In the Lyrics (35 page)

“Colby,” I wave him over like I own the place. He doesn’t say a word as he strolls over to me. His jaw is clenched and I can see it flexing as he bites his tongue, probably in a dire attempt to stop himself from telling me off. I abandoned him to live my dream. I deserve to be told to stick it where the sun don’t shine. But other than that little fact, what does he have to be upset about? His dad didn’t just die. “I’ll have two more, and this time I’m going to need a chaser. A beer would be great.” Reaching into my purse, I pull out my wallet and grab my credit card from inside. Holding it out in front of me, Colby hesitates to grab it.

“Your money’s no good here, Hensley Bradley!” a voice calls out from behind me. Mitch grins as he walks up beside me, sits down on a stool, and throws his arm around my shoulders. “How the hell are you, darlin’?”

My head jerks up to look at Colby. In the past, remarks like that from another man would get them clobbered, but he doesn’t seem to be affected by Mitch’s comment. The mere fact that he doesn’t seem bothered stings worse than the alcohol that coats my throat.

Who are you kidding? Why should he be bothered? I’m nothing more than a thing of the past to him. I’m a complete stranger. At least the new me is.

“I’ve been better.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you here with us tonight. Drink and eat as much as you want. Maybe you’ll even be inclined to give us a little show.” He shrugs.

“I don’t think I’m in any shape for that tonight, but how about before I fly out, I’ll stop by and do a few songs?”

“That’s my girl. And I’m real sorry to hear about your father.” He leans over and gives me a small squeeze before walking off. When I turn back around, two shots, and a beer are sitting in front of me. Colby is nowhere in sight.

My throat scorches as I drink my third shot and the sound of the stool moving beside me tells me it’s now occupied. I don’t have to turn to see who it is. I can smell his cologne.

“When’d you start drinking like a fish?” Colby brings a beer bottle towards his mouth, his lips slowly parting before he holds the rim to his mouth and takes a sip.

“When’d you
start
drinking?” I snap back remembering that he never drank before when we were together.

“Touché.” He holds his bottle out to me. Grabbing mine, I hold it up and we clink bottles.

There’s so much we could say, that needs to be said, but neither of us makes the first move. Instead we sit in silence. Downing my fourth shot, I know I’m drunk. Still to this day, I very rarely drink. If we’re at a function, I might have a glass of wine or something, but it’s never like this. My head is spinning as I close one eye and try to read the small letters on my cell phone screen. It’s from Dusty. Straining, I want so badly to read what it says, but my drunken brain won’t let me.

I know I don’t deserve for him to talk to me after how distant I’ve been to everyone. Giving them the cold shoulder and living my life probably wasn’t the best move, but from the moment I belted my first note, my mom’s been pressuring me to flee this town. Once the opportunity knocked on my door, I took it and didn’t look back. I wish I would have looked back. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like such a failure to my friends.

Colby breaks the silence, “Need some assistance?”

Giggling, I respond, “It depends. Are you drunk too?”

“Hensley, I’m working. No, I’m not drunk. But I can see you are. Here, give it to me.” He sounds annoyed as he holds out his hand, and I place my cell phone in it. My hand grazes his, and as soon as I feel his skin touch mine, my heart rate speeds up.

Trying to control my thoughts, I whisper, “It’s from Dusty.”

“Yeah, it is. It says, ‘Hang in there, baby girl. You’re strong and beautiful. Call me.’”

My racing heart drops into my stomach. My D still cares. Despite the distance, he’s still my best friend and he still cares about me. I’d feel on top of the world if I weren’t so drunk I can’t see straight.

“Do you want me to text him back?” He spins my phone around in his hand as he sits beside me.

Turning my head, I look Colby in the eyes, “Yes. Just type, ‘I love you.’”

We both freeze for a few seconds as he takes in the words I just said. I don’t blink as I stare into his eyes, wishing he would understand my secret message. I love
you
, dummy!

He pauses, and his hands don’t move. He just stares blankly back at me. I don’t know what he’s waiting for, but I wish I did.

“All right.” Quickly typing the message, he presses send and hands my phone back to me.

“I’ll have two more shots, please,” I request, knowing good and well I don’t need them. But after that little weird incident, I feel like I need to drink some more.

He looks wary. “Are you sure? You look pretty wasted to me. How are you getting home?”

“Always so responsible and chivalrous,” I croon under my breath. “I am wasted, Colby, but trust me, no amount of alcohol is going to drown out the pain I feel right now. So please, can you bring me another two?” Getting up off the stool, he walks around me and behind the bar. Pouring another two, he grabs my phone and dials a number.

“Hey, it’s Colby. I have a lady who needs a ride. Be here in fifteen minutes.” Hanging up, he walks away. It was sweet of him to call me a cab, but I don’t need him saving me anymore. I’m grown now. I can take care of myself.

Grabbing a napkin from behind the bar, I scribble down a message for Mitch. It probably looks like chicken scratch. I leave my number so he can reach me about playing a small gig and fold the napkin and place my empty glass on top of it.

“Goodbye, Colby,” I mumble. I always was an emotional drunk. Making my way out the front door, I lean against the brick wall and wait for my cab to come. I’m not drunk enough to ignore the consequences of drunk driving.

Instead, I hum a song to myself.

“I know that song,” the same familiar voice of my past states as he nears me. The dim light of a street light highlights Colby’s face.

“Colby,” I mumble. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but his name escapes my lips before I can stop it.

Walking closer to me he begs, “Hensley, don’t do this.” He doesn’t have to say what he doesn’t want me to do. I already know. I can feel it. From the moment I saw his face behind the bar and heard his voice, I could feel myself slipping. “Don’t do it. Please just get in this cab and go back to wherever you came from. Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

Drunk or not, I can tell he is in pain. It may not be the gut wrenching agony of losing a loved one, but to me the pains are equivalent. Losing him was the worst kind of hurt I’ve ever experienced. But standing here, face to face with the only man I’ve ever loved, the ache in my heart is unimaginable. I want so badly to reach out and touch him, to pull him near and hug him, but I can’t. There’s a boundary I know I can’t cross. Who am I to sulk when I’m the one that inflicted this pain on us both?

“Colby, I’m sorry.” Leaning up from the wall, I grasp my phone and check the time. The cab should be here any minute. I walk towards the road, leaving him standing near the exit sign of the bar. The lights of a car beam across my body, and the driver puts it into park and then gets out.

“Excuse me, did either of you call a cab?” he asks.

I nod, and he comes around to the other side of the car and opens the back door. I climb in without looking back, because I know if I do, if I see his face, I’m liable to throw all reasoning out the window and run back to him. To my safe haven, to the only real place I know I’ll feel at home, in his arms.

WATCHING HER DRIVE away felt worse than the first time she left me. At least then there was hope I would see her again. I had faith that we could make it through anything, but I’d been wrong. The distance and time proved too big a barrier in our relationship, but the breaking point was that night. Michael was our breaking point, not the miles that hung between us. I’m not putting all of the blame on her. It’s my fault we grew apart too. I’m no saint. As much as I’d like to think I did everything right, I know that’d be a lie. I remember sitting for days waiting for her phone calls, I’d listen to old voice messages over and over just to hear her voice. When she did call, I felt like I could breathe again, but our calls were always cut short. Dusty said I should just give her some time to get acquainted with her new lifestyle, but as time went on, nothing changed. Things only got worse when I flew there and all hell broke loose. That was an eye opener. Realizing I was second and music was her real number one hurt like shit. But I set her up for it. I failed us. If I would have just agreed to sign with Smashtown, I would have been the one to leave. I would have made sure we stayed in contact through everything, and I wouldn’t have let the attention and stardom change me.

Who knows what I would have done? It’s just easier to play the good guy and throw the blame on her. It’s what I’ve been doing for the past eleven months. But seeing her here, tonight, the look in her eyes, she looked lost, like a woman begging for mercy without words. Holding my fists at my sides, I watch her step inside the cab knowing that I failed her too.

“Dude, what are you doin’ out here? There are people waiting,” Mitch shouts from inside the open door. He seems irate.

“I just needed some fresh air. Give me a sec and I’ll be good.”

Pull yourself together, man. She isn’t the girl you fell in love with.

Walking back inside, I serve the people standing at the bar and then walk over to where she was sitting. Picking up her trash and bottle, I notice a small paper folded under her empty glass.

Hensley 865-452-0102

Looking left then right, no one is paying attention.
Did she leave this for me? Why would she do that? Does she still care about me?
No, it couldn’t be. I overheard Mitch ask her to play something. Maybe she left it for him.
Or maybe she really did leave it for me.
Grabbing the napkin, I stuff it into my jeans pocket. Whether it’s for me or not, I don’t want her telephone number circulating the bar. At least that’s what I tell myself.

My shift comes to an end, so I take it upon myself to drink a much needed beer. Mitch already left for the night and all of the chairs are put up. Except one on the small stage. Grabbing my bottle, I walk through the vacant tables, and climb the stairs. My old guitar is still up here. Mitch bought it from me a while ago, claiming people who weren’t talented needed it for open mic night. The memory makes me laugh out loud. This was my baby, until Hensley came along. But still, grabbing the neck of it, my hands fit perfectly around its body, just like they did around hers.

Dammit. Why do you keep referring everything to her?

Sitting down on the chair, I bring the guitar to my lap and strum it. The strings are all worn out and it needs to be tuned, but no one is here to hear me so I play it anyhow. It’s strange how fast I remember the movements of my fingers and the strokes. It’s kinda like riding a bike. You can go decades without doing it, but yet once you climb onto the seat and grip the handles, your feet know just what to do to peddle you forward.

For a few minutes, I get lost in the sound. My mind eases, and the stresses of today fade. Until I hear the sound of a door creaking. I stop playing and wait, but there’s nothing else.
That’s creepy.
I know the alarm system isn’t set. I normally do that when I leave, but the closed sign is up and all of the lights are off. I wonder what the heck is going on. Setting the guitar down and securing it to its stand, I stand up and look around the room. It’s empty.

“Hello…hello, it’s just me.”

Hensley.

What is she doing back here, and more importantly how did she get here? Looking out the window, I can still see her parked car. At least she’s not dumb enough to drive drunk.

I hear the sound of her boots walking on the old wood floors as her shadow appears. Jumping off the stage, I walk closer. “Did you forget something?”

Have you ever seen one of those sappy romance movies where the woman runs into the man’s arms and kisses him? I only know from being forced by Hensley to watch them with her every Sunday for months on end. The kiss looks so sweet and romantic, but it reminds us that it’s only a movie and things like that don’t actually happen in real life. When was the last time you saw something like that happening? Right, I didn’t think you could think of one. It’s because it’s fake. The movies are fake, the songs that make you think things like those scenes happen, they’re all fake.

Those kisses don’t really exist…but as Hensley saunters towards me, my heart stops beating. I’m standing in the middle of a rundown bar hoping that the universe is in my favor and she kisses me, like those fake movies. Her face looks like an angel’s for a split second before she trips over the mop resting against a table and falls flat on her ass.

I stifle a laugh as I bend down. “Are you okay?”

“My ego isn’t but my butt is.” She smiles bashfully.

Kneeling in front of her I ask, “What are you doing here?”

She’s sitting on her ass with her legs sprawled out in front of her. Playing with her fingers like she used to do, she says, “I always said if I ever got the chance to kiss you again I wouldn’t pass it up. I know you asked me not to do this, but I’m drunk and I hope you’ll forgive me.”