dissonance. (a Böhme novel) (9 page)

The hospital was at least kind enough to move me to a different floor when I asked. I couldn’t hear the persistent cries any more, and I assumed it happened before with mothers who handed their children over to strangers. The sympathetic smiles from the nurses pissed me off though.

I went home and locked myself in my room. Neither my mother nor my brother Emmet could connect with me. I cried for days until I finally came to the decision that the crying, the tears, the darkness, the feeling sorry for myself, the sadness—it wasn't me. My father had not raised me to wallow in my mistakes.
“When you do something wrong, you set your mind to making things right in the best way you can, Brecken.”

Granted, at the time, he referred to me breaking my mother’s favorite lantern. A pregnancy with the wrong man was a far cry from that. But, I reminded myself that giving the child to a better home was the best way to make things right. I was in no place to raise a baby. I could not ask my mother to help me. She had given so much of her life to help my brother with his child.

I had to break the cycle that obviously afflicted my family—get pregnant or get someone pregnant at a very young age, raise them and lose your life. It was a selfish thought. But I couldn’t do as they had. My mother had given up so much in her life, having me at a young age. The best thing to do was give my daughter to someone with an intact family. My fractured family was no place to raise yet another child.

The only way to move forward was to not think of her and to close the door on that part of my life.

I threw the letter in a drawer, and taking a deep breath, turned to my closet. I needed to spend time organizing, because organizing something—no matter what—always helped.

A knock struck the wall before Conall poked his head through the barely opened door.

“Come in,” I said with a quick glance in his direction.

“Hey, you going to Karl’s thing tonight?” he asked. Conall thought the world of Karl and followed him everywhere. When Karl left for the military, Conall was only fourteen and he dreamed of joining him there. I’m not sure what changed his mind, but his sticking around to go to school lessened the stress of watching him grow older.

“Yeah, I am. How come?” I asked.

“I have to play there tonight with my other band and Elizabeth quit—you want to sing with me?” he asked with a big grin. He knew I hated singing in front of people. I didn’t have a problem singing at home with him when he needed to practice, but on stage hiding behind drums was more my forte.

“I don’t think so big guy,” I said, as I turned to pick through my dresses. I pulled a black one out with a neckline that reminded me of the 1950s and Conall whistled behind me.

“You going to wear that, Auntie? I thought you warded off men.” He gave me an annoying smile. “Does this have to do with that smiley guy from last night?” he asked.

“Just because I want to wear a dress doesn’t mean I’m trying to attract someone,” I said.
Okay, maybe it does.

He smirked and I gave him a dirty look. “Okay, I will let you off on that one. I won’t push it. But you’re going to sing with me tonight,” he said, and I started to open my mouth in protest, but he raised his hand to shush me. “Can you give Jess a ride since I have to be there early?”

“Of course buddy,” I said as I gave his cheeks a squeeze that bordered on abusive. “Oh, and stop calling me auntie. And don’t you ever fucking shush me again,” I said with a gentle slap to his face.

__________

As much as I tried to prolong it, Jess and I still managed to arrive at the Böhme early. I parked around the side of the building. and as we walked in I noticed another work from the notorious graffiti artist across the street. They chose an old coffee shop to place their message.
What are you hiding?

We both walked toward the painting without suggesting it to the other. It occupied Jess as much as me.

The characters were androgynous. Their identity lost, as the identity of the artist lost to the vastness of the city. Nothing mattered but the pie sitting between them, and I assumed nothing mattered to the artist except his paintings between him and the city. Who was going to make the first move? Who was willing to take the first piece of the pie?

The painting made me uncomfortable. It was an odd sense of understanding that came with it. They each waited for the next move of the other person, as each of us wait in life—waiting for someone else to make the first step. We hid from ourselves and each other but were desperate for the same thing. Yet, sitting in silence, neither is ready to move forward.

“Why do you think they do it?” Jess asked. I turned to her with a smile. She was a tall, strong blonde, who had been with Conall since they were thirteen. They were perfect together. Neither had a wish to be with anyone else; they were sickening they were so sweet. She was also brilliant, and I had to admit to myself I was jealous of them having what I once thought I had.

“I have no idea. They must need answers, as the rest of us do,” I said as I turned back to the painting one last time before walking to the Böhme.

When we walked into the gallery Conall was speaking with his band mates. I wanted to take longer to get here, but in true Brecken form, I was ready to leave an hour before I needed to be. I was nervous as hell.

When I’m nervous, I need to move. I even took the time to get a work out in before getting ready. Along with my need to organize, punching things helped relieve stress. I made the trip to the gym to punch out some of my agitation.

I became agitated with myself because I wanted to see Blake, but I didn’t at the same time. I decided years ago not to put any hope in a relationship. Relationships were not important to me. But, today seemed to hold importance to me.
Blake
seemed of more importance to me. But this entire day had moved in fast forward—rushing me to get to this place and wait for Blake. I hadn’t had this anxiousness at seeing another person in years. 

I took a deep breath, and on the exhale I pushed my thoughts to the side. I’m a grown woman. There’s no reason to be this unsure and nervous. My mom once told me, “
Brecken—boys are going to make you nervous. Boys are going to make you want to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Boys are going to piss you the fuck off. Love and life do that to us. But never forget who you are, never change yourself for anyone. The universe will lay the right path for you. Don’t try to mold the universe to what you want. It will bring you what you need.”

I absently watched Conall’s band put their instruments on the stage. I hadn’t met his band yet and guilt for not seeing them live struck me. Conall noticed our arrival and gave me a wave to come over as Jess went to get something to drink.

“Hey Aunt Breck, come meet everyone,” Conall said as he put his hand atop my shoulder, pulling me into the circle of his band mates. With his other hand he pointed to each of them in turn as he gave me their names: “Stephen, Colin, Matthew, and Pete.”

“Okay, who’s the drummer?” I asked.

The one named Matthew nodded. “That would be me,” he said.

“Cool man. I can't wait to hear you guys tonight,” I said.

“So I heard you’re going to sing a couple songs with us,” the one named Pete said with a smile.

“Did you now?” I asked as I turned to Conall and gave him the eye.

He shrugged and gave me a smile. “Sorry, I knew you'd do it, no need to give me the evil auntie eyes.”

I punched him in the shoulder lightly, before he left to find Jess. She had stopped to speak with a young kid with dark hair. The kid nodded toward me and I nodded back, wondering why yet another young guy was giving me his attention.

“So, you’re in a band with Conall too?” Matthew asked.

“Yep, I play drums,” I said as I stretched my back. I normally wore chucks. The heels I wore today were killing me.

“I don’t understand how either of you could be in that band,” Matthew said.

“Yeah, I get it. Cover bands aren’t the best, but being in one helps pay the bills.” I smiled as Conall walked back toward us with Jess and his friend.

Matthew smiled. “I meant being in it with Saul and Jonesie. I don't see how either of you can do it. Those guys are full of themselves, man,” Matthew said.

“Yeah, they aren’t the most fun to be around,” Conall said as he nodded to Matthew and stepped in to join the conversation.

“Brecken, meet Mason. He’s new around here. He plays drums too,” Conall said as he waved his hand toward Mason. Okay, that explains why he was looking at me that way.

“Hi Mason, nice to meet you. You were at the show last night, weren’t you? How long have you been a drummer?” I asked. Speaking of drumming, my neck was stiff from last night’s show too. Add that to these heels and I thoroughly ached. As I waited for Mason’s response, I put my hands atop my hips and stretched my lower back with a tilt of my shoulders. I turned my head from side to side to stretch my neck and when I turned to the right I saw him—Blake.

Every movement of the others and every word wavered from my acknowledgement as my attention went to him. Everyone in the circle of conversation could have shrunk into gnomes around me and I wouldn’t have noticed because Blake occupied my every thought in that moment.

He wore black pants that weren’t tight and damn it if he wasn’t wearing chucks along with them. His shirt was a plain gray tee, and the sleeves were snug around his biceps. He was more subtle in his dress than his personality.

He was in deep conversation with the guy he was with last night. It was the tall guy with perfectly trimmed dark hair and bright blue eyes. Both men wore glasses tonight, and I smiled as I imagined the two of them planning it together.
Hey Blake, you wearing your glasses? Yeah man, me too.

Blake met my gaze through those plastic rimmed frames of his, and the same big smile he wore last night filled his face. I swear, that guy’s smile was the most genuine I’ve ever had the privilege to see. It consumed him and if Beethoven could package the essence of
Ode to Joy
in one small package, it would be Blake Lawson’s smile.

“So you use a Zildjan kit,” Mason said, bringing my attention back to him. Conall and his band had returned to the stage to set up their equipment, leaving me alone with Mason. I turned my back fully to Blake and his friend to put my focus on my fellow drummer.

“Yes, I do. What do you use?” I asked as I crossed my ankles and tilted my hip just enough. What the hell am I doing? I’m acting ridiculous in the hopes that Blake might notice the curve of my side or the line of my dress.

Yeah, on stage when playing my drums, I want to be just a musician. But right here, waiting for him to talk to me, I was just a woman. Stubbornness be damned I wanted Blake Lawson to want me.

“I don’t have a kit of my own. I played on any I had the opportunity to use back home. Don’t hate me, but I love to play on an electronic kit,” he said with a timid smile. “Traditionalists are offended by them, but they still play an electric guitar. I find that hypocritical. So if you’re a traditionalist, get over it,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve been here for a few weeks and you’re the first drummer I’ve met since moving,” he said as his smile turned to a boyish one that showed his age.

He was a cute kid. He was several inches taller than me and I was wearing four inch heels. He possessed innocence, but his eyes held a profound depth. He was at the age where he still hadn’t grown into his body. But by the way he carried himself he demanded attention.

“What style do you prefer?” I asked, completely interested in his response. There’s something to meeting people who share my love of music. The rest of the world disappears as we discuss what makes our hearts beat.

“Well, I play punk, rock, and industrial usually. But as long as the message is the same I don't mind the genre,” he laughed as he traced the toe of his skater shoe across the floor as if he had it resting atop an invisible skateboard.

“What do you mean by message?” I smiled. Every musician possesses a need to tell something in their work. If not, they end up being a musician in the form of Jonesie—loads of talent but more interested in sticking his dick somewhere than in creating something worth a damn. Mason was capable of doing something worth a damn. He needed to.

Mason's eyes danced along the wall behind me while he pulled his pierced lip in deep thought. I studied his face as he contemplated his response to me. He had his lobes stretched and his hair cut short to his scalp. It was that one cut that lays perfect but isn't a buzz. He was cute as hell for a kid.

For a kid? Who am I trying to fool, he was closer in age to Blake than I was and here I am interested in Blake. I might as well go for the kid too.
No, not going to happen
. But it did put things into perspective. Blake was young.

Mason finally decided on his thought, and helped me escape mine. “Well, there’s crazy shit going on in the world, and music is an excellent tool to enlighten. I want to enlighten people. I want people to understand they aren't alone in the world. It’s scary as hell and we all need to know we aren’t alone.”

“That’s fucking cool and a breath of fresh air. Seriously, I love hearing that. So, if you pulled out your MP3 player now, what bands are on it?” I asked, even more curious of his interests after hearing his last comment.