A Wish for Us

by Tillie Cole

  And she was right. We weren’t well suited. Our tastes were different. I wouldn’t go down the classical route. Yet even knowing that, the thought of her partnering with someone else, someone like Bryce, had every cell inside me fighting back. “There’s no switching.”

  The fight left Bonnie, and she leaned forward. “Then help me.” She ran her hand over her forehead. She looked tired. A deep breath followed. “Again, do you still only wanna do your side electronically?”

  “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

  I saw the disappointment settle in her eyes. “Cromwell . . .” She shook her head. “The way you can play . . .” She reached out over the table and ran her fingers over mine. Her fingers were so soft. Her voice was quiet. Soothing. Sad. “I don’t know why you won’t play. But what I heard the other night . . .” Tears welled in her eyes. She put her free hand over her heart. “It moved me. So much.” My heart beat out of control. I couldn’t calm it down with her touching me. With her telling me how my music made her feel. I saw her. I saw the hope in her pretty face. Hope that I’d talk to her. That I’d say yes to composing with orchestral instruments.

  Then my father’s face flashed into my head, and I frosted over like a branch of a tree when a snowstorm hit. Anger infused my muscles and I ripped my hand back, rolling my tongue ring just to keep from exploding. “Not happening.”

  “Cromwell, why—?”

  “I said it’s not happening!”

  Bonnie froze. I looked around the coffee shop and saw all eyes on me. I leaned in close. “I asked you to forget what you saw and not bring it up again.” I screwed up a napkin in my hand. “Why can’t you just do as I ask?” I had intended for my voice to be hard, to scare her away. Instead it was broken and raw.

  “Because I’ve never heard anyone so talented in my entire life, Cromwell.”

  Each one of her softly spoken words hit me like a missile, trying to tear down my protective wall. “Drop it,” I said. I felt my throat tighten, the leash pulling tightly.

  The clearing of a throat broke the tension. I kept my eyes on Bonnie, seething, as Sam, the wanker with the coffeepot, asked her, “Everything okay, Bonn?”

  “Yeah,” she said and smiled. My stomach squeezed again. It was the second time today I’d seen her smile. And neither time was at me.

  That bothered me more than it should.

  I could feel Sam eyeing me. “You going to the concert this weekend?” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said. “You?”

  “Gotta work. Oh, before I forget, Harvey wanted to speak to you.” Bonnie got up and followed Sam. I had no clue who Harvey was. I finished the last of my coffee and looked down at the sheet of manuscript paper that was still lying on the table, staring at me. My hand tapped on the table as I stared back at it. I glanced around the shop and saw Bonnie near an office, talking. I fought against the need to grab the pen, but in the end the need to amend the composition won out. I crossed out the notes she’d roughly penned and replaced them with ones that flowed better.

  When I finished, I stared down at the sheet and quickly got to my feet. My heart slammed too quickly in my chest. I shouldn’t have touched it. But I had to write them down. The notes, the melodies. Everything.

  I needed to leave. I meant to take the sheet with me and bin it on the way out.

  “Shit,” I hissed as I burst through the door and realized I’d left the music behind. I looked left and right, deciding where to go. But then a text came through my phone.

  Suzy: You around now? My roommate’s out all day.

  Through the window, I saw Bonnie walk back to the table and pick up the manuscript paper. My heart was in my mouth as her eyes scanned the pages. Her hand went to her chest, making mine tighten in response. Then she raised her eyes, scanning the coffee shop. I knew she was looking for me. My pulse raced and my feet itched to walk back in and work with her. To show her what her music had inspired in me. To show her where I’d take the piece. What instruments I’d use. How I’d conduct.

  But the tether that held me back, the one that controlled me, that kept me from sharing anything, pulled tight, keeping me still. Keeping all my anger locked inside.

  My phone buzzed again.

  Suzy: ???

  I looked up at Bonnie and saw her pretty face. Saw her eyes drinking in the notes I’d written. And I knew that it was her that was challenging the walls I’d kept around myself for the past three years.

  And I had to let it go, or I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope with what would spill out.

  Me: Give me fifteen

  I tucked my phone in my pocket, blocking everything out, and took off for campus before Bonnie found me again. I forced the numbness to take control and push Bonnie from my brain. But only a few meters down the road I saw a poster for the concert being held in the park this weekend. South Carolina Philharmonic. My jaw clenched as I fought the need to go and see it.

  And, Bonnie would be there. That was reason enough not to go. I had to keep her at a distance. To only work with her on the project. She’d seen too much of me already. Knew too many of my secrets.

  I just had to get back to my mixes. And my high walls that kept everyone out.

  That was all I had to do.

  *****

  “You didn’t sign up.”

  I sat in Lewis’s office. A grand piano sat in the corner. A vintage violin with aged cracked wood and a fragile bridge was displayed on his wall. A guitar sat in a stand and cello lay on its side against the far wall.

  I pulled my eyes away when a sense of home flowed through me. I looked at all the pictures of him conducting and realized how young he’d been when he started out. I wondered if he’d always loved music. If it was in every breath he took too.

  “Cromwell,” he said, pulling my attention.

  “I don’t need one-on-one sessions.”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. He leaned his arms on the table. “Cromwell, I know you’ve been focused on dance music for a while now. If that’s what you want to focus on, then fine. We’ll focus on that.”

  “You know how to teach me things about EDM?”

  Lewis narrowed his eyes on me. “No. But I know music. I can tell you what is working and what isn’t.” He paused, assessing me. “Or we can work on some of your old strengths.” He pointed across at the instruments. “Piano. Violin.” He huffed a laugh. “Anything really.”

  “No thanks,” I muttered. I checked the time on the clock. It was nearly the weekend. As soon as this meeting was done, a bottle of Jack waited for me. This week had pulled me apart, and I was ready to let it go. Ready to embrace the numbness that came with being trashed.

  “Do you still compose?”

  I rested my hands behind my head. “Nope.”

  Lewis’s head tipped to the side. “I don’t believe you.”

  Every part of me tensed. “Believe what you want,” I snapped.

  “What I mean is, I don’t think you’d be able to stop yourself composing.” He tapped his head. “As much as we want it to, this never switches off.” He clasped his hands on the tabletop. “Even when I was at my most messed up, with the drink, the drugs, I still composed.” He smiled, but there was nothing happy or humorous about it. Instead it looked sad. It looked like I felt inside. “I came out of rehab with an entire symphony.” He lost his fake smile. “Even if something makes you hate music, whatever it is can often be the catalyst for your next great work.”

  “Deep,” I muttered. Lewis slumped in dejection. I was being a dick again. But everything this week had just been too much. I was tired and wrung dry.

  I just needed a damn break.

  It was funny. I didn’t know if it was being with Lewis, but in that moment I thought of my father, and how me being this way toward someone would have broken his heart. He didn’t raise me this way.

  Manners cost nothing, son. Always be gracious with those who want to help.

  But he wasn’t here anymore. And I’d coped with that f
act in the only way I knew how. I checked the clock again. “Can I go now?”

  Lewis looked at the clock and sighed. As I got up, he said, “I’m not trying to counsel you, Cromwell. I just want you to realize the gift you’ve been given.”

  I mock-saluted him. I couldn’t take one more person telling me about my talent. It was hard enough to push it aside without Lewis and Bonnie fanning the flames that I tried to keep extinguished.

  “Your father saw it,” he said as my hand hit the doorknob.

  I turned my head to face him, and, having no more fight, the floodgates fell. “You mention him again, and I’ll stop coming. I’m this close to dropping out of this shithole anyway.”

  Lewis held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll stop mentioning him.” He got off his chair and came toward me. He was pretty tall. He stopped a few feet away. “But as for the dropping out. You won’t.”

  I stood off the door, shoulders back. “Yeah? And what do you know about—”

  “Enough to know that even though you’re carrying a chip the size of Alaska on your shoulder right now, you won’t leave.” He pointed to the room. “This is your arena. You’re just too pissed and hurt to accept it right now.” He shrugged. “You do see it, but you’re fighting it.” The knowing look in his eyes almost brought me to my knees. “You’re a good DJ, Mr. Dean. Lord knows it pays well these days, and I will no doubt see your name in lights in the future. But with the gift you have, you could be a legend on this stage.” He pointed at the shot of him in the Albert Hall. He sat down. “I suppose the decision will be up to you.”

  I stared at the picture for a second, at Lewis in a tux commanding the orchestra playing the music he had created. I felt the lead ball in my stomach, the one that tried to plow through my wall. Whatever lived inside me, that made me this way with music, was clawing to get out. It was getting harder and harder to subdue.

  “I hope it will be the latter path you find yourself on, Cromwell. God knows I know what it’s like to live a life with that kind of regret.” He flicked his hand and started up his laptop. “Let yourself out. I have compositions to look at.” He looked at me over his screen. “I’m waiting on your and Ms. Farraday’s outline. I won’t wait forever.”

  Cock, I thought as I slammed his office door shut. I was about to turn left to the main exit, but my head turned to the right, toward the sound of a string orchestra. I wandered down the corridor. It was an alternative way out of the building. I let myself believe that as I stopped at the door of the orchestra’s practice room. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

  As the cello took the lead, I let down my walls for a second and let the sound wash over me. A peace I hadn’t felt in years settled through me. I stayed listening as they played Pachelbel’s Canon in D. It wasn’t the hardest piece, and they weren’t the best. But that didn’t matter. It was the fact that it was being played that did.

  And I was listening. I saw magenta and salmon-pink hexagons as the cello played. Then starbursts of peach and cream, flickered shards of mauve and rose as the violins took the melody. I tasted floral on my tongue and felt my chest pull tight, my stomach building with light as the strings danced and sang.

  As the piece finished, I opened my eyes, breathless, and pushed myself off the doorframe. I looked to my left. Lewis was at his door, watching me. A surge of anger lit me up that he was there, seeing me, I rushed out of the building and walked to my dorm. The minute I entered my room, the smell of paint smacked me in the face.

  “Shit.” I threw my bag on my bed.

  Easton turned from the canvas he was painting on. “Top of the morning to ya.”

  I shook my head. “Dick. I’m not Irish. I’m English.” I slumped on my bed, but the minute I did I was restless. Bastard Lewis messing with my head. Bonnie Farraday and her hand on her chest as she read my music was etched into my brain. But not as much as the imprint of her hand on my arm was from last Friday night.

  They were pushing and pushing me to breaking point, and I couldn’t friggin’ stand it.

  “There’s a difference?”

  I rolled my eyes and jumped back off the bed. I looked at the painting he’d done. There was color everywhere. It was blinding. Like Jackson Pollock on crack. “Jesus, East. What the hell is that?”

  He laughed and put down his paints. He was covered. He spread his arms wide. “It’s me! How I’m feeling on this fine sunny day.” He came closer. “It’s the weekend, Crom. The world is ours!”

  “Tone it down.” I stared at my mixing table and realized that I had bugger all desire to create new mixes right now. “Let’s go get food. I need to get off this campus.”

  “I like your style.”

  We walked out of the dorm and headed to Main Street. Of course.

  “Your mama’s been emailing again,” Easton said as we headed to Wood Knocks. I looked at him, eyebrows pulled down. He held up his hands. “You left your laptop open. Kept coming on every time she messaged you.”

  “Great,” I muttered.

  “Got a new stepdaddy, huh?” I gave Easton the side-eye. “Saw it on the subject line.” He smirked. “It’s his birthday near Christmas. She wanted to know if you were going home to celebrate.” I stopped walking and stared at Easton. “Fine!” he said. “That’s all I read. Promise.” He winked at me and smiled.

  The answer to that would be a huge no. I wouldn’t be going home for Christmas. Just thinking of her new husband in my dad’s home tore me apart. I was staying far away.

  We walked past the park. There were lights and people all over. My eyes narrowed as I tried to figure out what was going on.

  “The orchestra concert, or whatever the hell it is, is on tonight,” Easton said. I caught the distant sound of instruments being warmed up. “Bonnie’s going, I think. Not quite your scene though, hey, bro? All that classical stuff.” He shook his head. “How anyone sits through that kind of thing is beyond me.”

  Bonnie. I hadn’t seen or heard from her all week. She’d been gone from class for the past few days. It was . . . weird not to have seen her a few rows down. The room almost seemed empty with her gone. She hadn’t texted me either. Not to meet up.

  No more asking if I was okay.

  I . . . I didn’t like it.

  “He a dick?” Easton asked as we walked into the bar.

  I raised my eyebrow, confused. I’d been too busy concentrating on thoughts of Bonnie.

  “The stepdad.”

  We sat down. The barman nodded at us. “Two Coronas,” Easton said, then thought for a second. “And a couple of tequilas, Chris.”

  Easton turned back to me, waiting for my answer. “Don’t know him well. Never made the effort. I’d moved out of home before she’d met him.” Easton nodded, but he looked at me like he was trying to figure something out. “And your mama. You not get along either?” He shook his head. “My mama wouldn’t stand for that. She’d be marching into our dorm room and demanding that I talk to her.” He laughed. “She can be quite the force to be reckoned with.”

  “I used to get on with her.” I paused while the drinks arrived. I went for the tequila first. I knocked it back in one, forgetting the lime and salt. “Not anymore.” I hated talking about my family. Hell, I hated talking, full stop.

  “And what about your da—”

  “What’s wrong with Bonnie?” I cut Easton off before he could ask that question. My heart was still racing at even the thought of having to answer it.

  He didn’t seem to notice. He took a sip of Corona, then said, “Flu. She went back to the folks’ for the week so my mama could look after her.” He laughed. “I’ll tell her you care.”

  “Don’t bother,” I snapped. But inside something in me relaxed. She’d had the flu. Which meant she’d be coming back to school soon.

  Easton’s face lit up. “I find it hilarious that my roommate and my sister hate each other.” Bonnie hated me? I didn’t realize I was frowning until he said, “Don’t tell me that hurt your feelings?” He slapp
ed the table. “Shit! We’ve found your kryptonite. A chick that doesn’t like you is what pisses you the hell off.”

  “Not at all.” I waited until he calmed down. Until I’d calmed down. Bonnie didn’t like me . . . “We have to work together for composition class. That’s as far as it goes.” I wanted to change the subject. Quickly.

  “Okay, okay. I’m just messing with you.” He leaned forward, arms on the table. He was watching me. No, studying me. “I can see why y’all clash though.” He waved at the barman for more drinks.

  “Are you going to explain, or just let that hang in the air?”

  Easton smiled, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. “Bonnie’s always been a go-getter. Ever since we were kids, she would organize things. Events, stupid little games for the neighborhood kids.” He stared off into the distance for a second. “I was always the one in trouble. The one who got under my folks’ feet.”

  “Nothing’s changed there then.”

  “True.” Easton clinked my Corona with his. He sighed. “Then she fell in love with piano. And that was it.” He clicked his finger and thumb. “She was hooked. Never went anywhere without her little keyboard.” He huffed a laugh. “Gave me a headache for about two years before she got good enough that I could actually tolerate her playing. Then it was recital after recital.” His smile faded. He went quiet. Too quiet. The silence made me uneasy. “She’s good people. She’s my sister. But she’s more than that. She’s my best friend. Damn, she’s my moral compass. She keeps me in line.” He downed the rest of his Corona and shoved the empty bottle aside. “She’s the better of the two of us. Don’t think anyone doubts that. I’d be lost without her.”

  It went quiet. Then Easton looked up at me and smirked. “You, however, are in a shitty mood twenty-four-seven. Never do anything on time. Hardly speak. Keep to yourself. And worse, you play EDM. My sister, who loves classical music and folk, has been paired with a dude that can’t play nothing but his laptop and drum machine.”

  He pissed himself laughing. I stared at my Corona, thinking how totally wrong he was about me. And he was wrong about Bonnie. She’d seen me. The real me. The one I was deep down inside.