Sliding Down the Sky

by Amanda Dick

  I tried to keep busy, working through the checklist that Leo had hastily scribbled on a piece of paper. It helped to keep my mind off things. I thought I was doing okay, too, until the band turned up.

  Leo let them in, and I tried not to pay them too much attention as they unpacked and began to go through the motions of a soundcheck. This was all part of normal life, I told myself. Don’t pay any mind to them, just let them do their thing. It sounded like straight-forward, sensible advice, but it didn’t take into consideration the emptiness that hummed like a tuning fork inside me.

  I hated them.

  No, not hated them – was jealous of them. Jealous as hell. Green with envy. I could feel the jealousy burning a hole in my carefully-constructed mask. It felt like my face was on fire.

  I couldn’t look at them. I tried to pretend everything was fine, all the while staying away from Leo, just in case he guessed. He had enough to worry about without me freaking out about a little live music. Why the hell didn’t I just tell him how hard this was for me?

  Because it’s not fair. It’s not something he can fix.

  It wasn’t all about me. This was his dream, his bar. Like I’d told Callum in the diner, I was just the hired help. I didn’t call the shots here, and live music was our point of difference. We needed it, he was right. Otherwise this was just another bar, destined to blend in when I knew he wanted it to stand out. He deserved to have exactly what he wanted.

  I hid in the hallway as the soundcheck continued. It was torture. I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I sagged against the wall at my back. I closed my eyes, as if that would drown out the twang of the guitar, or the bass player messing around. Having nothing visual to hang on to just made it worse. The music became everything. Every note was accentuated.

  I could hear it in the way they talked to each other over the music. The excitement in their voices was toned down, but it was there. That passion, that love of playing. It was all so clear, especially to me, because I’d had that too, once.

  The memories began to crowd in on me, filling up the emptiness and pushing my body to the brink. I felt like a balloon in that crucial second between not being full enough, and about to burst. I was walking on a knife’s edge, and it was cutting into my flesh.

  Breathe.

  Standing on stage, in front of thousands. The first note played, reverberating through the air around us. The excitement as the crowd picked up on the song. The guitar in my hands, vibrating through my ribs as the music filled the space between my head and my heart, picking me up and taking me along for the ride.

  Breathe!

  I forced myself to breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, over and over again until I realised I’d have to get back out there before Leo came looking for me.

  It was one thing hearing Leo play his guitar in the house, it was another to be confronted by this. The memories were too much, the sense of loss was enormous.

  I remember in the hospital, looking down at my bandaged arm and feeling my music ebbing and flowing through my veins. In my highly medicated state, my grief and my music were inextricably linked. I could feel the music inside me, as if it were searching for a release, some way to escape from my soul. With my hand gone, my arm a mess, and consumed with guilt, it dried up like autumn leaves, crumbling to dust.

  I couldn’t play anymore, and I didn’t want to sing. In my twisted, tortured mind, if I couldn’t do one, I didn’t want to do the other. I didn’t know if Leo quite understood that. He still asked me to join him from time to time when he played, but I couldn’t bring myself to. It would’ve felt like recklessly tearing open a wound that may never heal again.

  I didn’t have it in me anymore. It was gone, ripped away from my body, just like my hand.

  The days after he found me in my apartment were a blur, but there was one moment I’d never forget. I was curled up on my bed, with my bedroom door permanently closed. I could hear him playing his guitar through the walls, and it unravelled my tortured mind. I couldn’t understand why he would do that to me, when he knew how broken I was. I burst out into the living room and begged him to stop. I wanted him to see how much he was hurting me.

  He put his guitar down. Then he told me that music would save me, I just had to let it.

  I had no idea what he was talking about. My music had left me – didn’t he get that? No more piano, no more guitar, no more words or chords or melodies or harmonies. No more bridges or choruses. Nothing. Gone. All of it.

  Still, he didn’t give up. Eventually, when my head began to clear months later, it didn’t hurt so much. A new realisation crept up on me. He had already sacrificed so much for me, helped me in more ways than I thought were even possible. He shouldn’t have to give up playing, too. It made him happy when I listened to him. I could see it in his face. I think he thought I was being healed, somehow… God knows how. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t the magic of music, it was the magic of him, my big brother, his huge heart and incredible capacity for loving me, even when I couldn’t love myself.

  But watching others play, that was a level of pain I was not prepared for.

  “Sass?”

  Shit.

  I pushed myself upright just as he rounded the corner into the hallway where I was hiding out.

  “Just checking stock,” I said hastily. “Everything okay out there?”

  He gave me a look, like he knew something was wrong but he didn’t know whether to ask me about it or not.

  “It’s fine,” he said, making his choice. “I’m gonna open the front doors. You ready for this?”

  No. Not really, not by a long shot. I had to fake it. It was the only way.

  Chapter Ten

  “There's no way around grief and loss: you can dodge all you want, but sooner or later you just have to go into it, through it, and, hopefully, come out the other side. The world you find there will never be the same as the world you left.”

  – Johnny Cash

  Sass

  For a small bar, The Church was humming. It sat on the corner, a couple of steps leading up from the pavement to the double doors, now painted glossy black, set with the original old brass handles. The dark red carpet was original too, but freshly cleaned. The furniture had been mostly replaced by new stuff, but it was new stuff that had an old vibe. Leo had put in a new sound system, the best quality he could afford. The bar itself ran the length of the narrow room, with the stage at one end and a small dancefloor cleared in front of it. It was a galley bar – long and narrow. The atmosphere was carefully cultivated by Leo to be both comfortable and comforting. The dark red walls were adorned with gig posters from rock concerts he’d attended, ranging from the 1990s to more recently. Mounted in glossy black frames, they were his pride and joy and he’d been collecting them for years. Finally, they had a place to be. I was jealous.

  I’d spent some time the day before going around the bar, looking at them. He didn’t have any of me, or of himself when he was playing. I was equal parts relieved and miserable. He should be proud of what he’d achieved, but he’d sacrificed that for me, too. Just in case people asked questions, or put the pieces together.

  I’d gotten used to the bar being full of either workmen or just the two of us, and sometimes Gemma and Aria too, as we rearranged or cleaned things, getting everything ready for the opening. But now our humble little space had been invaded by noise and chaos and a room full of strangers. We were bursting at the seams, the live music thankfully blending into the background as I concentrated on listening to the orders coming over the bar.

  “Four beers.”

  “One whisky, neat; one Coke, no ice.”

  “Three beers; one OJ.”

  “Six beers and six tequila shots.”

  They just kept coming. Leo took care of one end of the bar, I took care of the other. The cash register was in the middle, and every now and then we’d take a moment to swap a word or a look. The place was overflowing and he couldn’t ha
ve been any happier, or more relieved. He didn’t say as much, because that wasn’t his style, but I could see it, clear as day. I was happy for him.

  As for me, I was getting better at dealing with the bartending thing, on the whole. It took some juggling and a lot of forethought, but I kept telling myself that I just needed practice, and I was getting a lot of that.

  Gemma came in briefly with Aria. It wasn’t really the place for kids, but I knew they both wanted to show their support and I was grateful for the friendly faces. Gemma had worked just as hard on this place as Leo had, and she wanted it to work out just as much, if not more. Probably for the same reasons I did.

  I served a customer, watching the three of them out of the corner of my eye. Leo gave Gemma a brief hug before he took Aria off her and introduced her to the patrons on the other side of the bar. Aria charmed them all, smiling coyly before burying her face in his shoulder. My heart swelled. He was so proud of her. He made it all look so effortless – having a family, providing for them, keeping them safe. And then there was me. He never once made me feel like a burden. He included me in this momentous dream of his as if it was always meant to be this way, when we all knew it wasn’t.

  Gemma caught my eye and walked over to envelop me in a warm hug. I knew she understood how hard this was for me, perhaps even more than Leo did. She was easier to talk to than Leo, not because she loved me any differently but because she was a woman. Women thought about things differently. It helped that, as close as we were, we weren’t sisters. The foundation of our relationship was that we were friends first, family second. I loved her straightforward and sensible approach to everything, as well as her flair for knowing exactly what to say at precisely the right moment. It had helped me through a lot of bad days. I loved her sincerity, the fact that she didn’t do anything for show. Everything she did, she meant from the heart.

  “So proud of you,” she said in my ear, above the noise. “You’ve come such a long way. Thank you, for being part of this with us.”

  She spoke as if I had a choice, as if I’d chosen to be here, with them, and it made me feel guilty. If I hadn’t made one stupid decision a year ago, God only knew where I’d have been tonight, and I would’ve missed all of this.

  I hugged her back, nodding into her shoulder. She let me go and went over to collect Aria from Leo, then she took her home and Leo and I went back to serving the crowd of patient revellers.

  Gemma was right. I had come a long way, and I had to try and remember that and not concentrate so much on the lengthy journey still ahead of me. That’s the thought I tried to keep in my head as I served one customer after another. They didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t as confident as Leo, and that I fumbled a bit with the glasses or bottles. I managed not to drop anything important, and I was working out the best way to do things, drawing me the least amount of attention. I realised that people weren’t there to stare at me. They were there to drink and have a good time – I was just incidental.

  A switch flipped somewhere deep inside of me. It felt like being on stage again, only this time I was playing the role of barmaid, not musician. The feeling was similar, though. It was the same stage, just a different character. I put the mask on, and I played to the crowd as best I could.

  All this time I’d been hiding from people, afraid of what was out there, of how I would be perceived or judged, worried that someone might recognise me. Yet tonight, no one looked twice at me, or my hand. They were too busy trying to make themselves heard over the music, or passing drinks back to their friends, or handing over money. From being afraid of strangers and what they might think of me, I found myself drawing strength from them. I was just part of the crowd again. It was a revelation.

  The customer I’d just served took his drinks away, and the space he had just vacated was suddenly filled with Callum. All six-feet-something of him. He smiled at me, and my stomach flip-flopped, which threw me. After what happened at the diner, I was pretty sure I’d scared him away. What I wasn’t expecting was to feel so disappointed about it. Backing away from people had become second nature to me recently, and I knew I could be daunting when I was in self-preservation mode. I wasn’t expecting him to smile at me like that after the way I’d behaved. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if his approach had been civil, even hostile. But there was nothing hostile about him tonight.

  “Hey,” he said above the music.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “Happy opening night.”

  “Thanks.” I found myself smiling back at him. “What can I get you?”

  He leaned over the bar towards me so I could hear him.

  “Two beers and two Cokes, please.”

  He leant both forearms on the bar, and I got the feeling he would’ve actually sat there and stayed, if there had been room. Unfortunately, there wasn’t, and I grabbed some glasses to fill his order, feeling his eyes on me. Thankfully, I didn’t mess anything up under the scrutiny, and I glanced up at him as he handed me over some cash.

  “I’m glad you came,” I said, before I could stop myself.

  I could feel my cheeks burning, but he didn’t seem to notice. Gone were the apologies and the flustered looks and the stolen glances at my hand. It was just him, smiling at me in a way that made me feel like I was a normal human being. It was one of the only times I could remember feeling like that in recent history.

  “Me too,” he smiled.

  It felt like the world was opening up again, breaking apart at the edges, but in a good way this time. The noise seemed to quiet down to a dull roar, the room full of strangers blending into the background, until it was just Callum, smiling at me over the bar.

  He picked up his drinks and turned away, making his way back to his friends. I wanted to watch him, to see what he did next, but there were customers to serve and I had a job to do. So I let him go, and the noise seeped back, filling the void, as I turned to the next customer.

  “What can I get you?” I asked, unable to keep the smile off my face.

  After a while the crowd thinned, the band wound up their set, and Leo began to clean up as I served the tail-enders. I couldn’t help keeping an eye on Callum after that, sitting across the room with his friends. I served Jack a couple of times, and he seemed to be having a good time, as did Ally. I’d only met him a few times, but he was friendly and relaxed, and I knew Leo liked him. Watching from a distance, I could tell that he and Callum were good friends.

  Ally wasn’t as loud as the blonde girl they were with. She seemed to sit back and watch them, taking it all in. The blonde one was gorgeous, bubbly and confident – everything I wasn’t. I wondered what her relationship was to Callum. I could tell from their body language that she wasn’t Callum’s girlfriend. It’s funny, the information you can glean from just watching people from a safe distance. I’d done a lot of that lately. In any case, I was relieved, not for any other reason except that it gave me hope. Maybe I could do some harmless flirting after all. Maybe it would make me feel more like my old self if I did.

  Soon, the exodus began in earnest. People started coming up to us before they left, telling us how much they’d enjoyed the night, complimenting the band, saying they’d be back. I realised that the fatigue that had been creeping up on me over the past hour was different to other forms of fatigue I’d suffered. This was the kind of fatigue that came from the satisfaction of having done a job well, not the kind that comes from spending your waking hours fighting your demons. This was definitely the kind of fatigue that would help me sleep tonight, not keep me awake.

  When there were only a few tables of people left, I saw Callum’s friends get up and leave. It was then that I realised that Ally wasn’t using a wheelchair. The only other times I’d met her she’d been in a wheelchair, so I was surprised to see her using crutches. As I was busy pondering that, both of them turned to wave and smile at us. Then Jack put his hand protectively on the small of her back as they made their way over to the door, leaning in to kiss her neck
briefly.

  That one small gesture left me with a longing deep in my bones.

  I’d never spent much time thinking about relationships. I wasn’t good at them before, I’d always preferred the freedom of being alone, but lately alone had a hollow ring to it. What might it be like, to have someone to talk to, someone to put their hand in the small of my back and kiss my neck like Jack had just done to Ally?

  Someone to love me, even the broken and missing parts of me.

  I dragged myself back to reality and swallowed back the tears that had appeared out of nowhere.

  God, what a mess.

  I grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the bar down for the hundredth time that night, sniffing madly. If Leo saw me like this he’d send me home, and right now I didn’t want to go home to my empty bed. There was something comforting about being here. I felt at home, which was strange, because I hadn’t really felt at home anywhere for a long time. Right now, wiping down the bar, only a handful of people left, Leo cleaning the tables, the band packing up, felt like my comfort zone.

  When I looked over at Callum again, he was walking towards me, beer in hand. Nervous energy surged through me. Without the safety of being able to hide in the crowd, my self-confidence wilted and I suddenly felt vulnerable.

  “I think you missed your ride,” I tried, indicating the trio who had just walked out the door.

  “Lightweights,” he said, settling himself on a bar stool. “No stamina. You’re not trying to get rid of me too, are you?”

  He raised his eyebrows playfully and my heart rate skyrocketed.

  “Not at all. Stay as long as you like – or until Leo throws you out.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he quipped, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve been thrown out of here a few times over the years, but you didn’t hear that from me, okay?”

  He looked much more relaxed than when we met at the diner, but that was probably because he’d had a few beers. I remembered that feeling, that hazy glow that seemed to surround everything. It made me feel a little less edgy, less in the spotlight. Even though I was stone-cold sober, I clung to the idea that we were meeting on neutral territory.