The Places I've Cried in Public

by Holly Bourne

  I tilted my head to one side, and made my first of two mistakes.

  You see, this was the first time I’d experienced one of Reese’s moods, so I hadn’t learned the rules yet. How was I supposed to know that, when he got like that, I needed to pretend everything was fine, or I’d only make it worse? I was a novice back then. I didn’t know how scared I should be.

  I walked over for a kiss and leaned in, but he just smushed his lips against mine. “Y’alright?” he asked half-heartedly, before looking back at his guitar.

  “I’m fine. How are you? Is everything…okay?”

  “Yeah, good.” He plucked at his guitar then strummed a loud D major chord.

  “Umm, okay.”

  The silence was beyond deathly. It was a new, alien silence that had never existed between us before. I couldn’t handle it. The shock of it made my stomach hurt. Something was wrong, something must be wrong – things were suddenly so very different. In order to fill this silence of absolute doom, I made my second mistake.

  “Your mum was a bit strange just now,” I ventured, not realizing I’d just reached out a toe and dabbed it onto a landmine.

  His head snapped up, his forehead furrowed, lip curled. “What do you mean?”

  I knew right away that I’d fucked up. Big time.

  “Oh, umm. Just now. I knocked at the door. I thought you’d be in your room because…you know. Anyway, she said you were in here. But she didn’t let me into the house and made me walk around. It was a bit strange, that’s all.”

  “Why would she let you into the house? It’s easier to walk around.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I quickly backtracked. “I guess it’s just one of those weird things.”

  “I think you’re the one being fucking weird.”

  My stomach fell out in horror as he squinted at me with total, defensive disgust. He didn’t say anything else or comment any further. He just let me lie in the mess of my fuck-up, like a toddler stuck in their soiled nappy. He shook his head and went back to his guitar while I stood like a muppet, mouth open, tears stinging my eyes. He’d never sworn at me before. Ever. I watched him for a good minute – waiting for him to come back – as all these new emotions surged into my body. But he continued to completely blank me as a punishment. A ringmaster stepped into the hole that had opened up in my stomach and started introducing me to all the new, horrible feelings Reese’s behaviour prompted. Emotions I’d soon be incredibly well-acquainted with.

  Roll up, roll up. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to present to you – GUT-WRENCHING ANXIETY! Ever had that feeling in your stomach that you’re in danger, even though technically you’re perfectly safe? That’s anxiety, folks. Your super-duper fight-or-flight system malfunctioning because it can’t tell the difference between a giant boar or your boyfriend suddenly being cold and offish with you.

  And, accompanying gut-wrenching anxiety, let’s welcome another special guest. Will you please put your hands together for WTF? LEVELS OF CONFUSION. Ever had a conversation and then, suddenly, it’s like a rug’s been pulled out from under you? Everything tumbles out of control and your head’s spinning and you have no idea how you got here? That feeling when your brain feels like a tipped-up beehive, and you can’t understand what the hell’s going on, or why, or what you can do about it to make it better again, or whether it’s all your fault?

  And, finally – last, but by no means least – please welcome in SHAME. Do you hate yourself? You should. Shame is here to tell you all the ways in which you should. It’s going to trickle down into your soul and make you feel humiliated for everything that you are.

  I didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t Reese. He was never snappy or cruel, and he never, ever ignored me. This wasn’t the boy I knew and loved and adored. I felt myself well up, all the Gut-wrenching Anxiety, WTF Confusion and Shame zinging into my blood and making my limbs shake. His fingers scratched his guitar, his hair flopped out from under his hat, his eyes determinedly did not look up at me. After two deep breaths, I found it within myself to go and perch on one of his amps. I put my hands on my knees and wondered again what the hell was going on. Still he would not look at me. I reached into my satchel and dug out my writing book, flicking through it, reading back the lyrics we’d written that lunchtime, when everything was glowing and I didn’t feel like he suddenly hated me.

  There was you

  There was me

  It was inevitable

  This start of we

  I couldn’t concentrate, but I made myself flick through the pages, refusing to apologize when I’d clearly done nothing wrong. Though I felt physically sick, something else rose in me too – my temper. Irritation laced my veins. I had thoughts I’d never had about him before. Thoughts like:

  How dare you?

  What the hell is going on?

  What is wrong with you? This isn’t okay.

  So, even though I felt nauseous and disorientated, my anger allowed me to damn well flick through my writing book, ignoring his stupid and totally uncalled-for strop. Because I still had guts back then, you see. Guts and self-worth, and a trust in my own version of events.

  Reese strummed a chord.

  I turned a page.

  He played a chorus.

  I reread a line and scribbled it out. It was one he’d written, and it wasn’t that good.

  He sighed.

  I pretended I hadn’t heard.

  And then, finally, he looked up.

  “Alright?” he asked, like there was no atmosphere between us at all. Like he hadn’t ignored me for fifteen minutes and sworn at me.

  I plonked my book down onto my lap and crossed my arms. “Of course I’m not alright – you’re being a total dick.”

  His face morphed from coldness into guilt, and, like a light switch, my boyfriend was back again. He strode over and dropped to his knees in front of me.

  “Shit, Amelie. Sorry. Oh god, you’re really upset, aren’t you?”

  I wiped under my eyes. “Of course I’m upset! You’ve ignored me since I got here, and you swore at me!”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Seriously, I’m sorry.”

  He clasped his hands over my cheeks and brought me in for a kiss. I turned my head. “No! What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing!”

  I levelled him with a look. “Reese, come on.”

  He sighed. “Okay, okay. It’s just…I had music this afternoon. And that fucking bitch Mrs Clarke has given me a D for my composition.” He shook his head and clasped my hands tighter and, oh, the relief. I can’t tell you what it felt like when that explanation tumbled out of his mouth. When he started being him again. My body gulped it in. It was over. Whatever that was, it was over. The universe made sense again.

  “She what?”

  “A D. I know! She said it was too simplistic. Can you believe that?”

  A tiny part of me agreed with Mrs Clarke. Reese’s chorus did come in too soon and too heavy, and you could tell where the song was going to go within the first sentence. I didn’t tell him this, of course. Instead it was my turn to cradle his face.

  “Aww, Reese, that sucks. I’m sorry. No wonder you’re upset.”

  “I mean, what does that whore know? She’s a music teacher. If she was actually any good at music, she’d be out playing it, wouldn’t she? Not, like, fucking teaching it to loads of kids who are actually better than her.”

  I flinched at his language but let him whinge it out, instinctively knowing not to pick him up on it now. In time, he settled himself down and pulled me onto his lap. I wrapped my arms around his waist.

  “Feeling any better?” I asked.

  He stared straight into my eyes. “Much better. I wonder why.”

  We kissed like there was no tomorrow and certainly no band about to turn up at any moment.

  “I didn’t mean to get like that,” he broke off to say, resting his forehead on my shoulder. “It’s just, I was already down. Then I couldn’t handle you being a bitch abou
t my mum.”

  “What? I wasn’t…”

  “It’s okay. I forgive you. Now… Let’s make up.” His hands snuck up the back of my cardigan. Reese pulled me in and kissed me aggressively, shoving all of his tongue into my mouth so I had no space to object to what he’d just said.

  I was torn in two – between not wanting to let what he’d just said pass, but also feeling high on relief that everything seemed normal again. My stomach unfurled, my shallow breathing spacing out; his kisses got even heavier, my clothes got removed.

  “Reese,” I protested, giggling. “Your friends will be here any minute.”

  He smiled wickedly and leaned me back over the amp. “And?”

  …And I wasn’t actually feeling that comfortable. They really were about to arrive. And I was just about to start my period and didn’t feel comfortable telling him about that either. I was also still thrown by everything that had gone down, and I really wasn’t in the mood.

  But for some reason I don’t understand, saying no didn’t feel like an option.

  The guys turned up just as I was pulling on my tights again.

  “WAHEY – LOOKS LIKE YOU GUYS HAVE CHRISTENED THE GARAGE,” Johnnie yelled, bursting through the door and finding us dishevelled.

  My entire body went red as Reese laughed and high-fived him. I pulled my cardigan further around myself, feeling weird. The sex we’d just had was different from the sex we usually had. It wasn’t just that it was in the garage, but Reese had been different. All the other times before it had been amazing, like two people fusing – Making Love. But, this time, he hadn’t really looked at me. And it was much rougher. Towards the end especially, it had felt like I might as well not have been there. But after we’d finished, Reese stared right into my eyes and said, “God, Amelie, you’re gorgeous. I love you so much.” It was so opposite to how he’d just behaved that I thought I must’ve imagined what went before.

  He’s just upset about his composition, I told myself. That’s what it is. You need to support him through this. That is what being a girlfriend is all about.

  “Are you ready to rock it?” Rob asked, picking up his drumsticks. “I’ve been thinking about this all day and I’ve decided we are actually Golden Gods.”

  They all laughed and I tried to join in, but it felt a bit too high-pitched and like I didn’t fit.

  “Not so sure about that, with Mr D in Composition here,” Mark added, poking Reese in the side.

  “Ooooh, harsh,” the other two bellowed.

  I thought he was going to react but he just laughed. “Umm, arseholes?” Reese said. “May I remind you who CARRIES this band?”

  More ooohing and manly grunting and macho one-upmanship while they all traded insults about one another’s mothers and musical abilities and penis sizes. I wondered quietly why it was okay for his friends to tease him about being a mummy’s boy, whereas I had my head ripped off for the tiniest mention of her. Things felt weirdly dangerous, out of nowhere, like I’d woken up in a field of mines.

  Until Reese held up his hand. “Can we stop being children already and just jam?” he said, boredom lacing his voice. Without argument, the band fell into line and started rehearsing.

  I did what I always did – sat in the corner and quietly worked on my own songs. I checked my emails on my phone and smiled when I saw one had come in about a gig. Someone from a pub had heard me play at the Cube and wanted me to do a Sunday slot. I grinned and tapped out a yes, then felt sick the moment I sent the email. I channelled my nerves into working out my playlist. With the band’s music throbbing in my eardrums, I nestled into a beanbag.

  Planning set lists is one of my favourite things about a performance. There’s a real knack to it, a science to building the right combination of songs to fit the gig and the audience. You need a big song early on to get their attention and for the crowd to relax that you’re good. But you don’t want to blow your best tunes too soon. You have to space the crowd-pleasers and know when to tone it down and how many quiet songs you can get away with in a row before ramping it up again. Reese’s music faded to white noise as I guessed how a Sunday crowd would be feeling – hungover, tired, dreading work the next day? I’d need to keep the set low-key… Maybe open with “Come Away”?

  I was so engrossed I didn’t notice the music stopping after about four songs.

  “Have we lost you, little one?” Reese was smiling above me. He patted my head and I looked up.

  “Oh, you guys done?”

  They all laughed. “No. Just taking a quick break. Look at her, lost in her own little universe,” he said, adoration leaking from his every word. “Isn’t she just the cutest?”

  I beamed up at him and waved an apology at the band. “Sorry, I spaced out there. But before I did, you guys sounded awesome.”

  “What you lost in, little one? Writing a song about how good I am in bed?”

  The others burst out laughing.

  “Reese!”

  He held out his hands. “Come on, Amelie, I was joking! That was clearly a joke.”

  The band’s laughter confirmed they, at least, found it funny. With no choice but to shrug it off, I put my notepad back in my bag and stood up. He wrapped his arms around the small of my back, pulling me in for a kiss. “It really was just a joke,” he whispered in a sort of apology.

  “Okay, I know,” I whispered back.

  “Get a room, guys!” Rob shouted.

  I pushed Reese off gently and he laughed into my shoulder, oozing affection. “I love having you at rehearsal. I sing just for you.”

  I rolled my eyes, even though I loved every syllable.

  “Can you two stop being gross?” Rob called out again, holding up his drumsticks. “Some of us are alone in this world, and you two are doing nothing to make us feel better.”

  I giggled. “Aww, Rob, your time will come soon.”

  He didn’t smile back, just stared at his shoes. Rob was the only virgin left in the band. I knew this because they brought it up at every single social interaction.

  To prove my point, Reese broke away and jumped onto his back. “Scared you’re going to die a virgin, aren’t you, mate?” he said, rubbing his clenched fist in his friend’s hair while Rob yelped and tried to buck him off.

  Rob made that wincing look all boys make when they’re having an uncomfortable emotion but can’t let it show because of male social conditioning.

  “It’s because I play the drums,” he complained. “Drummers always have it hardest.”

  “It’s because you have no game,” Johnnie chimed in, unplugging his bass guitar from the amp. “I’ve seen you talk to girls. I have heard you actually ask a girl how her mother was.”

  They all descended into macho laughter as Rob glowed and protested. “That was Jessica. Her mum has CANCER! I was being NICE.”

  “Yeah, and how’s being nice working out for your virginity status?” Reese asked.

  I lost the boys to jokes otherwise known as “banter” and the second half of rehearsal. I was still getting used to how Reese talked about girls sometimes. There was more of a laddish edge to him than I was used to, and it left a sour taste. But I didn’t like having negative thoughts about him, so I squashed them down. I got my notebook back and was finalizing my set list when Reese bounded over again, after only one song, like a puppy who’d been allowed to go play. “So, what you mysteriously doing over here?”

  “Yeah, Amelie,” Mark asked. “That better not be our psychology coursework you’re doing. I’ve been pretending it doesn’t exist.”

  I ran my hands through Reese’s hair, my fingers curling up under the brim of his hat. “Actually,” I told them. “I was planning a set list. The Red Deer just booked me for a Sunday gig.”

  There was a moment then, a very tiny one, where Reese’s eyes flashed – or maybe I imagined it.

  Rob spoke first. “That’s so cool, Amelie. God, you are rocking it at the moment.”

  Johnnie gave me a low five. “Yeah, that’s
brilliant. Do you reckon you’ll be able to sneak us in and get us served?”

  I shrugged and waited for Reese’s reaction. His face was emotionless for a second – his eyes blank, mouth set in a thin, straight line. Then it broke into a smile, making me doubt the five seconds where I’d felt certain that he hated me. “Amelie! You should’ve said! Wow. You’re just racking them up, aren’t you?”

  “It’s just a Sunday afternoon slot.” For some reason it felt vital to play it down. “I mean, it will probably be soul-destroying. I’ll just be sitting there, singing my heart out, while everyone ignores me and shoves their face into their roast dinners.”

  Reese scratched his neck. “Yeah, I guess it’s shit if everyone is eating.”

  “Still though,” Rob piped up, tapping his drumsticks together. “A gig’s a gig. Is it paid?”

  I nodded.

  “Whoa. Cool. We actually had to PAY for our slot at the Turtle. You’re running circles around us.”

  Reese took off his hat and squeezed the brim. “Yeah,” he said. “But it’s cheaper to book singer-songwriters than a whole band.” Then he recovered and shrugged. “And, of course, Amelie is very, very talented.”

  I wrapped my arms around him. “You’re talented too.” This weird patronizing voice came out of my mouth that I didn’t understand and instantly hated. He must’ve hated it too because he squeezed my hands and then dropped them like they were covered in fish juice.

  “Right? Shall we go again?” he asked the band. “Rob, your drumming was shit in ‘Nowheresville’. Let’s do it one more time.”

  For the rest of rehearsal, it was like I didn’t exist. He didn’t look at me once. I mean, he was playing, I get it. But it was so different from normal. Usually he’d always glance over whenever he sang a particularly romantic lyric, winking to confirm it was about me, or say “Sorry, I need an Amelie top-up” and kiss me. But for the rest of that night, he was all music music music. I felt I was being punished for something, that I’d somehow upset him again on this evening of not-getting-anything-right. When Rob said, “Dude, can we take five?” he said “Not yet” in such a way that no one dared ask anything else.