Reft
Page 4
Layna shook her head and said, “No, I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute.”
“All right.” I nodded. “Be back in a few.”
When I came back to Layna’s condo, I was freshly showered. Since I couldn’t remember the last time I’d showered, I thought it would be a good idea to take one before going back over to Layna’s place. Sho and his son Kana were right behind me. Sho and his wife owned my favorite sushi restaurant. Their entire family, which seemed to be bigger every time I had the chance to visit, worked there. When I called to ask if they could send someone over, Sho was more than happy to fulfill my request.
I opened the door and looked back over my shoulder, putting my finger to my lips. Layna was sleeping; I didn’t want to wake her. For some reason I couldn’t put my finger on—and I didn’t want to probe too deeply—I felt a desire to take care of her in some small way.
The three of us made our way through the doorway, and I made my best attempt to shut the door as quietly as possible as they slipped off their shoes. Guess manners trumped health department requirements since they were in a private home. I pointed toward the kitchen for Sho and Kana. They went in and got to work preparing the menu—sans eel and squid—I’d requested. I took a seat on the couch, pulling out my phone to fiddle with it as I waited on dinner to be ready or Layna to wake up, whichever came first.
Barrett: Glad you’re doing something besides sitting on your couch by yourself staring at the wall.
Me: Fuck off, asshole. I’m just doing this so she’ll tell Mom I’m okay. Then Mom won’t show up on my doorstep. Not like you’ll do me any favors on that front.
Barrett: Think about that statement and see which of us is the asshole.
He really was a know-it-all jackass, more so because he was right, per the norm. Barrett had never failed to call me out on my crap. As much as I prayed he would give up and let it go, I knew he never would. That knowledge both reassured and scared the fuck out of me.
“Am I dreaming, or are there really two Asian men wearing white jackets in my kitchen?”
I looked up from my phone to see Layna sitting motionless, like she was afraid she really was in some weird dream. Laughing, I assuaged her fears. “You aren’t dreaming; there really are two Asian men in your kitchen. They’re making our dinner.”
Her head snapped my way, making the messy bun thing she had on top of her head sway. “I thought you ordered sushi delivered.”
An unfamiliar grin formed on my lips. “I did. You were concerned it wouldn’t be fresh. Figured it couldn’t get any fresher than if it were made here.”
Layna studied me curiously, then a small smile formed on her lips before morphing into a grin. My heart skipped a beat into an unfamiliar rhythm.
We sat there smiling until Kana spoke. “Brand, we’ll have the first plate ready in a minute.”
“Great! Thanks, man,” I said to him, then stood and approached Layna. “Here, let me help you.” Extending my hand, I helped her stand and directed her toward the coffee table. She eyed me skeptically when I reached for one of the big cushions on the chair and tossed it on the floor. Her hands reached up to grasp my shoulders as I wrapped my hands around her waist and lowered her to sit on the cushion. “Thought it would be nice to keep in the spirit of things. Umm, what would you like to drink?”
“A coke’s fine. They’re in the fridge.”
“Got it.” I made my way into the kitchen, being sure not to disturb Sho and Kana. There weren’t any Cokes in the refrigerator. “Layna, you don’t have any Cokes. All you have is Dr. Pepper.”
I looked over my shoulder to see her smile and laugh to herself. “That’s what I meant. Coke is a generic term. What do you call it?”
Having never paid attention, I took a second to reply. “A soda, I guess, if I don’t order by name. Never really thought about it.” I grabbed two cans then asked, “Where are your glasses?” They weren’t in the cabinet I remembered them being in the last time my parents came to stay.
“Cabinet to the left of the sink,” she replied.
“Ice?”
“No, thanks.”
I carried the soda and glasses back into the living room.
Kana followed behind me with plates and dipping bowls. After setting the table, he returned to the kitchen to bring out the first platter. Sho didn’t skimp on presentation just because he was in a private home. The meal presented to us was artwork in and of itself. Kana explained all of the different pieces, but I didn’t pay attention to him; I was too enthralled with watching Layna as she took in everything he said as if it were the most interesting thing she’d ever heard. Later on, I would realize this was just her way. For now, I couldn’t help watching her brown eyes light up with excitement over fish and rice—arguably great fish and rice, but still fish and rice. Instead of wondering why she was fascinated with sushi, I should have been asking myself why I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
“What?” she asked with curiosity when she glanced across the table.
Too caught up in watching Layna, I hadn’t noticed Kana had walked away. Thinking quickly, I said, “Oh, uhh, I had some lyrics running through my head. Sometimes I space out like that.” I really did space out when I had inspiration for lyrics. In truth, I hadn’t done that in months—the lyrics, not the spacing out. Most of my time awake was spent zoned out, trying not to think about anything, but writing was a convenient excuse. I just needed to remember when I told people that was what I had been doing. Barrett’s observations about my current forays into song composition were spot on, as much as I hated to admit the bastard was right about something else.
Layna quirked an eyebrow skeptically. “Sushi is inspiring you to write a song? This I can’t wait to hear …” When I didn’t volunteer anything, she prodded me. “Come on, don’t hold back. I wanna hear.” She did this ‘give it to me’ motion with her hands, and I began to panic. There was no way in hell I would admit what I had been thinking about.
“Uhh, yeah, I don’t share my music before it’s done,” I lied and then added, “Nothing personal. It’s one of those artistic quirks.” Whew, pulled that one out of my ass. I hurriedly reached for my chopsticks and began stirring a bit of wasabi in the soy sauce. It was time to get the attention off of me. “How’s your foot feeling?”
She grimaced. “It’s okay, still a little sore. The cast is the most annoying thing.” I could feel her watching me. Her gaze made me feel sort of like a bug under a microscope, but when she spoke it was a lighthearted jab. “You want some sushi with your soy sauce?” she asked with a laugh.
I looked up from the wasabi and soy sauce mixture I’d been focusing on to avoid her knowing eyes and gave her a crooked grin. “I need something to cover the taste of the fish.”
“Why are you eating sushi if you don’t like the taste of fish?”
“I like fish and I like sushi, but I feel like that shark from Finding Nemo every time I eat it, so I try to distract myself.”
“Yet you’re still inhaling it like you haven’t eaten in a month.” Her teasing comment wasn’t too far from the truth. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually ate something of substance. Although I’m not sure if sushi counted as something of substance since I was usually hungry again a couple of hours after eating it.
“The faster I eat it, the less likely I am to have an attack of conscience,” I explained the method to my fish-devouring madness. “I never claimed to be altruistic.”
“I don’t think most people would put altruistic and rock star in the same sentence.”
“I’m not a rock star. I’m a guitar player who happened to luck into a band of talented musicians who have had a good string of luck combined with a lot of hard work.” I hated being called a rock star. I never set out to make it big in music. Music just happened to give me a reason to live when I hadn’t been able to do anything but exist. And, as a band, we worked damn hard. Making music was a lot more than standing on stage for a couple of hours.
I glanced at Layna to see if she wanted anything else, but she shook her head and declined. “Thanks, man, I think we’ll be good with that.”
Once he headed back into the kitchen, Layna asked, “So, why the guitar?”
“I play several instruments. When I started playing with the guys back in college, I was kind of the backup guy, filling in wherever they needed someone. Touch and Bow both sing and play guitar. They switch depending on the song. Bow also plays the accordion and a couple of other instruments. Joker plays the bagpipes and piano. Ruff is our drummer and percussionist. I play almost anything with strings. When we decided to try and make a go of it, the other guitarist didn’t want to go along.” I snickered at his dumb ass. “He didn’t want to leave his girlfriend. She ended up dumping him about five months after we’d started traveling to perform. We’d garnered a little notice, and there were some rumors about getting signed. His idiot self called Bow to ask about coming back to the band. If he had called Ruff or Touch, he might have had a chance of coming back, but Bow told him to fuck off, that ‘we’re a family and you don’t walk out on family for a piece of pussy’”—I mentally kicked myself for not thinking before I repeated Bow’s comments verbatim—“Bow’s words, not mine. That was when I felt like I was a real part of the band. Too bad it didn’t last.” My mouth turned down into a frown as I remembered how each one of them had slowly done the exact thing they said they would never do. Guess I was the dumb ass for falling for the brotherhood myth.
“What do you mean ‘too bad it didn’t last’?” FUCK! I shouldn’t have opened my damn mouth. “Don’t bands usually take time off between touring and recording and all that stuff?” Layna asked. When I didn’t answer right away, she sat her fork down. I’d thought it was cute that she ate sushi with a fork. Now it didn’t seem so cute when she was way too close to another subject I didn’t want to talk about.
Sweat broke out across my skin, and my stomach started churning. I knew I couldn’t stay here. My attempt at normal interaction was about to go down in flames, or come up in chunks in this case. Scrambling to get to my feet as fast as my shaky legs would let me, I muttered, “I’m not feeling so good.” I didn’t even consider that I was leaving her on the floor, nor did I stop when Kana called my name from the doorway to the kitchen. My stride didn’t break until I made it to the bathroom just off the front hall of my condo. The moment my knees hit the floor, I lost … everything.
IT COULD HAVE BEEN MINUTES or hours—I wasn’t sure—but the next thing I knew, I heard the sound of running water, then someone was nudging me. “Come on, get up. You can’t stay on the floor all night,” Layna said in a soft but firm voice. Little did she know, I’d spent many nights on the bathroom floor. I doubted that pattern would be ending anytime soon. “I know you can hear me. Don’t make me hit you with my crutch.”
“You wouldn’t hit a man when he’s down, would you?” I muttered.
“Want to chance you’re wrong on that assumption? I can’t pull you up, so the only other option is to nudge you.” She paused for dramatic effect, I was pretty sure. “And I won’t be gentle.”
I risked opening an eye to barely a slit. Layna leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. It looked like she was prepared to wait me out when she arched one well-manicured eyebrow. I had no desire to argue with her or even question why she was here or how she got into my condo. I just wanted her to go away and leave me in peace to deal with my demons. Closing my eye, I turned my head to bury it in my arms. Maybe if I ignored her long enough, she’d go away—just like everybody else. I heard the telltale sound of her crutches being moved, then I felt a not-so-gentle nudge to my hip. So maybe not …
“JESUS CHRIST,” I yelled as I sat up. “Can’t you fucking leave me alone?”
“No, I fucking can’t, you jackass, so get off the fucking floor and get cleaned up, or I’m gonna start prodding you again.”
“I could just have you thrown out of here, you know,” I muttered as the room spun around me while I tried to get my body under control. Dealing with my mom afterward wouldn’t be pleasant, but I didn’t give a shit at the time.
“That would require you getting off the floor, which is exactly what I want, so go ahead.”
Like a petulant kid, I said, “I could just call security and stay right where I am.” My bottom lip may have been poking out in a pout to rival any three-year-old’s.
“Go ahead,” Layna said way too calmly. She thought I was bluffing, so I started patting my pants pockets.
“Where the fuck’s my phone?” I asked myself out loud as I looked up and caught sight of my phone clasped in Layna’s raised hand. “Why the hell do you have my phone?” I scrambled to get off the floor. I needed to get that phone back, but my head spun when I stood up too fast. The hand I’d stretched out to grab my phone was suddenly grasping for purchase on any surface it came in contact with until I caught ahold of the towel rack, which miraculously stayed in the wall. I’m on the lean side of muscular, but when one hundred and seventy-five pounds pull on an object with a sudden jerk, there are no guarantees when it comes to sturdiness. My breath came in huffs and puffs as my heart raced.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah”—I nodded slowly—“give me a second; just stood up too quick, that’s all.”
“Okay. I was actually coming over to return your phone. You left it on the floor when you ran out.” I exhaled a harsh breath and stared at the floor. “Do you want some water or something?” God, I really was a jerk. She’d been trying to help me and I was an ass to her, and she was still trying to help me, though I hadn’t done much to deserve her kindness.
“Yeah, thanks,” I answered without looking up. Once I heard the sound of her crutches on the floor, I knew I couldn’t make her try to figure out how to carry water back in here, so I forced myself to get up and follow her into the kitchen.
I wasn’t that far behind her, nor was I especially quiet—at least I wasn’t trying to be stealthy. Silhouetted against the light from inside against the darkness of the room, Layna was looking in the refrigerator when I stepped into the kitchen.
When Layna turned and spotted me standing just inside the doorway, she jumped and yelped. After taking a deep breath, she asked, “Did you go to a special school or something that taught you how to sneak up on people and scare the living daylights out of them?”
I studied her as I walked across the kitchen to take the bottle of water she held out to me. “No,” I replied to her question as I opened the water and swallowed a few huge gulps before continuing, “but they say those with something to hide are very jumpy.”
She harrumphed and retorted, “Well, they must be idiots.”
Layna leaned against the island and didn’t say anything as I drank the water. Once I finished, I walked over to throw the bottle in the recycle bin out of habit. I stood there nervously, my back to her, anticipating the next thing she was going to say.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Layna asked softly.
I shook my head and said, “Not really.”
“Want to blow some shit up?” I looked over my shoulder to see if she was serious before turning around. “What? We could kill zombies instead, I guess.”
“Oh, you’re talking about a video game,” I said as if I’d just discovered some big secret.
Her forehead creased. “What’d you think I was talking about?”
“I wasn’t sure there for a minute,” I admitted. “I don’t … uh … I don’t have any games like that. I have Band Jam, though,” I offered as a compromise. As much as I had tried to run her off, I was grateful for the company—it kept my mind busy—as long as she didn’t start asking questions again.
“You have Band Jam?” She said Band Jam like it was a contagious disease.
“Uh, yeah?” It came out
as more of a question than an answer because I was feeling self-conscious. It wasn’t a typical tough-guy game, but I never claimed to be tough.
“Don’t you think that’s a little like cheating?”
Now I was really confused. “No. How would I be cheating?”
“Umm because you’re a musician in a rock band.” She might as well have tacked ‘duh’ on the end of her sentence.
I laughed—actually laughed—at her assumption. “No, it’s nothing like playing a real instrument.”
She pursed her lips as she thought for a second. “Okay, but you have to play backwards or something, to make it fair.”
“Backwards?” I asked. “How am I supposed to play if I can’t see the screen?”
“Not that kind of backwards. Like you have to play left-handed instead of right-handed.”
“Wait—how’d you know I’m right-handed?”
Once again she gave me the look that said she thought I was missing a few brain cells. “You used your right hand to hold your chopsticks,” she explained, and I gave a silent ‘oh.’ Then she gave me another suspicious look as she narrowed her eyes. “Are you ambidextrous?”
“Am I who to-what-rous?” I knew what she meant, but it was funny to watch how serious she was over making sure a video game was fair.
“Can you play with both hands?”
Now it was my turn to look at her like she’d taken a few too many hits to the head. “Yeah, the guitar requires two hands.”
Layna shook her head and said, “No, doofus, can you use each hand interchangeably, like can you write with both hands?”
“Oh, yeah. No, I’m right-handed.”
“Okay, then you have to play left-handed,” she proclaimed.
“All right, challenge accepted.”
It didn’t take me long to realize that Layna was hopeless at playing the drums and even worse at the guitar. She practically cried when the crowd started booing us off stage. I felt bad for her. It didn’t make a difference that I was playing backwards; I was light-years ahead of her. So when she went to the bathroom, I set the game to the no-fail mode.