Secret for a Song (6 page)

I
took a cab to Sphinx Thursday night. It felt too much like charity, asking Zee
to pick me up. The bar was across town, halfway between where the both of us
lived.

At
that time of night, Sphinx was hopping. The lights had been turned down low and
music played loudly, vibrating in my head before I was even inside. At the
door, a chick about my age asked for my ID. I handed it over and she scanned
for my age.

“Okay,
so I can’t stamp you, since you’re not twenty-one yet,” she said, screwing up
her little pierced nose as if this was a personal regret.

I
nodded, and then I was allowed to roam around the world of legal-aged adults. Drew
and Zee were already there, which I’d guessed from seeing her car outside. They
sat at a little circular table, sipping beers.

“There
she is!” Zee said, holding up her beer bottle to me. “Yay!”

I
smiled, tucked a lock of curly hair behind my ear. “Thanks for inviting me.
This is nice in the evening.”

Drew
laughed. His cane was hooked over his knee. Since the bar stools were high, the
end of it didn’t quite reach the floor. “Don’t lie. It’s trashy and they play
some awful nineties songs to get people to dance, but we like it.”

Zee
leaned in toward me, like she was filling me in on an important secret. “Drew’s
a celebrity with the night crowd.”

My
first thought was,
Because of his FA?
But I pushed it aside for a more
appropriate response. “Really?”

“Zee
exaggerates just a tad.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. His black
jacket sleeves slipped up, exposing the pale flesh of the underside of his arm.
I had to tear my eyes away.

“Not
really.”

I
turned at the voice. Pierce was right behind me, pulling up another stool. I
helped him, and he smiled gratefully. He was still wearing his mask. “Drew
really is a celebrity with this crowd. He has an angel’s voice.”

I
raised my eyebrows and turned back to Drew. “You sing?”

He
raised one hand. “Guilty. I also play a little guitar.”

“That’s
impressive,” I said. “Are you going to play tonight?”

“Nope,
I’m just here to drink,” Drew replied.

“Are
you allowed to drink?” The question flew from my mouth before I had a chance to
stop it. My face felt like it was on fire. “I’m sorry. I...just ignore that.”

“It’s
a valid question,” Drew said. “My doc told me I shouldn’t binge drink because
it can really mess up my already less-than-stellar balance.”

I
smiled a little, grateful for his ability to be tactful when I clearly wasn’t.

“I’m
going to get a drink,” I said, hopping up from the stool. “Does anyone want
anything?”

“I’ll
take a house wine, Saylor. If that’s okay with you, I mean,” Pierce said, his
eyes locking seriously on mine.

Aghast,
I fell silent. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

But
then he burst out laughing. “Oh man, look at your face! I’m kidding, dude.
Relax.”

Zee
laughed and Drew hit him with the head of his cane. “Come on, man, don’t scare
her away,” he said.

“Sorry,
sorry.” Pierce raised both hands. “But you’ll get used to me, I swear.”

I
smiled to show I didn’t mind his ribbing, that I belonged there with them and
their jokes and levity. I was completely out of my element, but adamant that
they couldn’t catch on.

When
I returned to our table with their drinks—turned out the bartender didn’t care
about stamped or unstamped hands—and a smile still on my lips, Pierce and Zee
were gone.

“They’re
over there, dancing while they still can.” Drew gestured to the floor a couple
of yards away.

“And
you can’t anymore,” I said, sitting down. “Or do you just not like to dance?”

“More
of the second, but I like to say it’s the first.” He grinned, took a sip of his
beer. “What about you? Dancer or not?”

“Believe
it or not, I haven’t ever been asked,” I said, taking a sip of my Dr. Pepper.

Drew
looked at me. I expected him to say something like, “Oh, I don’t believe that!”
but he didn’t. I didn’t know whether to be appreciative for the lack of
bullshit or slightly offended that it was so easy for him to believe me.

“You
seem to be doing fairly well,” he said instead. “For having the aggressive
version of MS. I knew a woman when I was little who had it and she had the
tremors within a few months of being diagnosed.”

I
took another sip, as if having liquid in my mouth could be an unending excuse
for not answering his unasked question. But I finally swallowed, shrugged.
“Yeah. I guess I’m lucky.” I couldn’t quite meet his eye.

“
Lucky
is one way to put it. Balanced at the edge of a hole with a man-eating lion in
it is another.” He shook his head. “Sort of what I feel like most of the time.”

 We
sipped at our drinks as the speakers blasted out some Top 40 song or another.
Was it awkward? I couldn’t tell. We’d just met and we weren’t talking, which
automatically might qualify as awkward territory. But somehow, sitting there,
it didn’t feel like it. The silence wasn’t exactly a comfortable one either,
though, because it seemed like we each had a lot we wanted to say, but couldn’t
quite figure out how to start. I’d never experienced anything like it. Even
though I sat there and watched Pierce and Zee dance under the multi-colored
lights, my entire body was tuned in entirely to Drew’s frequency. I was
hyper-aware of his every movement, his hand grasping his beer bottle, his head
nodding to the beat. I was the sunflower to his sun, following his every
movement. The intensity of it all scared me a little. What was it about this
boy? What was happening?

A
few minutes later, Pierce and Zee made their way back to us. Zee’s shirt was
drenched with sweat, her pale skin visible under the wet cotton. Pierce looked
paler than usual, his hair plastered to his forehead.

“I
think we overdid it,” he said, sitting down and pulling his wine close.

“Yeah,
definitely.” Zee was trying to control her breathing. “Wouldn’t it be just
awesome if I passed out here and they had to call an ambulance?”

Drew
grabbed Zee’s purse off the back of her chair. “Okay, I’m taking you home.” He
pulled her keys out.

“No.
Way. In. Hell,” she said, struggling to pull the words out. “You can barely press
the pedals with those wonky-ass feet.”

“He’s
right, though, Zee” Pierce said. “You need to be on your oxygen tonight.” He
looked worried for her in spite of his own obvious over-exertion, his eyebrows
pulled together like one long black caterpillar. I didn’t quite know what to
make of his selflessness. On the one hand, it was touching and noble, but on
the other, I found it completely baffling that he’d downplay his own
discomfort?

“I’ll
take her,” I replied, before my brain had even processed that I was going to
say it. “I can drive; I’m just not allowed to operate my mother’s precious
car.”

“I’ll
come with, just in case she passes out and can’t direct you.” Drew shook his
head and stood up, leaning heavily on his cane.

I
turned to Pierce. “Would you like a ride home, too?”

“Nah,”
he said, looking back out at the dance floor. “I’m gonna rest a bit and then
head back out there. I had my eye on something pretty.”

I
wondered, but not aloud, whether the pretty “thing” he had his eye on would
bother tossing him a glance in his current state: harrowed, pale, sweating, and
wearing a surgical mask.

“Okay,”
I said instead. “See ya.”

I
n
spite of the snow and ice threatening to derail our hastily assembled human
train, Drew, Zee, and I made it safely across the parking lot to Zee’s car. Somehow,
Drew and I managed to wrestle her into the front passenger seat. It wasn’t that
she was heavy; she was just limp and way too tired to do anything for herself. Of
course, Drew’s loss of balance and his cane didn’t help matters, and there were
a few times I was intensely worried that we’d fall in a helpless heap to the
concrete. But finally, she was ensconced in her seat and buckled in. Drew got
in the back as I hurried over to the driver’s side.

By
the time the car was in reverse, Zee had her head resting against the window,
her breathing ragged.

I
looked from her to Drew in the rearview mirror. “Should I drive to the hospital
instead?”

Zee
turned to me with some effort and shook her head. “Don’t. You. Dare. My
mom...kill...” She didn’t finish her sentence, but I got the gist of it.

“Unfortunately,
this has happened before,” Drew said from the back as I hit the gas and shot
down the road. “Zee is famous for pushing herself to the edge.”

“It’s...the
only way...to live,” Zee wheezed.

I
arched an eyebrow. “Yeah. Clearly.”

“You
say that now, but wait till your MS begins to catch up to you,” Drew said. “You’ll
find yourself making not-great choices too. Comes with the territory. Make a
left here and then a right two miles down onto Ashley Street.”

I
turned left. “Have you made some questionable decisions too, then?” I asked
him, looking into the rearview mirror again.

Zee
wheezed and coughed, apparently laughing at my question.

Drew
crinkled up his nose, which made him look adorable in a mischievous sort of
way. “Uh...You could say that. My doctors suspected I had FA because I kept
falling over. I swore the rugs in my house were moving, you know, defying
gravity and rising up to tangle with my feet. Anyway, so after the tests and
everything, when my doctor told me I’d likely lose my ability to walk sometime in
my twenties, I got this crazed, competitive, ‘I’m going to defeat this thing,
you just watch you stupid doctor, you’ mentality going on. So I blew my
paycheck on hiking boots and a hiking backpack.”

“No.”
I glanced up from the road into the rearview mirror yet again. “You didn’t.”

“He
sure did,” Zee said, her breathing much calmer now. Her laugh actually sounded
like a laugh.

“Yep,
I went hiking that weekend. Alone, up in the New Hampshire mountains.”

“And?”
I turned on Ashley Street.

“Go
about a mile and a half and then make a left onto Cimmeron Street.” He cleared
his throat. “And I was lucky my cell phone got a signal out there or I might’ve
died in the wilderness like an asshole. My friend Zach came and got me, took me
home. I was fine once I got some rest and took off those damn boots.”

“Wow.”
I shook my head slowly, trying to imagine someone with Drew’s limping, slow
gait hiking a mountain. “Wow.”

“Yep.
We all do it. Stupid decisions based on panic and defiance.”

“Mm
hmm,” Zee said. “Like me. I just found out I’ve got mets in my lungs. Can’t
stop me from dancing or doing other stuff, though. I guess I’ll learn at some
point.” She looked at me, grinning. “Maybe.”

It
made me vaguely uncomfortable, talking to them like I was a part of their club.
I had no right to do it, to claim their friendship through this channel, by
pretending to be just as sick, just as unfortunate.

But
a part of me loved the power. I loved being the girl I’d wanted to be since the
day I swallowed that needle at seven years old, I loved wearing the badge of
disease proudly instead of clutching it in my sweaty hand while my therapist posited
why, exactly, I was so screwed up.

I
turned on Cimmeron Street and Zee pointed to a squat brick house to our right.
“That’s me. You can keep my car. Just come pick me up tomorrow and we’ll hang
out again.”

“Only
if you promise you won’t dance,” I teased.

Zee
laughed a little shakily. “I promise.”

“Want
me to help you to your door?”

“Nope,
I’m feeling better.” She opened the car door and heaved herself out into the
crystal cold night. “See ya, losers.”

“Bye.”

Drew
got out and made his way around to where Zee’d been sitting. He gave her a
brief hug, one I examined very closely. Could they really be such great
friends, going through such similar, life-changing experiences and be strictly
platonic? The big cynical bitch inside me smirked at the very idea. But I saw
no evidence of anything but friendship in the hug, at least from Drew’s side.
Zee might’ve held on just a second too long. Then again, she
was
tired. Maybe
it was just that.

As
we pulled out of her driveway in her car, I watched her hobble up the drive and
let herself in to her house. When the door closed behind her, the night was
silent and still once again, as if she’d never existed. The world went on.

I
drove back down the street, the streetlights striping the car in brief flashes
of orange. I felt Drew in the passenger seat beside me, his knees up because
his legs were too long for the small space, even with the seat pushed as far
back as it would go. “So, where do you want to go next?”

“Home,
maybe.”

“Oh.”
I was disappointed, and a little angry at myself for being disappointed. What
the hell did I expect? That he’d want to go back to Sphinx and make out?

“You
can come in. If you want to, I mean.”

I
looked at him, and he was watching me, a small smile at the corners of his
mouth. Did he mean he wanted us to fuck? Was this some sort of guy code that I
didn’t know? With my limited history of interaction with my peers, I tended to
carefully scrutinize every word people said and what each of those words could
possibly mean. It was like those pictures that, at first glance, looked like a
jumble of colors and meaningless scribbles. Only when you stared really
intently, looked past the thing to the
essence
of the thing, that you
saw the wondrous house or boat or person that the artist had wanted you to see
in the first place.

I
really didn’t want to have sex with Drew. It wasn’t that I hadn’t had casual
sex before. And I definitely found Drew painfully, ridiculously attractive. A
kind of attractive that seeped past his hair and eyes and height to his bones,
his flesh and muscles.

But
there was something else about him, too. Something about the chemistry or
whatever between us that I didn’t want to fuck up. And I knew casual fucking
would definitely fuck it up. “Um...”

“I
thought we could listen to some music, hang out. I’m sort of worn out.”

“Oh.
Okay. That sounds good.”

His
apartment wasn’t very much farther, and I slid easily into a parking space
reserved for him. “You don’t have a car?”

“Nope.
Like Zee said, my driving does leave a lot to be desired since I can’t really control
my ankles that well. Plus, I can either hop a bus or ride with Zee for most
anything.”

We
got out, plumes of white smoke eking out of our noses and mouths as we
breathed. The black asphalt of the lot glittered with ice under the
streetlights.

“Pretty,”
I said.

Drew
laughed, looking around the parking lot. It was hemmed in on all sides by condos,
ugly cream-colored budget things. “If you say so.”

His
apartment was only a few steps from the parking space, with narrow windows that
looked out onto the sidewalk. He had a doormat shaped like a guitar. I wondered
if he’d picked it out himself, browsing the aisles at some department store
patiently until he found just the right one.

“First
floor. I lucked out; I started renting this place before my diagnosis.” He slid
his key into the lock and cocked his head at me. “Do you do that yet? Divide
your time before diagnosis and after?”

I
didn’t really remember a time before I was sick, so I shook my head.

“You
will. It happens without a conscious decision. Weird how stuff works out that
way. It usually annoys me when people make stupid assumptions about sick
people. You know, that we all, like, have this innate sense of wonder at life
now and stuff like that. But some things really do happen across the board.”

We
walked in then, and I was struck by how nice it smelled. I’d never been to a
guy’s apartment before. All the boys—all three of them—I’d been with in high
school had lived at home with their moms and dads. We’d groped around in dank
basements or on floral couches after their parents were asleep.

This
was a much more pleasant experience than I’d expected. I always imagined that a
guy’s place would smell like socks and old food, but Drew’s place smelled like
clean laundry and cookies. It wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t OCD-clean either. It
looked homey and lived-in, and that was it.

“I
like it,” I pronounced, and then immediately felt like an ass. That wasn’t
presumptuous at all.

But
Drew just laughed. “I’m glad. Sit.” He gestured at a puffy black leather couch.
“Would you like something to drink or eat?”

“Do
you have Dr. Pepper?”

He
did that nose crinkly thing I was starting to really like. “No. I didn’t know
people actually drank that stuff.”

“Water
would be great then.”

He
disappeared into the kitchen. I slipped off my jacket before looking around his
living room. There was the requisite thirty-inch flat screen TV and Xbox
controller. His walls were bare except for where they were obscured by bookcases.
When I looked closely, I realized only one shelf actually held books. The
others were filled with CDs.

“I
enjoy music.”

I
turned and took the glass of water from him. “Thanks. And yeah, I noticed.”

“Most
of these were gifts from friends or CDs from other bands I’ve met playing
around the east coast. What kind of music do you like?”

We
were standing close, our arms almost touching as we examined the contents of his
bookcases. I could feel my skin tingle in anticipation, as if it wanted to
reach out and bridge the gap. My eyes lingered again on the sheer height
difference between us. I was five-foot-six—quite solidly average for a girl. Even
though Drew was slightly stooped and leaning on his cane, I barely came to his
shoulder. 

“Any
kind,” I said. The truth was I hadn’t listened to music in a long time. I liked
to read instead, medical books. And I couldn’t read when there was noise.

“Come
on. You have to have a preference.” He turned to face me, his hoodie unzipped
and hanging off of him like loose skin.

I
shrugged, my face heating up. I hated being put on the spot. “Um, Carly Rae Jepsen?”

I
realized the moment after I said it that the only reason I’d named her was
because we’d just heard her song play in the bar. Also, it occurred to me that
that wasn’t the coolest music I could’ve picked.

Drew’s
face sort of sagged, his mouth falling open. “Seriously? That’s not music.”

“Hmm.
That sounds a little judgey,” I replied, taking a sip of water.

He
raised his free hand, surrendering. “Okay, fair enough. But you’ve got to
listen to what I consider music. Then you can judge for yourself.” He reached
past me, his arm brushing my shoulder, and slid a CD out of a shelf at
eye-level with me. “Carousel Mayhem,” he said, a sort of grand flourish in his
voice. “Arguably one of the best young musicians of our time.”

“All
right.” I walked over to his stereo and sat cross-legged in front of it. “Lay
it on me.”

He
pushed play and sat next to me on the floor. It was a little weird, a little
too intimate, sitting there with him, listening to something that apparently gave
him so much pleasure. I watched him out of the corner of my eye while
pretending not to watch him, and also while concentrating on the music so I’d
have something more intelligent to say at the end than, “Cool.” It was
exhausting. But after a few minutes and into the second song, I felt myself
relax a little bit. The music was nice, more upbeat than I’d expected, and much
more melodious than I would’ve thought from the name.

Drew
paused it after the second song ended. “So?”

“It
was pretty good,” I said, nodding my head. “Not as ‘whiny white boy’ as I
expected.”

Drew
laughed. “Well, that’s a relief.”

I
gestured to the guitar leaning against his wall. It was one of those sweet
wooden affairs, sleek and glossy. “How long have you played?”

“Since
I was a preteen. It was sort of my escape from the world.”

“So
your childhood wasn’t idyllic.” I didn’t look at him when I said it, because I
wanted it to seem like a nonchalant statement. The truth was I wanted to know
all about him with an intensity that could be described as voracious, or if you
were feeling uncharitable, stalker-ish. I don’t know why—if it was the FA, or
the fact that someone with this degenerative, life-wrecking disease still had a
whole other life outside of it. When it came to me, my disease and I were one.
I had no hobbies, really, no memories, outside of it. But this man, apparently,
did.

“You
could say that.” He went and got the guitar, then came and sat beside me again.
I watched as his fingers caressed the strings, coaxing out sounds that, in
turn, caressed me. “My parents were junkies. They stayed together only because
they wanted to get high together, and they were too stupid to use birth
control.”

I
watched his bent neck, the soft skin on the back of it like velvet. There was
no indication of anger in his voice, in his posture. How could that be? “Wow.
That’s awful.”

“Yep.”
He kept strumming as he talked, the soft, tinkling music at complete odds with
what he was telling me. “There were three of us, all boys. My brothers loved
it. As far back as I can remember, they walked around with the same people my
parents were, for lack of a better term, ‘friends’ with.”

“So
you escaped.”

“‘Escaped’
makes me sound braver than I really am. I ran away. Had enough.”

I
put my hand on his without even thinking, temporarily stopping the strumming.
Sometimes people did things completely at odds with their personalities. That
was one of my moments; definitely one of my better ones. “I’m glad you ran
away.”

We
stared at each other, and I felt the air around us tense up. It was a
kiss-or-not moment. Drew took a deep breath, his shoulders and chest expanding
until I felt utterly dwarfed. He touched my cheek with the tips of his fingers.
“There’s something about you, Grayson,” he said.

When
he didn’t finish his sentence, I pulled back a little. Laughed to show I wasn’t
nervous or anything, just curious. “
What
about me?”

But
he just shook his head, a smile in his eyes. “Want to listen to some more
music?”

 We
listened to a
lot
more music. After about an hour, I got to my feet, a
little unsteady from having been sitting for so long. Drew stood too, and when
he saw me wobbling, reached out for me. But he didn’t have his cane. My lack of
balance caused him to lose
his
balance, and we almost toppled to the
floor. His cheeks flashed a deep crimson. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s
okay.” And then, just to change the topic, I grasped verbally on to the first
thing I could think of. “Hey, if you need any help with that petition for the
kid who wants euthanasia, I’m free. No homework.” I smiled to show I was poking
fun at myself. As if that would alleviate his embarrassment at losing control
of his own body.

But
he seemed to be grateful for it. Or maybe he honestly did need my help.
“Really?”

“Totally.”

“That’d
actually be great,” he said, handing me my jacket from the sofa. “I was going
to hit some of the stores downtown Saturday afternoon.”

“Okay.”
I shrugged my jacket on and pulled Zee’s car keys from my pocket. Saturday was
less than two days away, and Zee hadn’t seemed to be in any position to go
jetting off anywhere between now and then.“If Zee doesn’t mind us hanging on to
her car, I can pick you up. If you want.”

He
smiled, blue eyes lighting up. “Sure. How about two o’clock?”

“Two
o’clock it is.”