Beatless

by Amber L. Johnson

  Eventually we both found ourselves alone in our homes. After I pulled out a stack of letters from him, I decided to go to a local bar, pretending to drink a beer, which was really just water made yellow with food coloring. Tucker stood in the far corner of the same bar, and once my character noticed him, I approached, saying out loud that I hoped he was real and not just some figment of my imagination.

  We stepped out of the bar and into the faux moonlight beyond the front doors of the building. I stepped slowly downstage, wringing my hands anxiously as I waited for him to speak. He delivered the line we’d practiced in my room, crossed to center stage and dipped his face to mine. His hands stayed where they should, open against my cheeks for the audience to see the kiss as I reached up on my toes and met his lips. I didn’t moan, but sighed against his mouth and relished the moment. When he pulled back to look me in the eyes, I searched them for true feelings, but he was guarded, protected in his character’s skin.

  We began to dance and I held on tightly, letting all the emotion that I felt in that moment show on my face. It was perfect. We were flawless.

  I promised him my heart and he accepted, before we transitioned into our duet. Sara began to play and he stepped forward downstage to gaze out at the audience.

  With your eyes closing

  Is it me you’re looking for?

  Is it me you see in darkness

  While you’re lying on the floor?

  When your eyes are closed

  Do you wish for something more?

  That instead of empty silence

  I’d be knocking at your door?

  I’d break down your walls

  (Break all of them down)

  Burn every bridge once again

  (Light a fire on the ground)

  And from the ashes

  (From the ash and the dust)

  Is where we’d begin again

  (Let’s begin this again)

  But only if you’d ask me to

  (Don’t you know that I’m asking you?)

  And so the story ended with the two of pressed tightly together in the middle of the stage with the rest of the cast surrounding us, singing a song of redemption and hope that second chances do exist.

  When the curtain fell, Tucker smiled, but it wasn’t the kind that lit up his whole face. It was one that I didn’t recognize and it made my mind race with the implication of it. We’d done so well. There was no need for him to look like that.

  There was only a limited amount of time before the curtain call and I moved to the side of the stage to watch our cast, two by two, walk downstage to bow in front of the standing ovation of the audience, their applause filling the theater.

  It made my heart swell. “We did it,” I whispered to no one but myself.

  Tucker walked mid-stage and held out his hand, calling me forward until we were palm to palm. When we reached the edge of the stage, he bowed and I curtsied, relishing in the explosion of cat calls and clapping for the two of us. I wished, for a fleeting moment, that I could do what I intended to do right then. But it wasn’t time. I had something else to tackle first.

  Backstage, everyone was filled with happiness, and congratulations were followed by accolades. Bodies filed out into the foyer where audience members, family, friends, and classmates were assembled to hug and praise the others.

  My name still sat on a post-it above an empty space on the floor and I took a second to compose myself. I’d snuck past everyone chattering excitedly in the dressing room to grab a small wrapped box, purple instead of pink, with a yellow ribbon since it seemed fitting. Peeking around the door to the foyer, I scanned the crowd for the top of Tucker’s head. As I expected, he was in the middle of what looked like twenty people. There was a gap to his side and I zoned in there, making my way through everyone.

  My arm was grabbed on more than one occasion as I tried to work my way over to where he was standing. Familiar and unfamiliar faces smiled widely and told me what an incredible job I’d done. That my voice was wonderful. That the characters were so real. And I wanted, more than anything, to tell them that they were real.

  When I’d accepted the compliments, staving off the embarrassment from the attention, I finally made it to where Tucker stood, his fingers worrying all of the places they usually did as he smiled wide and nodded at what the circle of people around him were saying.

  I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned, his eyes going wide and then shifting to the little girl at his side. She was leaning against an older man that I figured was Mr. Scott. I extended my hand.

  “You must be Tucker’s dad.”

  He smiled, broad and fully, just like his son.

  I bent a little at the waist and met Eliza’s icy stare. “We haven’t met properly. I’m Mallory. And I’m a complete jerk.”

  Her mouth opened in surprise and she shifted on her braces, looking up at her brother for a cue. He just stared in shock.

  “Well, at least you know,” she finally responded. Her dad started to say something, probably a reprimand for her words, but I held up a hand to stop him.

  “Yep. Trust me, I am aware. But I promise I’m working on it. So – I figured you’d be here today to support your brother. And it got me to thinking about something that happened a few years ago. See, your brother stole some of your bracelet pieces from a kit you used to have. I don’t know if you still like that kind of stuff, but I thought if you did, maybe I could right his thieving ways by replacing what was taken.” I presented her with the gift in my hands, a completely new jewelry kit. I bent my knees a little to meet her at eye level. “I hope you’ll take it as an apology. Or at least the start of one.”

  She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes again. “I guess that depends on how good of a present it is.”

  I laughed and stood up. “Maybe you’ll tell me someday.” I said goodbye to her and Mr. Scott and with as much confidence as I could muster, I lost myself in the crowd without turning back to see Tucker’s reaction.

  ~*~18~*~

  When I’d returned home, the house was dark and silent, eerily so. Sam’s door was closed and I paused, my palm to the wood as I contemplated knocking - or just entering without invitation. I wanted so badly to see her. To talk to her about what I’d just experienced and accomplished. How I could feel the change inside me, and how she’d been the person to push me toward it. I wanted her to be proud of me.

  But I didn’t knock or open the door. I left her alone because she clearly needed the time and rest. I hoped that one day she would be able to move beyond whatever was pulling her down into the blackness she’d succumbed to recently.

  I slept fitfully that night, aware that it was mostly a high from the performance, but also because I was about to do something I never in a million years would have had the courage to do before.

  I slept late and when I finally got up, the sun was halfway in the sky, the warm beams of light hitting my face through my blinds. There was so much on my mind that I immediately jumped into action, taking a shower, gathering all my things for that night’s show. I grabbed a quick bowl of cereal, noted that Sam was shuffling around upstairs, which made me feel a little better about her little disappearing act, and left the house without a second thought.

  She sent me a text right as I was pulling into the parking lot and all it said was, “I’m sorry.” I didn’t respond back. There would be time for us to talk about whatever it was that she was going through after I got home that night, and my focus was on something much bigger than my aunt flaking out on opening night.

  The day flew by as I talked myself through what was going to happen. The flutter of anticipation around my heart felt like tiny hummingbirds in flight throughout my sternum. Hope ran through my veins, replacing my blood with a rush of optimism.

  It had to work.

  Back at the theater, I met for a brief moment with Sara before repeating the entire process of getting dressed and made up for the performance. I purposely stayed away from Tucker. I
told myself that it was because of the interaction with his sister. But I knew it was more than that. He’d been so disconnected on opening night that he felt like a ghost in the background of the amazing thing we’d accomplished. He should have been proud and excited, but instead he was guarded and removed. It made my insides hurt to think that he couldn’t enjoy it - because of my involvement. Had he spoken up and chosen to pick another lead, maybe we wouldn’t have been in this predicament at all.

  Landon would never have asked me out.

  Tucker would never have gone to that party.

  There never would have been a wreck to change everything.

  Tucker could have just done his part, directed the music, and gone about his life.

  I could have painted sets and quietly disappeared behind the heavy velvet curtains.

  But all of those decisions had brought us to this point. Facing one another, while sadistically repeating our heartbreak and bad decisions. I’d finally rehearsed the play so much that when it had come time to be onstage on Friday night, there was no longer pain associated with the words or the songs. There was no reason to be sad anymore. There was no sting to the script. There was only the two of us getting everything out of our systems in the form of lyrics and poetic words.

  I’d received his message loud and clear within the first two weeks of rehearsals. This time he would hear mine.

  Word had traveled that the musical was impressive, and I stood in the hallway near my post-it that still announced that I had no flowers. I stared with wide eyes at the even larger crowd that gathered in the foyer before the doors were opened.

  That many people should have made me nervous. And once upon a time, it would have, but that night it was nothing short of perfect.

  ***

  On that stage, I gave it my all. There were moments where I looked at Tucker, and though fleeting, I could see true emotion in his eyes. I could feel a difference in his touch; the way he held my hand or gripped my waist as we danced.

  My entire chemical makeup felt wrapped up in him, like if he didn’t exist, then I would cease to as well. With as much as I wanted to fight it, he was all I could think about, the driving force behind every action I made. I didn’t want him to be my entire world, but tunnel vision is an awful thing. It sneaks up and your sight slowly narrows until you have no choice but to focus on that person because everything else is eclipsed.

  His lips felt more powerful that night, and I kissed him harder and longer, setting the music off by almost an entire measure. When he pulled away, his eyes searched mine and I wanted to pull his face down and confess everything to him but instead I spoke my lines - delivered the first ones exactly as we had practiced.

  “Can you forgive me? I don’t deserve another chance, but I swear to you, if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you made the right decision.”

  His head tilted to the side, just as before, but his lips parted and he exhaled slowly, like he was contemplating saying no.

  The Man was supposed to say yes.

  That was how it went.

  But Tucker slid his hand from my fingers, up my arm, across my neck and pressed his thumb beneath my chin, moving it slightly upward to stare directly into his blue eyes. I felt the world fall away from us then. There was no stage. There were no lights or audience. No choir of voices preparing to sing out as we held one another.

  It was just the two of us.

  “You don’t have to prove anything,” he finally said, his eyes downcast as if he could barely stand to look at me.

  My next line before the final number was supposed to be, “Please.”

  I’d always hated the line. It felt like begging and The Woman didn’t seem the kind to beg. But I’d said it for months, letting the word roll from my tongue in a way that didn’t sound supplicant, but more like a promise.

  But that night, under the black beams of the stage, as he held my face and looked away, I went off script.

  “I do.”

  His eyes snapped to mine and he looked over my shoulder, into the wings. I could feel his entire body stiffen. He cleared his throat. He sent another panicked glance off stage. Making eye contact once again, his fingers on my arm squeezed a short pulse.

  “I have a lot to prove to you. That I made a mistake. That you won’t be making one if you take me back. I was so stupid to let what other people thought convince me that I didn’t love you. Because I did.”

  His cheeks flushed that deep rosy color around his jaw, ruddy and bright. When he spoke, I was sure it wasn’t loud enough for anyone but me to hear.

  “Did?”

  “Do. Still do. I think I always will. Even if you say no right now, I will always love you. You’re my first love. Nothing could take that piece of my heart away.”

  There was a silent exchange between the two of us before the piano started to play an awkward intro. The singers around us began their song as we stared into one another’s eyes. I’d gone rogue and there was a thick ball of apprehension caught in my throat, a heavy blanket of doubt that was suffocating me as he continued to just stare back at me, trying desperately to not convey shock.

  I took one step into him, closing the last inches of space between our bodies, slid my hand up his chest, up the back of his neck, and pulled his face to mine for one last kiss on that stage. Again, I’d gotten brave, not caring that Mr. Hanks was probably having a coronary in the wings. It was the last performance. It was the only time I had left.

  Tucker bent to me, no longer holding himself as The Man, but as himself. His arms wrapped around my waist and he lifted me a couple inches off the floor, his eyes trained on my lips. I closed my eyes and inched closer.

  And he bent his head to kiss . . . the side of my mouth.

  The stage kiss caught me off guard and I angled to meet his lips, but he dipped his face again, burying his nose in my neck as the last strains of the song faded out.

  The curtain lowered and he placed me quickly on my feet before he stalked off the stage.

  Just behind the curtain, I had stashed the Christmas present I’d bought for him back in December. My plan had been to tell him in front of everyone that I loved him. To right my wrong. But I’d clearly stepped over a line by doing it mid-production. The confusion that coursed through my mind was threatening to pull me under, doubt invading every hope I’d let build inside me for that night.

  When Tucker appeared upstage to hold out his hand, he didn’t look at me, he just faced the audience. And I went, holding his hand in mine, no matter how stiff his grip, and stopped right next to him. He bowed. I curtsied.

  And then I turned and handed him the gift I’d been holding for five months.

  He smiled - fake. Restrained. Then he turned and regarding the audience once more, waving his other hand above his head. Bastian walked out and stood between us, grasping both of our palms in his. He lifted them and we took one last bow in a straight line as the crowd continued to clap - a standing ovation that should have made my heart soar.

  Instead it felt heavy, made of lead. As if the beat had finally gone out of it.

  When the curtain fell for the last time, Bastian pulled me off to the left wing, his face pained. Gripping my right wrist, he squeezed. “What the hell were you thinking? You decide tonight, of all nights, to ad lib and go off script? You can’t do that, Mallory.”

  “I had to.” I craned my neck to see where Tucker was, but the stage was clear and he was nowhere to be found.

  “Mr. Hanks is going to lose his shit on Monday. I don’t want anything to do with this. You tell him that it was your decision. That we never discussed this.”

  “I will.” I twisted my hand roughly in his fist and he released me from his hold. “I’ll tell him whatever you want, Bastian. But right now I have to find Tucker.” Pushing by him, I ran down the stairs and out into the foyer. It felt like a million eyes were watching me, questioning everything I’d just done. I didn’t have time to care. I ran down the hall, the d
ress swishing loudly against my legs while my shoes hit the newly shined floors with staccato clacks.

  Tucker was nowhere to be found and I side-stepped my way through the throngs of people, ignoring their voices calling out to me. It felt like I was running out of time.

  Throwing open the back doors to the parking lot, I stood wide eyed, looking into the darkness for any sign of him. Just beyond the wooden fence surrounding the bushes, I saw him next to his car.

  “Tucker!” My voice sounded weak, no longer the confident projection that I’d forced from my throat for so many months.

  His chin tipped upward for a fraction of a second, and I knew he heard me. But he continued to stand by his car door, his shoulders moving back and forth quickly. I ran to him, stopping just short of the back of his car, noting that he was trying to get his key into the lock, but his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t insert it.

  “Tucker, please. I need to talk to you.”

  “Why? What do you want from me, Mallory?” He bent his chin and pressed his forehead against the side of the car, his keys dangling from his hand as he exhaled in frustration. Above him, the gift I’d given him was sitting on the car’s roof.

  “You know what I want. Just talk to me. Let me make this right.”

  It was then that I noticed the parking lot behind me filling up, a new audience of cast members and the public forming a large crowd behind my back.

  “Just let it go, okay? It’s almost over. You can go to Tennessee and just chalk this up to some mistake you made because you were sad. Or needy. That you felt like slumming it, or whatever you were doing last fall. Just let it die, already.”

  “I can’t because you won’t let it, either.”

  The crowd continued to grow and I could hear murmuring all around me.

  “Is this a continuation of the play?”

  “Now this is how it should have ended.”

  “Shut up. Just shut up.” I rolled my eyes, turned to address them, and held my hands out in front of me. “Okay? I need to talk to him.”