin. “Looks as though Momma Lawson is checking up on you, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Karl. I’m the boss’ son remember? You don’t want to give me shit. I could get you fired,” I said with a snide smile. Karl could be an ass on purpose, but he had to work at it. He was just too mellow of a dude to be a full-time ass.

“And that doesn’t help your case.” He laughed.

“That wasn’t my intention. I wanted to give you more material,” I said with a laugh myself.

“So you up for Henley’s again tonight? A band is playing that my friend and old babysitter are in,” Karl said.

“Your babysitter?” I laughed.

“Yeah, my babysitter. Don’t worry, it's not outdated. It’s a cover band though,” Karl said. “I hate cover bands. But my friend is cool—he’s the guitar player.”

“Well, I’m never one to turn down a night out,” I said.

_______________

After work, Karl went his own way, and I ran home to clean up before walking to Henley’s. It wasn’t a short walk, but it made more sense on nights when the weather was nice. Again, why sit inside any longer than needed?

The night was quiet and the only person I saw was a kid passing me on his skateboard, which was surprising with the nice weather. Usually there were more people out at night.

When I turned onto the last street, I saw an old Dodge wagon parked in front of Henley’s. It was one of the coolest fucking cars I had seen and I wondered who the lucky guy was who owned it. My dad had an old muscle car—his was a sixty-seven Camaro. It was nice, he was good on the upkeep of it, but that was it. It was nothing compared to this car.

The interior of it was turquoise blue, and it looked to be custom. There was not a scratch on it and the exterior shone a shiny black.

“That’s a nice car, isn’t it?” the same kid on the skateboard I saw earlier asked.

“Yeah, that’s definitely one word to describe it. It’s sexy as hell.”

The kid laughed as he walked toward the alley that met the back entrance of the pub. “Yes. That it is. That it is,” he said as he put his hands in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt and skated away. He kicked it up and carried it in the back door with him.

I went in the front of Henley’s. Every time I stepped through it, I felt like I was coming home.

I pushed my way through the crowd and found Karl sitting at the bar with Gabe. Those two guys have become the closest friends to me since my best friend Wynn got married last year.

That was a shock and a half if you ask me—Wynn getting married. He never dated and then he meets Hannah, and within two months or so they’re hitched. I’m not saying they shouldn’t have; they’re perfect together. It was just strange because she was the first chick he was ever serious with and—BAM, they’re married.

“Blake, my boy,” Gabe yelled over the sound check coming from the stage.

“Hey man, what’s up?” I asked as I leaned on the bar next to him and lifted my chin to the bartender to say
Hello.
She grabbed my brand of beer and popped open the bottle before handing it to me with a wink.

“Not much,” Gabe said before taking a drink. “Have you talked to Wynn lately?” he asked.

“Yeah, I talked to him before I came here. They’re still working on updating Hannah’s mom’s place. I guess it needed serious help,” I said.

Hannah’s father died last year and her parents had lived on a farm that went to shit. Now Wynn was helping get the place back in working order. Which was funny itself—Wynn was not a farmer.

I hadn’t seen much of Hannah or Wynn since they moved out of town. But I didn’t see Wynn often when he was here either. Our friendship has been a constant in both our lives, though we didn't hang out as often as we did as kids.

“We should plan something. I miss those two. They’re newlyweds and haven’t had a chance to celebrate—with taking care of Henry before he died and now fixing up the place,” Gabe said as he nodded to the bartender for another beer.

“Plan something? You’re going to have to elaborate,” I said before taking a long drink of my beer.

“Well, we should surprise them with something. A party,” Gabe said with a proud smile. He was the party planner. I guess it comes with his job and I hate to say it, but it's just his nature to plan parties. Yeah, I'm an ass and I’m stereotyping him, but he’s gay, and he enjoys planning parties. I’m just stating two equal facts. That’s as far as the stereotypes go with the guy, though. I didn’t realize Gabe was gay until several months after hanging out with him and he introduced a date to me one night.

“A party?” I asked

“Yes, a party. They didn’t have one after they married—just that small dinner,” he said.

“I don’t know man. You know Wynn's feelings on parties, but if you keep it small that's cool,” I said as I began looking around the crowded bar. Yeah, I was specifically looking for chicks, but that’s beside the point.

“Oh man,” Gabe said as he stood from his stool. “Where will we have it?” he asked with an enthusiasm I wasn’t expecting.

“I’ll let you think of that,” I said as I noticed a tattooed blonde at the end of the bar. “You pick out the place and date and I will get him there,” I said, continuing to watch her.

“Well, there you have it, Blakey. We’re going to throw a party,” Gabe said as he squeezed my shoulder.

“Okay, sounds good,” I said with distraction, keeping my eyes on the blonde chick. She toyed with the sticker on the side of her water bottle and looked determined to peel it off with her thumb nail, oblivious to the dancers and drunks bumping around her. She held me locked to her movements as I watched her determination at removing a stupid sticker from a bottle.

Her blonde hair looked white, and she wore it pulled back in two short, stubby pony tails. She wasn't frail or delicate—she was fit yet still held a gentleness to go along with it. They were two contrasting attributes that kept my interest.

Tattoos covered her upper arms, and she looked as though she'd kick my ass if I said the wrong thing to her.
This might be interesting
. I left my conversation with Gabe to press my luck at talking to her.

As I leaned next to her at the bar, I towered over her. Twisting my lip to the side, I smiled slyly. It usually worked.

She lifted her brown eyes to me without turning her head and scowled. “What?” she asked.
A personality to match her looks—at least she’s consistent.

“My name’s Blake Lawson. What’s yours?” I asked, and felt anxious for the first time since being twelve at talking to a chick.

She looked back at her bottle and continued to pick at it. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sparky.” Her voice was deep and sultry and it made me want to throw her over my shoulder and take her home with me. But I kept my cool. She obviously didn’t want to hear my typical banter.

“Sparky?” I asked with a laugh and cocked eyebrow. I thought of a good response as I quietly watched her. I could see my watching her made her nervous, despite her trying to appear uninterested. “I’m really not one to bark up the wrong tree. I know exactly which tree I’m barking up.” I leaned closer to her. “So why do you think I’m barking up the wrong tree?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “You seem nice enough, but I’m not interested in being hit on right now. I’m just trying to relax for a few minutes,” she said as the big guy seated next to her stood with a laugh and walked toward the stage. She pulled his now vacant stool toward her and sat on it, while not giving any attention to me.

“Well, I’m not hitting on you. I’m just talking to you. Don’t you hate that term by the way? What does it even mean—hitting on?” I asked as I leaned onto my arms resting on the bar and gave a nod to the bartender as she laughed at my pursuit of what seemed to be a woman uninterested in me. “I only wanted to introduce myself because I haven’t seen you in here before,” I said, as I leaned closer to her and let my arm touch hers. Women always enjoyed that little flirt of a touch. I saw her eyes jump from looking at the contact I made with her.
Yeah she was trying not to let me affect her
.

“I’ve never given it much thought, but you know those sayings always start somewhere. It’s an idiom—as is barking up a tree. Maybe it’s in reference to cave men or some shit,” she said with a raised eyebrow at me with a glare. “While we're on the topic of caveman bullshit—you’re saying you come here often enough to know who has been here before and who hasn’t? Is this your territory?” she asked with a cocky tilt of her head.

"Yes, I’m a regular, but not because I’m picking up chicks regularly. I know the owners," I said. "But no, it's not my territory." I laughed. "So
are
you new around here?" I asked, trying to get her away from the topic of my dating habits.

“Oh good lord, are we going there now?” she laughed. “No, I’m not
new
here. I grew up here, but I just came back to town. From the looks of you, I grew up a few years before you,” she said as she looked me over as if gauging my age by my legs.

“What do you mean?” I asked with skepticism. She couldn’t be much older than me.

“How old are you? Twenty-two… three?” she asked on a scoff.

“I’m twenty-four. You?” I asked.

She threw her head back and laughed to the ceiling. I noticed she had a small tattoo of an elephant behind her right ear as her movement showed the full length of her neck.

Her laugh was loud and if the clanging of the guitar’s sound check wasn’t such a competition, her laugh could have taken over the bar. It was perfect. It was the laugh of someone who felt the humor in life. It consumed her. “I got a decade on you, Sparky,” she finally said as she turned to me, still laughing lightly.

I tilted my head to look at her fully. She didn’t look to be in her mid thirties. She took better care of herself than most people my age. “Why are you laughing?” I asked with the soft voice I tried to use on ladies. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. By the look on her face, it wasn’t working.