Discovering Stella

by K. M. Golland

  There was no point in lying to my sister; she was always able to pick when I was doing so anyway. “Yeah, I do ... a lot.”

  She gave me an encouraging nudge with her shoulder. “That’s great.”

  “No, it’s not. She doesn’t want a relationship; she’s not ready.”

  “She’ll never be ready unless someone helps her see that she is.”

  I rubbed my face with the palms of my hands, frustrated that being with Stella wasn’t as simple as it should be. “I’ve tried and it has backfired.”

  “So you’re just going to give up and be the guy who is ‘just a friend’ even though that’s not who you want to be?” Meg’s voice hinted at a sliver of disappointment.

  “I don’t have a choice,” I grumbled.

  She slapped me on the back of the head. “You always have a choice. You have a choice of whether to fight, or fall back and surrender. Since when does Lawson, Knight of Pittstown, yield?”

  “When his fighting hurts the one he’s fighting for,” I explained, rubbing the back of my head. Cheeky bitch.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she said, sympathetically. “Is it really you who’s hurting her, or is she hurting herself?”

  “I think it’s both.”

  Meg put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a light shake. “Then go about it in a different way.”

  “How?” I asked, confused.

  She smiled mischievously. “Through music.”

  Music? Unlike Leigh, I didn’t have a musical bone in my body. “What do you mean?”

  “Send her messages through song.”

  “I can’t fucking sing. I’m not my dickhead friend.”

  “I never said you had to sing. Find a song that tells her what you are trying to say or do. Stella is a musician. She’ll understand.”

  My breath hitched and a huge smile spread across my face. I kissed Meg on the head and pulled her to me. “You are a genius!”

  “Yeah, I know. Now go and search for songs that say ‘I’m an arsehole and I’m sorry’ and ‘I want to be your knight in shining armour’.”

  “Is there a song called that?” I asked, pulling away and scratching my head.

  “I don’t know, silly. Go and find out.”

  Releasing her from my hold, I headed to my room with a new sense of purpose. I was going to get through to Stella once and for all.

  * * *

  After spending most of the night searching the internet for songs, I’d found three that pretty much summed up what I wanted to say, starting with Denis Leary’s ‘I’m An Asshole’. Granted, I didn’t piss on public toilet seats or park in handicapped spaces as the lyrics suggested, but I’d definitely been an arsehole the night before, therefore I thought it was a good way to show Stella that I was admitting to it.

  Copying the song link into a message, I typed what I wanted to say and pressed send:

  Princess, I’m sorry.

  I’m a toad and an arsehole ~ Lawson

  * * *

  By the time morning smoko came around, I checked my phone for the umpteenth time, disappointed that Stella hadn’t replied. So I typed another message and sent her the song link to ‘Creep’ by Radiohead:

  Princess, just in case you didn’t get that I am an arsehole,

  I’m also a creep ~ Lawson

  When I didn’t receive a reply to that message either, I decided to stop moping around and get stuck into work. I’d received a phone call earlier that morning from Scottie’s in Shepparton, informing me that Stella’s cylinder head was now repaired and ready to be picked up. Having made a note to go there the next day, I also took stock of the supplies I was running low on and would need in the coming weeks.

  By the time I was ready to close the workshop for the day, Stella still hadn’t replied to my messages. I had one song left to send her, but I wasn’t sure if it was the right move or not. The lyrics mentioned love, and as much as I really fucking liked her, what the two of us shared wasn’t love ... at least, not yet. But there was something between us. Something good. Something really good. And whatever it was, I wanted it to continue, not end.

  Biting the bullet, I copied the link to ‘Please Forgive Me’ by Bryan Adams, and typed:

  I’m sorry. I want to make it right again.

  Please give me another chance.

  But don’t freak out at the mention of love.

  You can swap that word for ‘really, really like’ if you want ~ Lawson

  I hit send, climbed into my truck and then stopped, realising what that message sounded like. Fuck! I just grovelled like a fucking lovesick fool. Now proverbially sweating like a pig, I typed another message in order to cover my arse:

  Not that I couldn’t one day love you, because I could ~ Lawson

  Jesus fucking Christ! Now I sound like a desperate psycho. Frantically fumbling, I typed what I should’ve typed in the first place:

  Clearly, I’m an idiot, an idiot that wants another chance.

  Princess, I’m taking one whether you give me it or not.

  You’re worth it ~ Lawson.

  I stared at the delivered message on the screen of my phone and let out a breath before throwing the stupid thing on the seat beside me. One way or another, I’d get through to her.

  * * *

  Arriving home, I discovered Stella was working late at the pub with Todd. I didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.

  “You sure you don’t want any?” Meg asked, as she dished some ice-cream into a bowl.

  I dismissed her, preoccupied with thoughts of Stella and her refusal to respond to my texts. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Suit yourself. So ... did you send her a song?”

  “Yeah, I did. I sent three.”

  Meg scrunched up her face as she strained to open a jar of chocolate fudge. “What did you send her?”

  “Here, give it to me,” I instructed, holding out my hand. She handed me the jar, which I opened with ease and then handed back. “I sent her ’I’m an Asshole’, ‘Creep’ and ‘Please Forgive Me’.”

  “Wow, little brother, I’m impressed. Good choices.”

  “Yeah, well, she didn’t think so.” I eyed off her bowl of vanilla choc-chip ice-cream with chocolate fudge. Damn, that looks good. I haven’t had ice-cream in years.

  Meg slid the bowl across the benchtop and winked. “Why do you think she wasn’t impressed?”

  “She never responded.”

  “Hmm ... maybe she hasn’t seen them yet. She’s always saying that her phone battery keeps dying.”

  I spooned some ice-cream into my mouth. “Nah, she’s seen them.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It was plugged in and charging last night. I saw it on her bedside table when I went into her room.”

  Meg raised an eyebrow. “Snoop.”

  “I wasn’t snooping,” I defensively mumbled around a really fucking cold spoonful of ice-cream, squinting my eyes while shaking my head.

  Meg’s high-pitched laughter teased my ears. “You’re having a brain freeze, aren’t you?”

  “Yes!” I pressed my temples with my thumb and forefinger. “Fuck!”

  “Oh my god! I haven’t seen you pull that face since we were kids. You used to devour your ice-cream. And every time, Mum would say, ‘Lawson, slow down or you’ll freeze your brain cells’.” Meg’s laughter died off to a sad sigh, but then she regrouped and tried to lighten the mood. “I guess Mum was right. You appear to have frozen some of your brain cells as the years have passed.”

  “Mum was right about a lot of things,” I answered, remembering the wonderful woman that was our mother. Missing her was like a punishment with no end. No matter whether I held tight to the memories of her, or tried to push them away, the results were identical — fucking painful.

  The beeping sound of my phone distracted me from my thoughts of Mum. It was the sound of an incoming message, so I pulled it out quickly, hoping it was from Stella.

  “Who’s it from?” Meg ask
ed, displaying a shit-eating grin.

  “I don’t know— It’s from Stella,” I corrected myself, her picture appearing on my screen.

  Meg tipped her spoon upside-down and rested it against her lips. “What does it say?” she asked, lifting her arse off the stool and leaning in to sneak a peek of my phone.

  I smiled and stood up. “It’s a song link.”

  “What song?”

  “’Breaking The Habit’ by Linkin Park,” I answered with a smile.

  Meg winked and turned to put her empty bowl in the sink. “Perfect. She wants to move on and she’s asking for your help.”

  Turning so that I could go to my room and look up the lyrics, I stopped when Meg spoke again.

  “By the way, it’s Stella’s birthday on the weekend. We are having a little gathering at the pub for dinner. You might want to get her something ... nice.”

  T H I R T E E N

  Thank you for the music

  How deep can a person dig their own grave? How many wrong decisions or avenues can they take before deciding to just stop taking them? How. Much. Can. Life. Suck?

  Lying in bed that morning, these were the questions plaguing my mind. I had been miserable after yet another mammoth crying session, my torrent of tears the result of Lawson’s angry behaviour the previous night when he’d basically labelled me a heartless bitch in front of Meg and Todd.

  But could I blame him for his out-of-character outburst? No, I honestly couldn’t. After all, it was me who continuously gave him false hope by surrendering to the unwavering passion between us, so it was only fair that he lash out in response. Then again, leading him on had never been my intention. In the heat of the moment, my mind and body truly believed that anything was possible; that maybe he and I could be something more. Let’s just say that my mind and body were both sexually optimistic ... until after the act when doubt crept in and caution blared crimson red, inevitably confusing the hell out of not only Lawson, but me as well.

  Deep down, I didn’t want to feel uncertain where he was concerned. I actually hated feeling that way. I wanted to feel free, happy ... and brave. So why couldn’t I allow myself to feel that? Why did I always grasp suffering? I’m a self-saboteur, that’s why.

  Getting out of bed, I stood up and switched my phone on, surprised to find a message from Lawson. Hesitation stalled my finger’s movement toward the tapping of his name, as I wasn’t sure I could handle any further anger he wished to hurl in my direction. But curiosity is a strange a thing; it’s gets the better of you, so I touched the screen and bit my thumbnail anxiously, practically closing my eyes as I waited for the message to open.

  I was convinced my latest flip-out had done nothing less than bring any evolving romance between Lawson and I to an abrupt end. So when I discovered an apology — a humorous apology, in which he’d called himself a toad — I was more than delighted.

  Slowly lowering my body to sit on the edge of the bed in silent wonderment, I was surprised to find he’d attached a song link to the message. Oh my god! He’s communicating through song.Lawson had sent me ‘I’m an Asshole’ and I had to laugh at his choice of song. But it was the realisation that he understood me so well in such a short space of time that gave me a much-needed wake- up call.

  Roughly ten hours later, and now sitting on a milk crate in the pub’s storeroom, I was still pondering how to respond to his message, or more accurately, the third message that I’d just received. I was at a loss as to how I should reply; the humour he’d used in the earlier messages was now gone, a determined attitude replacing it.

  This message and the song he chose to send along with it came across loud and clear. How could it not?He’d sent me a love song, a song of apology, but of wanting to do anything in his power to make sure the two of us worked. Then, he’d sent a text straight after, advising me to replace the word ‘love’ in the song with the words ‘really, really like’, which I thought was cute. He’d obviously panicked that I’d flip-out at his brazenness, which surprisingly, I hadn’t.

  Having a couple of minutes to myself in the storeroom, I played the song and sang along to it. Jeez, this man was like no other and, despite not having known each other for long, he knew how to read me and how to send the perfect message. He’d also managed to dig himself under my skin and settle there. Maybe I should call him ‘tick’ instead of toad?I laughed to myself, picturing the expression on his face if I were to call him that. It would be priceless.

  Wanting to send a song back to him, I strained my brain for the perfect one.

  “Whatcha doin’ back here on your own, lovey?” Shaz asked from her position at the door, her raspy voice startling me and making me drop my phone. It slid across the floor and landed at her feet.

  She picked it up and looked at the screen, then furrowed her brow. “Bryan Adams? I would’ve thought you young ones listened to P!nk and that other chick with coloured hair.”

  Shaz walked into the room and sat down on the milk crate opposite me before handing over my phone.

  “That other chick with coloured hair?” I queried, taking it from her and smiling in thanks.

  “Yeah, the pretty one. You know? She was married to that English comedian guy. Russell ...”

  “Brand?”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s him. Russell Brand.”

  I smiled. “I take it you mean Katy Perry then?”

  Shaz pulled an e-cig out of her pocket. “That’s the one. I like the song where she kissed a girl and liked it.” She put the fake cigarette to her mouth. “I did that once ... kissed a girl. I liked it too.”

  I cracked up laughing. “Did you?”

  “Sure did,” she said with confidence, waggling her eyebrows as she blew out fake smoke. The vapour generated seemed to dissipate quite quickly.

  “Does that thing work?” I asked curiously, nodding at the supposed quit-smoking device and deliberately changing the subject. Something told me Shaz wouldn’t be opposed to filling me in — in great detail — about her lesbian experience.

  “Yep, it works until I can get my hands on a real smoke.”

  I shook my head, confused. “So it doesn’t work then?”

  “No, not really. I need nicotine. This thing doesn’t have that.”

  “Have you tried patches?” I asked, diverting my attention to scrolling through songs on my phone, all the while continuing to talk to Shaz.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “They gave me a rash. What are you looking up?” she asked, leaning over and taking a stickybeak at my phone.

  I waved my hand dismissively and put the phone in my pocket. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just trying to find a song that had a particular meaning. I want to send it to someone.”

  Shaz’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, what meaning? I’m good at this sort of stuff. I host the monthly trivia night, did you know that?”

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. Sounds like fun.”

  “It is.” She pretended to blow fake O rings. “So ... who’s the song for and why?”

  Shaz was an in-your-face open and honest type. In the short time I had known her, I could tell there was no middle ground where she was concerned. I also felt comfortable in her presence and somehow knew she wouldn’t judge or make fun of me.

  “It’s for Lawson.”

  “Ahh ... our resident knight and mechanic,” she said, with an enormous grin.

  I narrowed my eyes just slightly, while biting back a smile. “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Easy. I have the perfect song for that young man.” She jumped up and held her hand out for me, putting the age gap between us to shame with her agility.

  “You do?”

  “Sure!” she said confidently. Shaz then pulled me to my feet and wrapped her arm around my shoulder, walking me out of the room while lowering her raspy voice to sing ‘Touch Me’ by The Doors.

  I burst into laughter and covered my face.

  * * *

  As the evening wore on, Shaz kept offe
ring song choices, all of them having some form of sexual connotation. It was quite funny because the local men sitting around the bar had no idea why she kept shouting song titles like ‘Let’s Get It On’ by Marvin Gaye and ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ by Def Leppard, and why I kept laughing and replying with “No.”

  Eventually, I had come up with a song that spoke to me about wanting to stop fighting a losing battle and trying another way of getting past what it was that was holding me back and making me miserable. It depicted finally taking a step in the right direction. It depicted having faith. So, without even typing a message, I sent the link of ‘Breaking the Habit’ by Linkin Park to Lawson, this time knowing that what I was telling him was true; that I meant it and wouldn’t change my mind. Maybe it was because this time around I had music to help me communicate, to back me up and clarify what I was trying to say. I don’t know but, whatever it was, I was ready to move on and take a chance with Lawson. I was once again ready to gift my heart. Albeit broken, it was my heart and worth something. And if he was able to put it back together, I knew it was capable of loving beyond anything we’d both known.

  * * *

  By the time Todd and I closed the pub and returned home, it was late into the night. Lawson, I assumed, had gone to bed, and part of me was a little disappointed that I didn’t get to see him or find out what he thought about my message. Meg had fallen asleep on the couch, and I admired the way Todd peered down at her adoringly, the soft smile and glint in his eyes speaking nothing but love.

  “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?” I whispered, stepping up beside him.

  He nodded and gave me a wink. “Not gonna lie, I will marry her one day.”

  Hearing him talk about marriage stirred a dull ache in my chest.

  “Sorry, Stel, I didn’t mean to go there. I —”

  “It’s fine,” I continued to whisper. “Just because I don’t want to talk about my marriage doesn’t mean I can’t talk about it in general. And anyway, I think it’s great that you want to spend the rest of your life with Meg. She’s wonderful.”