Twenty seven, p.25
Twenty-Seven, page 25
Garrett walked on to the stage, and I photographed him nervously rubbing his undoubtably sweaty hands against his dark jeans. He looked like he might vomit. I wondered if he was more nervous about the number of people in the audience, or the small possibility that Lizzie might turn him down in front of a sold-out crowd on New Year’s Eve.
Where might one acquire the level of confidence it takes to pull off such a grandiose proposal? It was so perfectly tailored for a girl who’s spent her life swimming in the romantic ideologies of classic literature.
Between my thoughts and the sound of my camera clicks, I heard bits and pieces of his lyrics. Heart on fire, soul come alive, and I see forever in your eyes. There was more, but I wasn’t focused on the words so much as the faces. Finn at the piano, in his bold tortoise-shell glasses. Garrett, pale and sweaty at the microphone, eyes shut with palpable emotion animating every inch of his body. Lizzie, jaw practically on the floor and stars in her eyes. She had no idea what was coming. The arena, a midnight sky of blue flashlight stars.
The song faded, and I clicked my phone open to check the time. 11:53. The time was now. The crowd roared so loudly Finn had to put a finger to his lips to quiet them.
“Thank you, guys. Thank you so much,” Garrett said, humbled by the reaction. “I, uh – I wrote this song last week, while I was awake in the middle of the night, watching this beautiful creature breathing in the moonlight beside me. My chest started to ache, and I dreamt of a whole life with this person. I thought I’d been in love, so many times,” he looked over at Lizzie, “so many times, babe.”
Jake walked over to her and offered his hand. She froze, shocked and flustered. She shook her head ‘no.’ Jake smiled at her, nodding his head ‘yes,’ and coaxing her to the front of the stage where the spotlight found her and reflected the sparkle of her skirt in every direction of the auditorium.
“But it’s never been like this before,” Garrett professed as he got down on one knee. I rushed to the front of Will’s drum kit, and knelt behind them, getting Garrett’s perspective of Lizzie’s face.
I took snap after snap of Lizzie shaking, nearly in tears, and Garrett fumbling around in his pocket, probably wishing he’d worn looser jeans. I took a shot with the light focused on the crowd’s thousand cell phone stars, and I captured the silhouettes of Garrett and Lizzie in the forefront. Half a second later, Garrett went for it.
“Elizabeth May Wallace, I’ve been wandering around the world missing a piece of my soul and I never even realized it until I found it in you. I fucking love you. Will you marry me?”
The crowd chanted “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” in unison so loudly you could almost feel the sound waves. Garrett pulled the ring out of his jeans pocket and placed it on her shaking finger as she nodded her head in vigorous affirmation. She pulled him up from his knee and into her arms, kissing him sweetly and laughing through tears.
“That’s how it’s fucking done, mate!” Finn exclaimed from the piano, “and right on time!” He pointed at the large screen at the back of the stage used for the show’s video graphics. A countdown clock appeared. The crowd shouted louder and louder before they began counting down from 20. I shuffled toward the piano to take a shot of the band, Lizzie, and Garrett, in front of the countdown clock.
The stadium was dark except for the shimmering pulse of the clock counting down on screen. At “10,” Finn rushed to my side and reached for my hand in the darkness, interlocking his fingers with mine, rubbing his thumb gently on the back of my hand. I could feel him trembling.
“Why are you shaking?” I asked with a chuckle.
“You make me nervous,” he breathed, leaning in close and kissed me on the cheek before whispering “3, 2, 1. Happy New Year, Jaxon Samantha.”
The Third Fucking Degree
WHEN THE fanfare fades, and the last of the confetti has been cleaned up, the boys of Black Heart Sunday are just a quartet of nerdy friends. They like to watch old movies and have sleep overs at Finn’s house after a show. In honor of this tradition, he’d converted his basement into a theater, but instead of theater style recliners, he put a bunch of pillows, cushy couches, and throw blankets. It was the perfect location for post-show slumber parties.
At three in the morning on January 1st, we all sat together, sleepy in pajamas and smeared eyeliner, snuggled up with throw blankets and mugs of tea and hot chocolate. Almost Famous, a top ten favorite of Finn’s, playing white noise in the background as we all came down from the high of an amazing night. Garrett and Lizzie cuddled together on one of the bigger couches, and I continued to take pictures of them – catching Lizzie frequently looking down at the stone on her finger.
“You were brilliant, mate. How’d you do with the nerves?” Will asked Garrett.
“I’ve never played in front of that many people. It was crazy. I swear I thought I was gonna throw up. How do you guys do it without feeling like awkward assholes?”
“Well, that’s simple. We are awkward assholes, so we just lean into it,” Finn said.
“Yeah, Finn’s definitely an asshole. For some reason, the awkward bit just comes off as charming,” Miles joked, throwing popcorn at him.
“Pro tip – if you’re as blind as I am, just leave your glasses at home. I guarantee you won’t be afraid of what you can’t see,” Finn continued.
“Yeah, and pro tip, if you’re the guy standing immediately to his right, he’s going to knock you over if you aren’t careful,” Jake added. “But, Lizzie, love – I’ve got to ask, were you just not going to come on stage? What did you think was going to happen?”
Lizzie laughed, “I had no idea. I thought you were gonna try to make me dance or something.”
“During a slow song?” Finn teased.
“I don’t know!” she laughed. “All I know is, I wasn’t expecting the most romantic proposal in the history of proposals.” She looked up at Garrett, stealing a kiss.
I instinctively looked over at Finn, who was already gazing at me. “I’m going upstairs. I need more hot choccy. Does anyone want anything?”
“More cookies,” Cindy commented through a mouthful of snacks.
“More tea,” Will requested.
“I also need more tea. I’ll join you,” Miles said, getting up from his seat.
I looked back to Finn and asked, “Do you need anything?” He smiled sleepily and shook his head no.
Up in the kitchen, I poured milk into a saucepan and set it to heat. Miles leaned against the kitchen island across from me and crossed his arms, giving me a knowing stare.
“What?” I asked.
“You know what.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, I’m quite certain you do.” He narrowed his eyes, as if interrogating me. “When did that start again?”
“When did what start again?” I asked, feigning naivety.
“The Finn and Jax show. I saw you.”
“Saw me what?”
“Don’t play dumb, love. Were you or were you not entangling fingers with one Finnley Hendricks when the clock struck midnight, on stage, in front of thousands of people?”
My face flushed race car red.
“Yeah,” he laughed, “I noticed.” Busted. “I also noticed you falling into his arms as you climbed on stage.” Busted again. “How stupid do you lot think we are?”
“Miles, I–”
“‘Miles I won’t shatter his heart into a million bloody pieces like last time.’ Is that what you were going to say? Because that’s the only appropriate thing to say at the moment.”
“It felt like a pretty mutual shattering from my point of view,” I argued.
“Perhaps. But from my vantage point, whatever went on between the two of you royally fucked him up.”
“Well, from mine, everything that happened between us won him a Grammy and shot your band into the stratosphere. You’re welcome.” I turned around to take my milk off the stove, having moved past embarrassed straight into pissed off.
“Do you really reckon that’s what matters to us? He’s our best mate, Jax. And please, don’t flatter yourself. We were already on our way into the stratosphere. He’s brilliant. We’d have gotten there with or without the catastrophic heartbreak.”
And here I was thinking these guys liked me.
“You all flew to California to ask me for a favor. I didn’t go looking for you. What do you want me to say?”
“I’m not trying to be a dick, Jax. I love you; we all do. I just want to be sure you haven’t come here to escape your own life, at great personal expense to my mate. He’s doing really well, after years of being really unwell. We picked up the pieces and we glued him back together. But you’re not stupid. You must know it will always be you for him. No matter how cheeky or obnoxious he pretends to be. He is vulnerable and insecure.”
No pressure, for fuck’s sake.
“I’m not – you know – I’m not gonna go there with Finn. He knows that. Everything between us, is, you know, totally—”
“Platonic?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Right. Of course. It’s so peculiar. I’ve lived nearly three decades and never heard that word as often as I’ve heard it in the last three months.”
“Are you saying it’s all bullshit?”
“On some level, you know that it is. What did the two of you think was going to happen while you were sat around this big house on your own, talking about life and doing the same things you did together all those years ago? Or did you reckon your self-righteous anger would carry you safely past years of history, feelings, and his incessant fucking charm?”
“Alright. I hear you loud and clear. Don’t go there. Understood.”
“You’ve missed the point entirely. That’s not what I’m saying at all,” he reasoned. “I’m bloody rooting for you. We all are. We always have. I’m asking you to take a quick peripheral peak out of your tunnel vision and recognize your impact on people. For him, it was immense and concentrated. There is no watered-down happy medium version of Finn. Every single thought and feeling he has is magnified. You know better than most how exhausting that is for the people around him, but imagine for a moment how exhausting it is for him. And ask yourself what happens to a person like that when they lose what they love most in the world.”
Before I could formulate a feasible defense, Will popped into the kitchen, looking for his tea.
“What’s taking so long? What are you lot gossiping about?” He noticed the look on my face. “Oh. Miles has given you ‘the talk’ hasn’t he? Miles, mate, I reckon it could have waited until everyone’s had a proper night’s sleep.”
It appeared this was a betrayal on all fronts. Disappointing, considering the conversation I’d had with Will the day prior.
“You knew I was getting the third fucking degree? Thanks for the warning.”
“Well, I didn’t realize you’d be getting it at this time of the morning, but yeah. Miles filled us in backstage after the show, and we all agreed you could do with a chat.”
“And, what? Miles drew the short straw?”
“Miles was the last one to clean the vomit off Finn in a bath before our little intervention, so yeah – it’s still a bit raw for him. The years they pass, but vomit memories are forever,” Will shrugged.
“Well, it sounds like all of you have already sorted this out in your heads. So why don’t you tell me, what exactly are you suggesting I do?”
“Hey,” Will said, “I’m team Fax.” he looked at Miles inquisitively. “Fax?” he asked, “Jinn? Which is better?”
“I think Jinn. It’s, you know, alcoholic. Not their particular brand, but it still works,” Miles shrugged.
“Are you two serious right now?”
“Listen – point being – we are team Jinn. Believe me, I’ve gotten an earful about your doctor boyfriend. He sounds like a self-righteous git. One of those blokes who thinks they are so superior just because he wears a tie to work, and you wear jeans. When in reality you probably make loads more money than he does, so if anyone should be giving up their career, it should be him. But that’s just my own totally unbiased opinion.”
“Oh yeah,” I smirked, “totally neutral.”
“Totally neutral,” Will said again, smiling.
“Alright – so while he was complaining about Carter, did he happen to mention,” I looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot, “that I tried to kiss him the other night and he turned me down?”
Miles’ eyes popped wide open. “Wow. The plot thickens.”
“He did mention that, yes. While we were in the studio yesterday during your midday nap.”
“And? What did he say?”
“He’s worried you’ll leave him again. Or worse – you won’t leave, but you’ll wish you’d married Doctor Blonde Hair. Who, again, totally unbiased opinion, isn’t even on your level, darling. What are you going to do in California? Take pictures of plants?”
“They have music in California, Will,” I argued.
“Well, that’s totally beside the point. Are you prepared to be sat at home for the rest of your life with a country boy, driving around in a truck, trying to pretend you aren’t dying to be on an airplane? At a festival? In another bloody country?” Will looked around behind him, also making sure no one was eavesdropping. “Do you reckon Finn would ever try to tame you? Or hold you back by trying to convince you that your entire career has been a coping mechanism? Do you think he’d do anything but support your every single endeavor?”
“Just your totally unbiased opinion, right?” I rolled my eyes.
“Take it or leave it. But if you take it, take care of it. We’re a bit too old for another crisis. If the two of you are going to do it, do it properly. That’s all we’re asking.”
Miles yawned, and for the first time all night, I realized how exhausted I was.
“On that note, if the lectures have concluded, I should probably go to sleep. Are we the last ones standing?” I asked.
“Yes,” Will responded, moving closer to me to give me an apologetic hug. Miles joined in as well. “Are we having a dysfunctional family hug right now?”
“Yes,” Miles responded.
“I hate you guys.”
Quintessentially and Definitively Mine
I DON’T know how long I’d been asleep, but the sound of the rain awoke me from a dream I’d been having about having my shit together. The first thing I saw was Finn, still in last night’s clothes, laying across from me. He was above the blankets, making it infinitely difficult for me to shift, or cover myself any more than I already was.
People are never more beautiful than when they’re asleep, but Finn was the exception. I’d forgotten over the years how much I loved his whiskey brown eyes, which are difficult to admire when closed. Nonetheless, he is a gorgeous sleeper. A thing few people notice is how long his eyelashes are, which is strange because looking down at his feet is sort of a typical Finn thing. He has light freckles, which are hard to discern unless you’re within intimate proximity. His lips aren’t particularly full, but they are in perfect ratio to the rest of his facial features. He’d begun to maintain a short length of facial hair. It looked unintentional but was fully purposeful and complimented his chiseled jawline better than a cleanly shaven face ever could. The curly mop atop his head, disheveled from the ever-present nervous tick of playing with it, lay flat against the pillow where his head rested.
I wanted to touch him. I wanted to wrap my fingers around his or move the stray curl from his forehead. I wanted to tinker with his belt – the long end still tucked into his hip pocket, or gently scratch the back of his neck in the way I know he loves. I didn’t. I couldn’t wake him up, afraid of whatever conversation was coming. What was I going to do about the distinctly familiar feeling of my heart exploding at the sight of him? And the electric shock sensation of his skin against mine. What was I supposed to do about the breathlessness of a five-second kiss that felt just as universe altering as the first one, the last, and the thousand in between?
The longer I looked at him, I felt the anxiety of him reach every inch of me, down to my feet, into my fingertips, and my heart began to race. There was no universe that exists where this man is not in my stratosphere. None in which I was not either feverishly angry with him, or irrevocably in love with him. We also, it seemed, had no happy medium.
So much for platonic soul mates.
I let out a heavy sigh and saw his eyelashes flutter. I’d disrupted his peaceful sleep with all my fucking drama. When he opened them, he looked to be in pain. He rubbed his eyelids blearily.
“Good morning, handsome.” I smiled sweetly.
He pulled a pillow against himself, hugging it and resting his chin on its edge. “I wanted to be here when you woke up,” he explained, voice graveled from sleep.
“And so you are,” I put my hand out to push his hair away from his forehead, but then thought better of it, apprehensive about what he might be thinking. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Have I – I fear I may have,” he stumbled over his words in a way not typical of a poet. “Have I fucked this up?”
He started to shiver.
“Why are you shaking?” I asked, reaching for a blanket sitting at the foot of the bed.
He reached out for my wrist, keeping me from moving any further away.
“No, please don’t get up. I’m not – I’m not cold. I’m,” his voice started to shake, “fuck. I’m nervous. I’m just nervous. Please stay.” His choice of words struck me, remembering how Will said he was afraid I might leave him. “I need to say,” he continued, running his long fingers through his tangled hair, “I need to tell you—” his breath hitched, and he swallowed another lump.
“Tell me what?”
“I just needed to apologize, I—”
“Apologize? Why?” I asked, fearing he regretted the kiss, that he’d acted impulsively and thought better of it in the light of day.
“Jax,” he said impatiently. I wasn’t letting him get a word in edge wise. “I need to say this before I lose my nerve.” He took a pause and a deep breath. “I need to tell you that I’m sorry – if I’ve crossed a line you were resolved to stay behind. If I’ve misread and taken advantage of your friendship. I thought I needed – no, never mind, I won’t give excuses. I’m sorry. Full stop. And I hope you stay, with me, or with the band – or with me with the band.” He shook his head trying to pull himself together. “What the fuck am I saying? I’m so stupid,” he whispered to himself. “I guess what I’m asking is – please don’t go.”
