Like The Wind

by Bengtsson, J.

  I shook my head, casting off the memories. “I’m just not ready yet. Besides, I’m pet sitting that week and I can’t flake on this lady. She’s one of my best customers—gives the big tips. You know, like those people who hand out the giant candy bars on Halloween?”

  “How can I compete with the king-sized candy bar lady?” Mom asked, sounding bummed but resigned.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. You know I want to be there for you. It’s just hard.”

  “I get it, baby. I do. I just wish he’d picked a girl outside of the family unit to screw.”

  “You and me both.”

  “So, what exotic location should I tell them you’re visiting this time?”

  “Mmm… good question,” I pondered, relieved to have the Brandon discussion out of the way. “Oh… how about an African safari?”

  “No. That won’t do. You were in Zimbabwe for Garrett and Laura’s fortieth anniversary.”

  “Crap, you’re right! Good catch. How about an expedition to Antarctica?”

  “In the winter? I don’t think so, Breeze.”

  “Yes, but is it winter in Antarctica? I don’t think so.”

  “It’s always winter in Antarctica!” Her voice rose in amusement. “Either way, it’s too far-fetched. How about something more believable, like you’re spending the winter in Aspen cutting hair for the rich and famous?”

  “Right, but that makes me sound like I’m just there working.”

  “Well how else would you be able to afford to be such a world traveler?” Mom sighed. “Anyway, I can’t keep up with your fictional life, so when you get it figured out, let me know.”

  “Alright, I’ll come up with something good,” I promised.

  “Or plausible. I’ll settle for plausible.”

  “Plausible is boring. No thanks. You didn’t name me Breeze for nothing.”

  * * *

  The power of music is a beautiful thing. Transformative.

  As the song began, I tapped my boots to the beat. Kelly, a like-minded friend, tipped her beer bottle against mine before jumping from her stool and grabbing my hand. “Let’s go girl. No way can anyone sit still for Luke Bryan.”

  Country music—my dirty little secret. One I kept from my family and friends back home. Mason was the only one from that group who knew the truth, and he wouldn’t dare judge after all the crap I’d kept quiet for him throughout the years.

  Listening to a specific type of music might seem like no big deal to most. But as the daughter of modern-day San Francisco hippies, I cut my teeth on the likes of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendricks, making my preference for country a darn right sinful admission. So I kept my obsession to myself, spending several nights a week at my favorite haunt, a country western bar. It seemed like an oxymoron, country music fans in Southern California. But we did, in fact, exist. And so did a few establishments catering to my kind.

  I hadn’t always been a fan. But my break up with Brandon led me to the healing powers of country music. That and a glaring lack of income. The first few months in this new place were trying—living alone, struggling to pay my bills, and relying solely on my radio for entertainment. That’s when I’d discovered that the only programming that came in clearly was the Spanish language channels and one lowly country western station. Since I couldn’t speak a lick of Spanish, I begrudgingly tuned in to the country. And as each song filled my ears, I realized the music was slowly pulling me out of my post breakup blues. Packed with happiness, love, and persevering over heartbreak —as well as the occasional hunting and fishing story—country music got me through the worst time of my life, and I found myself clinging to its optimistic lyrics and foot stomping beats.

  “I can’t dance yet.” I scanned the room for my best friend. “I’m waiting for Mason to get back from the bathroom. I’ve got to get him drunk quickly so he’ll stay.”

  Mason was not a country music convert. Not yet anyway. He only came tonight because it was my turn to pick the place. Turnabout was fair play, and if he was content to drag me to strip clubs, it was only right that he pay his dues here. Mason and I had a long history together. We were classmates before we were neighbors, neighbors before we were friends, and friends before we were siblings. The sibling part was honorary. After a particularly nasty episode where Mason’s crazy-ass mother chased him down the block with a butcher knife, he’d sought refuge at my house and never left. But one thing held true to this day, Mason had never been, nor would he ever be, mine.

  Like me, Mason lived his own kind of lie. I wish I could say being gay was the biggest secret he kept, but Mason had come out years ago. No, my friend wrestled with demons few could understand, and keeping him afloat had always been my job. So if he sometimes had to suffer through music he abhorred, too damn bad. He owed me.

  Kelly grew bored with the one-minute wait and pulled out her phone. Giggling replaced her impatience.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Damn, little Corey Waldon grew up to be a hottie,” Kelly said, turning the screen toward me. I was expecting to see a face but instead an ass wriggled in my vision.

  Hitting replay, I said, “Who’s Corey Waldon?”

  Mason slid back onto his stool and took the phone out of Kelly’s hand. “You don’t know who Corey Waldon is? Shame on you.”

  “It was the name of the kid brother on the TV show Waldon Road,” Kelly explained.

  I shrugged. “Well, if it aired before 2010, I wouldn’t know. My parents didn’t believe in television. They said it stunted growth, made kids stupid, and squashed creativity. Yet here I am standing all of 5’4, can’t tell the difference between my right and my left hand, and the last time I went to the ‘paint with wine’ class my sunset looked like an over easy egg.”

  Mason laughed. “I didn’t want to say anything about the painting but…” In fact, he had said something – many times. “You do know Betsy and Terrance used to sneak to the sports bar to watch games, right?”

  “What?” It couldn’t be true. My parents, the two people who’d preached the evils of television, slipping away to watch behind my back? I shook my head. “No way.”

  “Yeah, my mom used to see them there all the time.”

  I didn’t believe it. Not for a second. My parents hated television. I mean, hated it. “She must have confused them with someone else.”

  “Yeah, no.” Mason smirked. “Maybe you didn’t watch TV before 2010, but your parents sure as hell did.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Gaping at Mason, I struggled to come to grips with his insider information, before adding through gritted teeth, “I’m just going to have to kill them both.”

  My over-exaggerated response gave Mason a good laugh.

  “I mean, I was the freak in school who didn’t know any of the popular television characters of the day while my parents were getting shorter, dumber, and less creative. What hypocrites.”

  “Anyway,” Kelly broke in, oblivious to the internal pain of missing out on the Gilmore Girls. “Corey Waldon is none other than Bodhi Beckett – boy band cutie.”

  “Bodhi? Really? Wait, that’s his butt? I thought he was the good boy of the group?” I asked. It’s not like I didn’t know who those guys were. I was a hairstylist, after all. I spent a lot of time flipping through the latest celebrity magazines while waiting on my clients, and Bodhi and his band mates were always somewhere inside the pages.

  “Bodhi’s vanilla for sure,” Mason said. “But if you’re looking for a wholesome, preacher boy, his band mate, Hunter Roy, is the man for you.”

  “Wow, Mace, you really know your boy band members.” I nudged him good-naturedly.

  “Maybe you forget I’m gay.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “We like boy bands and hot men. But don’t worry. You can have Hunter. Dane’s my guy.”

  A particularly catchy tune drew the melody to my lips and Kelly and I sang at the top of our lungs.

  “Dammit Breeze, you used to be so cool. What ha
ppened to you? Oh yeah,” Mason motioned around the bar, frowning, “this happened to you.”

  “I hope I’m not detecting attitude. Because, if I am, maybe you’d like to do a little line-dancing?”

  Mason shook his head vigorously.

  “Okay then, shut it, because tonight, I hold the power.”

  It was a deal we’d brokered years ago. Whoever picked the place also dictated the activities. And Mason was one complaint away from kicking up the dust.

  “Bodhi was also in the sitcom Hot and Cold.” Kelly picked up the discussion Mason and I had already dropped. Either she was struggling to keep up or just not listening to us at all.

  “Yep.” Mason nodded. “And now his ass is all over the internet. Good for him. Actually, I’m surprised it took him so long to self-destruct. Everyone knows former child stars have a short shelf life.”

  One of our favorite songs came on and just singing along was no longer an option. Kelly jumped to her feet again, pulling me with her. This time she wasn’t taking no for an answer. Once we were on the dance floor, I kept an eye on Mason. I was no stranger to his severe mood swings, but something was off with him and no amount of probing would get it out of him.

  Mason wasn’t one of those happy, fun gay guys that girls dreamed of having for a bestie. We didn’t fill our days with shopping trips and gossip. Nope, Mason was sarcastic and brooding and, worst of all, he hardly ever threw frivolous praise in my direction.

  With Kelly knee-deep in conversation with a forty-year-old Californian man pretending to be from the deep south, I headed back to the table, plopped down onto my stool, and laid my head on Mason’s shoulder.

  “You okay there?” I asked.

  “I was going to ask you the same question, Victoria.”

  I looked him in the eyes. “Who told you?”

  “Kelly.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Hugh’s looking pretty frail. I don’t know how many more proposals he has in him.”

  “Well, he is a hundred and twelve so …”

  “Hey.” I laughed. “That’s my fiancé you’re dissing.”

  Mason’s smile melted. “You worry too much about things you have no control over, Breeze.”

  Suddenly, I got the feeling we weren’t talking about Hugh anymore.

  “What’s going on with you, Mace? Why won’t you tell me?”

  He stiffened before taking a shot of whisky.

  “Seriously? You’re not going to tell me? What happened to us telling each other everything?”

  “That was your idea, not mine.” He laughed. “I never agreed to be your girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe that’s what you need. I can’t help you if you keep secrets from me.”

  “Trust me, Breeze. You can’t help me either way.”

  Mason looked into his glass, grimacing. He was a tough nut to crack. One moment we could be talking and laughing and the next he looked like he wanted to shoot himself.

  “Hey,” I side-hugged him. “Forget I asked. Let’s just have fun tonight.”

  He nodded, still not meeting my eye. No matter how old he got or how confidently he portrayed himself, when it came right down to it, Mason was an insecure little boy running from the demons of his youth. He craved affection like everyone else, but sometimes I wondered if he had the capacity to fully embrace it.

  That wasn’t my issue with love at all. I was ready and willing to fall, but I just couldn’t find a guy to do it with. And unlike other ‘gay and girl’ best friend pairings, Mason and I had no contingency plan. We had no baby pact at thirty or desperation marriage promise. We either found love separately, or we remained best friends who met at bars to drink to each other’s failures.

  “My mom wants me to go home for the family reunion, but Brandon will be there… with his baby and Jenna.”

  Mason downed another shot.

  “Are you drinking to my pain?” I asked.

  “If we have to have another Brandon discussion, I need to get drunk.” He was joking… sort of. Mason had lived through my breakup and all the misery that came with it.

  “It’s not just Brandon, it’s all men in general. I mean, I’m a fairly decent looking girl...” I waited for his affirmation, and when he said nothing, I kicked him under the table. “That’s your cue, Dude.”

  “Yes, Breeze, you’re gorgeous. You’ve got great hair, love the pink highlights, by the way.”

  “You like?” I fluffed my fingers through my dyed silver blonde locks, complete with subtle pastel pink highlights. “I was going for crazy fun.”

  “Yeah, well congrats, you’ve got the crazy part down pat but the fun?” He looked around the bar. “You need to work on that.”

  “Stop, be serious.”

  “I am. With that great hair and your killer little bod—mmm mmm— if I wasn’t gay, I’d be all up in your shit.”

  “That’s it.” I clapped my amusement. “Oh my god, Mason, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to talk to me like that!”

  He met me halfway for a high five. “And it only took eighteen years.”

  “I know, right? Anyway, as I was saying, I’m a decent looking girl, with a winning personality, so why can’t I find a civilized guy who still has all his teeth?”

  Mason took another shot.

  “Stop drinking to my pain,” I repeated, giggling.

  “Hey, you complain, I drink,” he said, shrugging. “Don’t blame me. I don’t make the rules.”

  “Yes, Mason. Yes, you do! You made the game up, jerk.”

  He laughed so I tapped his leg with my boot.

  “Hey, beyotch. You kick me again, I’m going to dump your ass in an old folks’ home and find me some stud to finish out the night with.”

  “At a country western bar? Good luck with that, my friend.” He winced, knowing I spoke the truth. “Besides, what would Curtis think?”

  An exaggerated eye roll came from Mason. “Curtis pees sitting down.”

  “Yes, but he’s always there for you.”

  “Right, because he’s a stalker, Breeze. That’s what they do.”

  “Fine. Die alone. See if I care.”

  “Me?” He scoffed. “This whole guy thing clearly isn’t working out for you either. Have you ever thought about switching sides? I hear tits are all the rage.”

  “I don’t know, Mace, have you thought about switching sides— you know, because of the whole tit thing?”

  We stared at each other for a second before breaking into matching grins.

  The magic faded quickly, along with my smile. “Look,” I said. “I know we made a pact never to make a pact, but that was years ago, before the two of us proved to be such failures at love. So, if neither of us is with the man of our dreams by the age of thirty-five, can I pretty please with sugar on top, borrow a vial of your sperm?”

  Mason blinked down at me and, squaring his shoulders he replied, “Breeze, if neither of us is in love at thirty-five, I’ll put the boys in you myself.”

  4

  Bodhi: Wellness Retreat

  I had to hand it to my father, he’d delivered on his promise of seclusion. The place he’d rented sat atop a coastal mountain, with sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean. I spent the first few hours just wandering around the grounds, enthralled by the Eucalyptus grove behind the estate.

  Canopied by intertwined branches, the thick shade provided a welcome relief from the heat of the day and gave the grove a dusk to dawn type feel. Despite the fact that it was December, the temperature soared in the afternoon. In Southern California, seasons didn’t really matter. Every day was a nice day… until the Santa Ana winds arrived, blowing in from the desert and rearranging the landscape.

  Giving myself over to the beauty of my surroundings, I marveled at the incredible peace I felt amongst the aging giants. Solitude was a treat I rarely had the time to taste. Wherever I went, pandemonium ensued. My life was like being in a parade— on display twenty-four-hours a day. There was never any relief f
rom the constant gawking. Even zoo animals got breaks from the action from time to time. I never did. But here I was, as insignificant as the dried, leafy debris discarded on the forest floor. Somehow that realization helped ease my conflicted mind.

  In the next few days, a decision needed to be made in regard to my mother. She wanted to meet me and, although I was curious about her, something in the back of my mind warned me to be cautious. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was after more than just a reunion. Or maybe my father had totally warped my view of humanity. Had he taught me to be wary of the world? Were people really as he’d described—self-serving leeches, ready and willing to drain my blood the first chance they got? Was my self-imposed isolation merely a reaction to his backward teachings? My father’s underlying message had always been that he was the only one I could trust. And maybe that’s why I’d stayed close to him over the years. Even after everything inside had screamed for me to leave.

  Taking a seat on one of the giant roots protruding from the trunk of a particularly twisted tree, I ran a hand over the bark and wondered what had happened in its lifetime to become this disfigured version of itself. Did the tree mind carrying around such baggage or had it come to accept life for what it was—imperfect? Maybe if I sat here long enough, the answers to my own flawed existence might drop from the sky. I’d been given an impossible choice. Either the devil I knew, or the angel who’d risen from the dead. What was I to believe when the people who were supposed to love me the most had lied to me every single day of my life? What was wrong with these people? How was I supposed to choose a victor when both appeared to be the villain?

  “Got any advice?” I asked my leafy friends. As predicted, they didn’t have words of wisdom, nor did they offer me an ounce of sympathy. No doubt they’d heard their share of sob stories over the long years, and mine was just another one to add to the puddle of tears at the base of their trunks.