Bright Side

by Kim Holden

  Monday, October 24

  (Kate)

  Classes were cancelled today. The snow was out of control this morning. Everyone’s calling it an unseasonably early storm.

  I’m calling it “Mother Nature on steroids.” And she’s uncompromising when she’s like this.

  Now I understand what all the fuss is about. Luckily it’s letting up now, but early this morning when I strapped my boots on and trudged through the fresh snow to Grounds, that shit was coming down. It was worth the trip to spend the morning here drinking coffee and reading though.

  The bell thunders and I ignore it in favor of the book perched in my lap. I’ve got the good spot on the loveseat in front of the fire and nothing can distract me from my blissful morning.

  Except maybe the low, rumbling voice next to my ear. “Is this seat taken?”

  I turn my head slightly to the left and Keller’s face is right there. Like an-inch-from-my-face right there. He’s crouched over the back of the loveseat, chin resting on folded arms. His face is clean-shaven. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him like this. He looks so much younger with his baby face revealed. “Hey. Of course not. Sit.” I move my bag to the floor to make room.

  He drops in next to me after removing his coat, hat, and gloves. “Damn, you‘d think we live in Minnesota with all the snow outside.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

  He laughs and elbows my arm gently while he takes a wax paper-wrapped sandwich out of a brown paper sack. “Ah, it’s not so bad. Look at it. It’s beautiful out there.” He sounds so sincere that I hold back a second eye roll and take a look out the big picture window behind us.

  It’s overcast and looks almost like early evening even though it’s only late morning. Snowflakes are falling sporadically again. The streets are deserted. And since I’m inside in front of a fire, dry and warm, it is beautiful. “How’d you get a flight out of Chicago this morning,” I ask, gesturing outside, “with all this beauty?”

  “I caught an early flight last night before the snow started. They said it was going to be bad. I guess they were right for once.” He elbows me again. “You want half my sandwich, Katie? It’s turkey.”

  “No thanks.” I always try to avoid the “no, I’m a vegetarian” answer because it freaks some people out. I don’t know why, but sometimes people look at you like you just told them you something unfathomable. They get all uncomfortable. So, I only offer an explanation if it’s forced.

  He insists and is still trying to hand it to me. “No, really, this thing is gigantic. I feel rude eating in front of you. Take half.”

  I’ve just been forced. “Don’t feel bad, dude, I’m a vegetarian. And I’m not really hungry anyway; I had a muffin a little while ago.”

  He blinks a few times. “So … is it okay if I eat this in front of you? I mean, does it gross you out? Because I can wait or … or go sit over there.” He nods his head sideways to indicate a seat across the room.

  I look at him for a few seconds too long before I answer because the offer was so considerate. “No. Go ahead and eat. Thanks for asking though. That was … that was nice.”

  He smiles and takes a bite, mayo and mustard squishing out of the sandwich onto the corners of his mouth. He talks between bites. “So, why vegetarianism? Health reasons, religious reasons, animal rights reasons?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve just never liked the idea of an animal being born, raised, and killed just so I would have something to eat. There are a lot of other options out there for sustenance.”

  His eyebrows rise as though he’s never thought of it that way. He nods. “Fair enough.” After he finishes his sandwich he crumples up the paper wrap and deposits it in the paper bag and claps his hands. “We should go out driving this afternoon. There’s a good eighteen inches on the ground now.”

  I glance back over my shoulder and judging by the snow on the car parked across the street, he’s right. This is as good a time as any to learn how to drive in snow. “Sure, how about one o’clock? I have to work at three today.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I shift the book I was reading from my lap to the coffee table in front of us so I can unzip my bag on the floor. “I’ll pick you up at your place?”

  He nods distractedly as he picks up my book. “Is this any good?” He asks in reference to the book.

  “You’ve never read it?” I’m shocked.

  He shakes his head. “No, I’ve always wanted to.”

  I think back to his reaction when I told him I’d never read A Tale of Two Cities and throw it back at him. “What high school graduate hasn’t read To Kill a Mockingbird?”

  His grin widens. “I deserve that.”

  “Yeah, you do. I read it every year or so. It’s one of those books that even though you like it, it manages to get better each time, and you find yourself falling in love with it all over again.”

  He smiles and I know he can relate having shared with me that he’s read A Tale of Two Cities several times.

  “Besides, one of the characters is a hero of mine. You know that saying, ‘What would Jesus do?’”

  He nods.

  “Well, my version is, ‘What would Atticus do?’ He’s got his shit together. He always knows what to do.” I stand up, slipping my arms into my wool coat and pulling my gloves from the pockets. I sling my bag over my shoulder and salute Keller. “See you at one o’clock.”

  He salutes back. “One o’clock. I’d drive you to the dorms but Dunc’s got the Green Machine.”

  “No worries. It’s a goddamn winter wonderland out there.” I widen my eyes for effect. “I can’t wait to get out in it.”

  He laughs at my sarcasm.

  My gloved hand on the door handle, I hear Keller call out, “Katie, you forgot your book.”

  I smile because I left it intentionally. “It’s yours. Someone else should get to love it.” It’s my favorite book. I feel good knowing I’m leaving it with someone who will appreciate it.

  “But you haven’t finished reading it.” He’s holding up the book pointing to the bookmark.

  I tap my temple. “I already know how it ends. You don’t.” I wink and smile, but the honesty and simplicity of the words hits me. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know my story. And that’s how it needs to stay, because I’ve always preferred happy endings. “You should meet Atticus Finch. He’s a badass lawyer.”

  I pull up to Keller’s door at 1:15 and before I can honk he’s out the door as if he’s been listening or watching for me. He’s shaking his head.

  “Christ woman, are you ever on time?” He’s teasing, but I know it’s one of his pet peeves.

  “No. Another bad habit. Chronic at this point, incurable.” I shrug because it’s who I am. And in the grand scheme, there are worse things than tardiness. “On top of that, I had all this beauty to contend with. It slowed me down.”

  He grins. “Well, you made it. That’s a good start.”

  Keller was born to be a winter driving instructor. His patience is saint-like. He talks me through the deserted, plowed, but icy streets to the auditorium parking lot. I’m glad no one’s out because I feel like rolling manslaughter waiting to happen. At least when I mess up, no one’s in harm’s way. Keller never raises his voice above its usual low, practiced, calm, soothing level. It’s the voice that guides me safely through icy roads reminding me to loosen the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and to slow down, and to tap my brakes, and not to hold my breath. It relaxes me. It’s a steady, constant, comfort. I’ve grown to love comfort.

  Friday, October 28

  (Kate)

  “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Bright Side! Happy Birthday to you!”

  You haven’t really lived until you’ve heard Gustov Hawthorne sing you happy birthday over the phone. He does it every year … at full volume, every note over-the-top enthusiasm. “Damn, this is quite a wake-up call, Gus.”

  “Shit. Did I
wake you, Bright Side? It’s six o’clock there, right? I thought you’d be up.” His sentences are running into each other.

  “It’s okay, dude, I’m up.” I’ve been up since 4:45 and have already gone for a run on the treadmill at the campus exercise facility across the street from the dorms. Just running a mile is a struggle these days. But I’m up, showered, and walking down Main toward Grounds for my morning coffee.

  “Oh good.” He sounds relieved and, now that he’s slowed back down to normal Gus paced speech, a little drunk.

  “Dude, you sound wasted. Where are you?”

  “Um,” he says sleepily, then raises his voice, “Hey Robbie, where are we again, dude?” I hear Robbie’s answer and then Gus echoes, “Indianapolis. We’re in Indianapolis, Bright Side.”

  He’s shitfaced. I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard Gus this drunk. There’s a lot of background noise so I’m pretty sure he’s not on the tour bus. “How was the show last night?”

  “Fucking sick!” That was way too excited, even for Gus.

  “Sweet.” Time to bring him back down to Earth. “Question. Gus, I know you’re in Indianapolis right now, but where in Indianapolis?”

  He pauses a few seconds and I picture him looking around for clues to help him with the answer. “Don’t know. Looks like a hotel room. The whole band’s here!” He pauses and then shouts, “What’s up, Robbie?!” as if he’s just noticed him for the first time all night and doesn’t remember talking to him twenty seconds ago.

  “Gus, dude, thanks for the birthday wishes. I’m gonna let you go now. Do me a favor and find someone sober who can tell you where you are. I’m pretty sure you guys play in Chicago tonight.” I’ve been trying to keep an eye on his schedule. It helps me feel connected to him since we don’t get to talk every day anymore. “You’re probably supposed to be on the road right now.”

  I hear the realization sink in. “Shit,” he says into the phone, before yelling, “Shit, you guys,” toward the rest of the room. “We play Chicago tonight. We need to get out of here.”

  “Good man, Gus. You’ll be fine. Go down to the front desk and ask them to call you a taxi to take you guys back to the venue you played last night. And call your tour manager; he’s probably going apeshit right now.”

  “Right. Thanks.” He sounds marginally more sober now.

  “I love you, Gus.”

  “Love you, too, Bright Side. Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I’m weird about my birthday. I don’t tell people about it because I’ve never really enjoyed celebrating it. My mother was the type that loved to shower Grace and me with gifts on our birthdays when we were very young. We didn’t get her time, so we got stuff. It was a substitute that even a five-year-old can see through. As we got older and she became more unstable, she stopped … no more gifts … and still no time. It was part of her decline.

  At least I know the “Happy Birthdays” are out of the way when I hang up with Gus because no one here knows. Or at least I don’t think anyone knows until I get a text from Shelly around 6:30 that night. I’m at the library.

  SHELLY: Happy Birthday!

  ME: Thanks? How’d you know??

  SHELLY: Drivers license. Employee file.

  ME: Breach of confidentiality?

  SHELLY: Maybe. Pizza. 7:00. Pick you up at the dorms.

  ME: OK

  You can’t argue with Shelly, so I run back to the dorms and am just changing out of my sweats and into some jeans and a clean shirt when I get a text. It’s 6:45.

  SHELLY: What’s your room#?

  ME: 210

  Less than a minute later there’s a knock on my door. I open up to find Shelly wearing a deep purple pea coat. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the chill.

  I glance at my watch. “What the hell? I still have fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  She smiles and walks inside, then throws herself down on my bed. “I know. Keller’s driving. He’s always early … like you’re always late. He’s neurotic about it. Sorry.”

  I pull the band out of my ponytail and brush my fingers through my hair. “Keller’s coming?”

  She’s looking at the photos on my desk. “Yeah, I told him this morning it was your birthday. It was his idea. You know, for birthday dinner.”

  “I’m getting more mileage out of this birthday than all nineteen before it.”

  She points to the photos. “So, what’s the story with these people, Kate?”

  I’m pretty private. I don’t talk about family or Gus to anyone. Only Clay and Pete know about Gus, and that was out of necessity. And Sugar knows names, but beyond that she couldn’t give a shit. “That’s my sister, Grace, and my best friend, Gus.”

  She runs her finger across Grace’s face, it’s loving. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  “The best.” That’s where it ends. I’m thankful when she moves on to Gus’s photo.

  She picks it up and holds it in both hands. “Damn, Kate, he’s fucking delicious.”

  “That’s a pretty big declaration given that half of his face is hidden behind his hair.” I’m grateful she didn’t recognize him as Gustov Hawthorne. He looks a lot different with long hair.

  She looks at me with those big, wide, dark eyes. “But he is, isn’t he? I mean, in person the guy’s got to be blindingly good-looking?”

  “He’s pretty easy on the eyes, yeah.”

  She shakes her head and sets the frame back on my desk. “Damn,” is all she can say.

  I grab my wool coat and hat and we’re out the door at 6:55. This may be a personal best—five minutes early.

  Shelly opens the back door of the Green Machine that’s parked at the curb in front of the dorms. “We rock-paper-scissored earlier. Boys got front seat so we’re stuck in the back. My deepest apologies.”

  “No problem,” I answer until I notice that there is one small problem with the backseat.

  There isn’t one. No backseat, just three beanbag chairs.

  “Jesus Christ, Keller. Beanbags?”

  Beanbags.

  Keller smiles. “Hey birthday girl. Sorry about the lack of traditional seating.”

  “Oh, hell.” I climb in and plop down in one of the beanbags.

  Shelly jokingly introduces Duncan to me. Duncan apologizes for our first meeting the night of the Back to Grant Bash when we exchanged a few words and he promptly passed out drunk. “Not my finest moment,” he says.

  The beanbags are actually pretty comfortable, and by the time we pull into Red Lion Road’s parking lot, I’ve been converted. “Why don’t all cars have beanbags?” I ask Shelly.

  Duncan turns around and agrees, “Right?”

  Shelly rolls her eyes. “You mean aside from the fact that certain death is guaranteed upon impact? Gee, I don’t know, Kate.”

  I nod and smile. “Yeah, aside from that morbid little detail. I’ll stew on that on the ride home. Thanks for ruining my Shangri-La moment, Shelly.” We hop out and walk toward the restaurant together.

  Shelly slides into the booth next to Duncan, which leaves Keller to slide in next to me. The booth is small. I try to allow a few inches between us, but our elbows are brushing.

  Keller nudges me, his voice quiet. “I should’ve asked first, but you like pizza, right?”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  Shelly looks at all of us. “Two large pepperoni?”

  “One pepperoni, one cheese. Katie’s vegetarian.” Keller says knowingly.

  Shelly’s forehead wrinkles. “You’re a vegetarian?”

  I nod.

  She looks unconvinced, like Keller and I are trying to pull one over on her. “Really?”

  Keller answers for me. “Really Shel,” he says, and tosses a ten dollar bill on the table. It’s funny how proud of himself he is to know this about me.

  Shelly and Duncan each toss a ten on the table and Shelly says, “Huh, you learn something new every day.”

  I dig through m
y pocket and lay a five and five ones on the table. Keller picks it up and hands it back to me. “Your money’s no good here, birthday girl.”

  I pick it up and look at it front and back. “Why do you always have a problem with my money? It hasn’t been through the washer or anything. If you don’t let me start paying for stuff soon I’m going to start feeling like a freeloader.”

  He curls my fingers around the bills with his hand. “This is your birthday dinner. You’re not paying. We are. Besides I bartend here a few nights a week, so I get a discount on the pizza.”

  “You work two jobs?” I know he’s always busy, but I didn’t realize he worked two jobs.

  He shrugs. “Have to. The tips are great.”

  Duncan smirks. “The tips are great because sober women like Keller ... but drunk women love him.”

  “I’m a good bartender,” Keller defends. It’s cute how serious he is.

  Duncan looks at me and smiles. “Kate, Keller thinks he makes good tips because of his skills behind the bar.” He looks at Keller sincerely. “You are a damn good bartender.”

  Keller nods. “Thank you.”

  Duncan butts in. “What my boy fails to recognize is that half the women in here on any given Tuesday or Thursday night are here for one reason. And that reason is to check out Keller Banks. It’s pretty funny, actually.”

  Sometimes I feel like I go to Grounds just to look at him. He’s gorgeous. I can relate.

  As if on cue, a cute redhead walks by and smiles at Keller. “Hi Keller,” she says flirtatiously.

  He raises his hand. It’s a half-wave to acknowledge her. It’s polite, but slightly confused.

  “You know her?” It’s Duncan. He’s smirking again.

  Keller shakes his head. “No idea.”

  Duncan laughs good-naturedly. “See. Oblivious. It’s not your bartending, man.”

  Keller’s blushing and it’s Shelly that saves him. She leans forward over the table and motions between the two of us. “I hate to rewind this conversation, but you mean to tell me that Keller Banks, the tight wad, bought something for you … with his own money?”

  I shrug as Keller slides out of the booth, money in hand, to go place our order at the bar.