Strum Me

by Daisy Allen

  Then as Jez and Brad and finally Marius join in, the dot grows slowly bigger, until it’s the size of a baseball.

  It wavers there, like a shimmering light. Then as the notes from Brad’s violin buzz into life, so does the dot.

  It’s a bee. A bumblebee. An insect made of pure light, dancing over the walls and ceiling of the hall. A soft ambient light fills the stage and we can only just see the band. But all focus is on the notes, the musical notes drawing a map of the bumblebee’s flight plan. Up here, bee, up here, the notes tell us, and he whizzes up to a crevice in the ceiling. No, no, down here, Brad’s bow sings to the bee, let’s hide down here.

  I close my eyes and am transported from the room onto a rocking boat on the sea. This iconic piece of music from Tale of the Tsar Saltan is when the Saltan’s son is turned into a bee and stows away on the boat to the mainland to find his estranged father. It’s one of my all-time favorite pieces of music. And it takes more than skill and practice to play it well; it takes an instinctive feel for the instrument and the sound it creates to make a string of notes conjure the image of a frantic tableau. And not for the first time, it occurs to me the band—each and every one of them—has been touched by the hand of a musical deity.

  I open my eyes again as I find myself almost dizzy, swaying along to the sea’s motions and the bumblebee’s movements. The piece is short and it’s coming to a climactic end.

  Dum dum dum dum dum dum dum! Brad’s violin bee escapes the boat and disappears into the wind.

  And then, without a breath of hesitation, Jez and Sebastian’s cellos soar to life. Bursting out of the restraint of the driving beat from the Korsakov piece, the sound swells like a twenty-foot wave, threatening to crash.

  The boys have chosen Birdy’s “Wings” to combine with the bumblebee, and it is pure genius.

  Birdy’s song is atmospheric and filled with a surging ache. It’s a song of hope but tinged with the darkness of life.

  The stage floods with a soft pink light, then fades to blue, then purple, then retreats to illuminate the stage in a soft, sunlit glow.

  The strings pull back and the spotlight falls on Cadence. She’s an angel in a shroud of white lace. Her hair is pulled to the side in a loose braid. Her fingers fall on each note, deliberate, fated to be there. She caresses the keys to play a single-noted melody. Birdy must have been channeling the goddess of melancholy when she wrote this piece, and Cadence is her confidante.

  The addition of Cadence to the band for some of the pieces has been a game changer. For some epic songs like this it is undeniable—her female intuitiveness injects heart into the song, filling out those empty spaces between the strings. I am so proud to know her, even for the few days we’ve been friends.

  I look around and the entire room is filled with wide-open mouths and closed eyes.

  Brad’s sweet violin layers on top of Cadence’s piano, and it’s like voices were never needed for this song.

  I can’t take my eyes off him. His blond bangs are matted with sweat, his shirt, pulled from the confines of his waistband where it was tucked in at the start of the show, is now drenched with sweat and clings to the expanse of his hard, strong chest. His bow strings are devastated, single threads pulled from one end, catching the light with their transparent silken ribbons. His eyes are closed, always closed, listening to every note from the four instruments around him, living in that audio sphere. In heaven.

  I really can’t take my eyes off him.

  And then, on cue, the single bumblebee light that has still been dancing over the crowd bursts into a trillion stars, mirroring the lyrics.

  We lift up hands hoping to catch the fragments and we wave our illuminated cell phones screens in time, wanting to be a part of the star-studded ocean washing over us.

  The music builds and builds, soaring as the guys become one with their instruments, and us with them.

  And then suddenly, it is quiet.

  And dark.

  The bows move no more, and the piano is still.

  But there’s a roaring in my ears.

  Of a thousand people made into fans of the Rock Chamber Boys for life.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m still sitting in my seat amongst a sea of empty ones. The lights are on, and the empty water bottles and torn ticket stubs strewn on the dusty floor seem like an unfaithful description of what really happened here. I’m still in a stunned kind of silence.

  I have seen the boys play before. Almost countless times, in our days at school. Heard them in their garage, with no one but me and their dogs as an audience. Seen them at monthly school assemblies and year-end graduations.

  They have always been good. Prodigies.

  But not until today, sitting through a one-hour show of their latest works, did I know that they really are stars. Unreachable.

  But instead of being envious or intimidated, I am proud.

  Proud that these men who I knew when their voices hadn’t yet dropped are fulfilling their own dreams.

  And proud of my friend. Who made an unfair world his own. And my heart with it.

  “Hey, you coming?” Hailey calls to me from the entrance to the backstage area. “We’re just making sure everything’s packed, then we’re going to rock on like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “So, sleep then?”

  “Fucking hell yes.”

  I laugh and stand up, looking around this empty hall that to me, will always echo with the sound of Brad’s violin.

  “What’d you think?” she asks as I catch up to her.

  “Eh, it’s no Yanni.”

  She laughs again and grabs my arm. “Come on, let’s go deflate some swollen rock God egos.”

  ***

  “So, what’d you think?” I’m asked again an hour later. This time by Brad.

  It’s midnight and we’re back on the guys’ bus waiting for pizza.

  I’m not sure how to respond. Which seems wrong considering words are supposed to be my field. How do I tell him it was a life-changing experience, without telling him that I don’t really know how to go on from here? That’s how life-changing it was.

  “It…It was really great.” It sounds so lame to me, I almost laugh.

  “Oh, okay. Good,” he responds, a frown fluttering over his brow.

  Which, of course it should. There was nothing just “really great” about the concert at all. But it seemed safe to leave it at that.

  “Mommy?”

  I hear Ben’s voice at the bus door and see him and Carrie, his nurse and nanny, step inside.

  “I’m so sorry, Emily, he wouldn’t go back to bed once he saw the light on in this bus. He said he just wanted to come say good night.”

  “It’s fine, thank you. Would you like to stay for some pizza? We’ve got plenty,” I say, pointing to the pizza boxes laid out on every surface. I hope she accepts; she’s been wonderful to Ben and it might be nice for her to have some adult company.

  “If you don’t mind,” she replies and closes the bus door behind her.

  “Of course we don’t, the more the merrier,” Jez smiles at her as he points to a recliner inviting her to sit down. I see Hailey nudge Marius out of the corner of my eye.

  “Can I stay too?” Ben asks, holding his blankie, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “Well, I guess you have to now!” I say to his excitement.

  “Really?”

  “Why not? You don’t have school tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Mommy!”

  “Come here, Ben, I’ve got something you’d really like,” Sebastian calls over to Ben, who wanders over in his pajamas, leaving Brad and me alone again.

  “So…”

  “So.”

  “I’m really pleased that your column’s done so well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I told you it’d be a good move for you.”

  My tongue feels like it’s welded to the roof of my mouth. This is ridiculous. I’ve never had trouble talking to Brad
before, even in the weirdest of moments since we met up again. I cringe at the prospect that I’m starstruck. What’s changed?

  You, you idiot, my brain tells me, and I take a sip of my wine to shut it up. I can’t control myself around Brad at the best of times, let alone when I’m apparently becoming weak at the knees at the sight of him. Time to run.

  “Actually, Ben, maybe you should come back with me. Mommy’s tired and she’s going to get some sleep.”

  “Aw, Mommy!”

  “Hey, he can stay here. Have a sleepover with Auntie Cadence and me, whaddya think? We can set him on the couch and he can watch TV ALLL night!”

  “YAY!” Ben jumps up and down.

  “Thanks. Thanks for making me the evil monster if I say no.” I roll my eyes at Sebastian. “Fine. But be a good boy and do whatever Cadence and Sebastian tell you, okay? If he’s too much trouble, just give me a yell and I’ll come over and get him.”

  “I’ll be here too,” Carrie says and I smile at her in thanks. Jez beams at me too, which is a little weird.

  I ignore Brad’s eyes that I can feel following me and I leave the bus after giving Ben a hug and a good night kiss.

  I can’t look at him, I won’t. I’m not strong enough.

  I’d used exhaustion as an excuse to get away from Brad, but once I’m in the quiet of my bus, I’m suddenly so fatigued I can barely walk to my room.

  Once there, my dress falls off my body into a shimmering pool on the floor and I’m too tired to pick it up. I slide into the made bed—thank you Carrie—and turn onto my side, pulling the sheet up under my arm.

  The noise from the other bus is loud but comforting. I can hear the guys talking over the music, and now and then even Ben pipes up, and laughter follows.

  I close my eyes. And dream of Brad.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brad

  I’m crazy.

  I’m crazy to be doing this.

  I could get sued for this.

  Fuck that. I could be thrown in jail.

  Trying to talk myself out of it doesn’t seem to be doing any good though, and before I can stop myself, I pull her sheets aside and slide into the bed behind her.

  She stirs, but not into wakefulness.

  Just enough to press back and curve her body against mine.

  The moonlight streams through the window and caresses her cheek and runs down her jawline. Like out of a fucking romance novel. Not helping, moonlight.

  Oh, Emily, sweet, beautiful, fucking sexy as hell, Emily.

  Nothing’s changed and we’re eighteen again and all I want to do is make love to her.

  But I won’t. Not until she’s ready.

  For now, I’ll just lie here, her in my arms, and yes, my cock as hard as a baseball bat.

  But for now, that’ll do.

  That’s how much I want her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emily

  There’s someone in bed with me.

  I think.

  I don’t know; I’m not quite awake enough yet.

  I move my arm to my waist, and yes, there’s definitely an arm there that’s not mine. It’s hairy. My arms are not hairy.

  I scream.

  The arm’s moved and the hand is over my mouth now. I try to scream louder.

  “It’s just me! It’s Brad!” The voice says right into my ear.

  I stop the third scream rising up my throat and try to focus on the face in the dark.

  “Brad? Oh, thank God,” I say, muffled by his hand.

  He lets go of me and I realize what’s happening.

  “Wait, BRAD! What the fuck are you doing in my bed? Get out!”

  He immediately jumps off the bed. Just as the disappointment rears.

  “I’m sorry. I was just—no.” He stops and even in the dark I can see his eyes are frantic and he grabs handfuls of his own hair, shaking his head. “Ugh, fuck the excuses. I…I JUST WANT TO BE WITH YOU, you insufferable, incorrigible woman!” he blurts out, holding out his empty hands.

  I feel myself blink and then say something ridiculous.

  “Er, yeah, that’ll do it. Ooh take me now, you sweet talker,” I mock, as a way to stall to get my bearings. I place my hands under my chin and flutter my eyelids at him, before rolling my eyes.

  “Ugh don’t do that! Don’t try to ignore the issue with your…annoying cuteness!” he growls at me, his face scrunched up into a frown that stretches from the tip of his hairline to the pointed end of his chin.

  “I wasn’t.” Yes, I was.

  “Annoying woman! We need to sort this out once and for all.”

  “I thought you said that ball was in my court!”

  “That was before I knew you don’t know how to hold a racket!”

  “Clever.” It actually was, witty fucker.

  He kneels down on the bed next to me, and I almost fall into the dip he makes. Pushing myself away from him, I try to ignore the image of me falling face-first into his lap.

  “Emily,” he says, calling me by my name, sounding more serious than I’ve ever heard him. I sit up and look him in the eyes, ready to listen. I know I owe him that. Whatever it is he wants to say, he’s proven that he’s got my best interests at heart.

  “I love you.”

  Okay. I didn’t expect that. “What?”

  “What? Like that’s a surprise?”

  No. Of course it’s not, because I love him too. And he knows it. But I can’t.

  “And don’t say you can’t.”

  Insightful fucker.

  He reaches over and takes my hand and I ignore the spark that runs up my arm.

  “Tell me, once and for all, why you can’t. I’ll listen. But you have to tell me.”

  I gently pull my hand from his. Because he deserves to know. He deserves to know that it’s not him, that despite the cliché, it really is me. It is that I just can’t…can’t share. Can’t share him with anyone else. I never have wanted to, and I couldn’t live a life doing that.

  “Because, I love you too much to share you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the women! The groupies! The talk show hosts! The ex-girlfriends texting you in the middle of the night and you disappearing off with them”

  “Whoa whoa whoa, what?”

  “You know.”

  “I fucking hell do not. What ex-girlfriends? As far as I know, the only close thing I’ve ever had to an ex-girlfriend was you.”

  His insistence on denying it grates at me and I jump out of bed, ignoring the fact that I’m dressed only in a nightie and panties.

  “Brad! Stop. It’s bad enough that it happened, the least you can do is admit to it.”

  “Oh my God. You are insufferable. Pretend I don’t know. Humor me, what did I do?”

  “That night…that night, after we …after we had sex. You fell asleep, and all through the night you kept getting text messages from girls, girls I know you’d hooked up with, ‘Oh, Braddy, come see me, I’m home alone, blah blah blah.’ Then I wake up, and you’re not there. No note, no text. And the next thing I know, it’s three months later and you’re on tour, all over the news, pictured with a different girl every night!”

  “Oh my God, you’ve got to be kidding me, right?” He actually has the balls to look surprised to be hearing all this.

  “No. So, just…just stop. You broke my heat once already. I can’t have you do it again, Brad.”

  “But Butter, I didn’t. Oh my God, I didn’t, I swear. I left to go get us some coffees and croissants. Our hangover cure, remember? And when I came back, Silas was there, with his fucking phone with your message telling him to come over and get back together.”

  I shake my head at him, amazed he could be so stupid. So, I ask him.

  “How could you be so stupid? I never wanted to get back together with him. I wanted to talk to make sure he knew it was a clean break. That it was done. I didn’t want him hanging around trying to get back together. Because…I was in love with you
, asshole. Not that it mattered. Not a word, really Brad? After everything we’d been to each other, I understand if after you’d fucked me you didn’t want me anymore, but we were friends for four years. And not a word.”

  Talking about it was a mistake. I’m looking at his face now, and all the pain is coming flooding back.

  He’s staring at me like he can’t understand the words coming out of my mouth. So then he adds some that have the same effect on me. “I sent you a text. I sent you a text telling you I’d run into Silas. And telling you, for fuck’s sake…I told you, I practically begged you to come see me before we went on tour.”

  “I didn’t get it,” I tell him. He wouldn’t lie about this, would he? What would be the point, after all this time?

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I pull away from him. All this time, I had thought that I was the one betrayed by him, I can’t believe he thought I’d done the same. How could we ever move on from this? So, I tell him, tell him what he should’ve known eight years ago.

  “Believe me. If I had gotten your message, I would have been there. Rain, hail, shine, or fucking tornado I would’ve been there, Brad. Hell, I would’ve gone with you.”

  “You didn’t want that. You’d said no to Silas.”

  “Yes, because it was Silas. He wasn’t you.”

  “Or maybe I wouldn’t have left,” he says, as if wishing he’d had the choice.

  “Then where would you be today?” I ask him softly.

  “Maybe with you.”

  And the revelation seems to hit us both, that’d we’d both royally fucked it up.

  He reaches across the bed and takes my hand in his. His voice is broken, soft. Each word kills me.

  “I’ve been walking around with a broken heart for eight years, Butter. Shattered. It killed me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I can only say it was the same for me.”

  “I didn’t know either. I would never have left your side for anyone. I don’t even remember getting those messages from those girls. I probably just deleted them. They didn’t mean anything to me. How could you have not known that?”