How We Deal With Gravity

by Ginger Scott

  Funny how I can’t stop imagining.

  I shut my eyes and lie back on the bench for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to ease the anxiety I can feel gripping at my lungs. Once my head feels clear, I sit up and adjust the knot of hair atop my head. I can’t hide in here all night, and at least I’ve broken the seal of silence between Mason and me—and I feel like I won the first round. He’s weak. And I’m stronger.

  Yes. I’m stronger.

  Mason

  I hear words. That’s all I hear—words, words, words. My mother has been talking for a good fifteen minutes, but I haven’t heard a single thing she’s said other than, “…how could my own son come home, and not even call to let me know!”

  She caught me by surprise. I was all mixed up, sitting next to Max, having him want to talk to me—like I was his friend. And then Avery came over, and for some reason my throat closed up, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her. Hell, I couldn’t even look at her! And she seemed perfectly content with me not looking her direction.

  And the second Avery left, my mother was standing in the spot she’d just abandoned. Max didn’t even flinch when my mother started berating me with a string of choice words. In fact, Max just kept right on teaching—sliding his fingers around and building a song on the digital timeline. I envy that kid and his ability to focus—or maybe it’s his ability to tune out.

  That’s exactly what I’m doing to my mom right now, only instead of an iPad, I’m obsessed with figuring out Avery. She didn’t seem angry when she saw me tonight, and she even left me alone with Max—something that two days ago she would have died before she let happen.

  Talking to Claire earlier dug up a lot of old memories, and a lot of shit that I’m not proud of. Looking back, yeah…I knew Avery liked me. I never thought it was anything serious, but that’s only because it wasn’t serious to me. It was this funny joke that I had, and I’d roll my eyes to my friends about how I liked going over to Ray’s, but that his daughter always followed me around like a puppy. I didn’t think I was ever mean about it. Honestly, I was always actually kind of jealous how easy school and shit was for her. But I also never wanted anyone to get the wrong idea about the amount of time I spent at Ray’s house, never wanted anyone thinking Avery was my girlfriend.

  Then one day, out of nowhere, she stopped hanging around, and I always wondered what I did wrong. It didn’t keep me up at night or anything like that, but sometimes, when I’d see her with her friends at school, I’d think about it—she’d always look away, completely uninterested in me. Guess that great mystery is solved now.

  “Honey, are you listening to me?” my mom’s teary words snap me back to the present. She’s crying, but it’s that fake cry she does when she wants to get attention. I hate it. It used to work on me when I was a kid, but by the time I was in junior high, I could see right through it.

  “Yeah, ma. I’m listening,” I say, leaning forward and rubbing my face. “Look, I didn’t know how long I would be here. It happened suddenly, and you were talking about letting go of the lease, remember? I didn’t want it to be a big deal.”

  “But you’re my baby, Mason. You’re always a big deal.” If I had a dime for every time my mom said that to me. I know she loves me, and I know that if I really needed something from her, she’d do her damnedest to come through. But I also know she’s not the first, or even the second, person I’d turn to.

  “I know, Ma. I know. And I love you. But I just wanted to figure things out. Besides, it’s a music business thing, and you know I’ve always gone to Ray for help with that,” I say, hoping that’ll be enough to let my mom off the hook.

  “He’s so good to you. I owe that man, Mason. I know I do,” she’s switching to guilt mode, and I’ve got to steer her back before she starts with the tears again.

  “No, you don’t, Mom. He’s a family friend. He’s my friend. That’s why I came to him, and that’s all,” I say, and she seems to be willing to let this one go…for now.

  “Okay, but I’ll get the sofa bed ready for you—you can come stay with me when you’re done with Ray,” she’s insistent on this, and I let it be, just standing and giving her a hug, like a good son.

  I’m not leaving Ray’s. I’m not leaving Ray’s because staying with my mother would only make me resent her, this town, and my failure even more. Barb Street is lonely—she’s always lonely when she leaves a relationship. But she’ll find a new one; she always does. I’ll visit and call now that she knows I’m in town. But I’m not moving my crap into her apartment and sleeping on the sofa bed. And I’m not leaving Ray’s house.

  And damn. I’m thinking about Avery again.

  I’m actually nervous. I haven’t been nervous since the first time Ray threw me up on his stage. But I’m nervous now. I keep telling myself it’s because I’m doing something different, going up on that stage without a band—just my guitar. And I’m playing some cool covers—the kind of shit I always wanted to try. I’m just nervous because I haven’t practiced them much, because I’m going in a little cold.

  The place is packed. Word got out fast. I know Claire’s responsible for about half of the people in here. She overheard me talking to Ray about performing. I didn’t know she was such a fan of my music—shocked the hell out of me, actually, considering just a few hours earlier she was busy trying to suffocate me with guilt. Her mood toward me turned around really fast when she found out I was playing tonight.

  “You ready, kid?” Ray says, patting my back once and squeezing my shoulder. I let out a big breath and smile. “All right then, I’ll go let everybody know.”

  Nothing was ever very formal at Dusty’s. That’s what people loved about it. Even the stage was nothing to look at—a two-foot platform with a black curtain behind it. Once, a while back, Ray talked about fancying it up, but all of the bands begged him not to—it wouldn’t be the same. Playing at Dusty’s was like playing in your best friend’s garage. It’s where you try things out and see how they sit—without all the pressure. Tampering with the environment would just ruin it all.

  “Hey there everyone. I’m sure you all heard, but our boy’s in town. He’s trying out some new stuff, and of course, he came home to do it,” Ray says, and I thank him internally for finding a way to spin everything for me. I make a mental note to tell him later. “I’m not gonna make y’all wait for him. I told him he could play as long as he wants tonight, so let’s make him feel real welcomed, all right? Mason…come on up.”

  The whistles still get to me, and I can’t help the embarrassed smile on my face. I climb up and take the stool at the front of the stage while tonight’s crowd screams for me. It’s just the stool and a mic—that’s how I wanted it tonight. And even though it’s a crowd for Dusty’s—probably 150 people—it’s small compared to some of the places I’ve been playing.

  “Hey there,” I say, my voice echoing a little, and more whistles coming back up in response. I laugh lightly, my cheeks hurting from the embarrassed smile filling my face. The people here have always been so good to me. It used to be the adoration that got me off—the girls thought I was sexy, the guys thought I was man enough to not want to kick my ass in the parking lot after the show. But coming back—playing here tonight—has my eyes wide open. These people don’t love me because I’m some hotshot musician. They don’t care that I have some stupid ounce of talent that sets me apart from them. They love me because I’m theirs—because this is home, and I’m family. The feeling that sinks into my chest is strange, but it’s good.

  “First off. Thanks, Ray, for letting me hang out up here tonight,” I say, nodding my head to the edge of the stage where Ray’s still standing. Once Ray gets a few whistles, though, he stands up and heads back behind the bar where he feels more at home.

  “So, I’ve got a few favorites I’d like to play for you guys tonight. Nothing new, just some songs that have always been kind of a big deal to me, if that’s okay?” I ask, hearing a few more squeals from some of the gir
ls in the audience.

  Normally, I’d scan the crowd, zeroing in on exactly where those screams are coming from to decide which girl—or two—I’d be talking into coming back to the hotel room with me. But my gaze doesn’t stray an inch tonight. I saw Avery the second I took the stage, and I can’t seem to look away. She’s floating from table to table, her hair piled on top of her head with a few lone strands kissing her neck. She’s keeping her back to me. And something tells me it’s on purpose. I was planning on starting out simple, to get my chops warm. But I’m man enough to admit that Avery’s part of the reason I’m doing this in the first place, and if she’s not willing to look at me, I’m willing to work for it.

  “This first one is a song I never thought I got quite right. But a good friend…well…she told me otherwise. She’s pretty stubborn,” I laugh lightly as I set the song up, my insides just begging Avery to turn around. I can see her back at the bar, and she’s alone. I know she’s just listening, waiting to see if I’m going to do what she thinks I’m going to do. “This one’s ‘Wild Horses’.”

  When her tray falls, my heart speeds up. I know I’m in trouble. But I’ve been in trouble before. I love trouble. So I start to play, and when I sing, I keep my eyes on her the entire time, just waiting for the moment she turns around. She never does. But she doesn’t move from her spot, either, and I think maybe she’s in trouble, too.

  Avery

  I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m not surprised Mason is playing this song. I practically challenged him. But I didn’t think it would make my entire body feel numb hearing it. I haven’t looked at him all night, not since I saw him talking to Max. I didn’t see his face when he took the stage, and I can’t say for sure that he was looking at me when he introduced his first song. But he was definitely talking to me. I can feel it deep down, and it hurts a little.

  Mason Street is going to crush me—he’s going to rip open my heart…again. He’s going to completely destroy me, unless I can stand here and convince myself that my heart isn’t pounding out of my goddamned chest just listening to his perfect voice.

  Every flick of his fingers on that stupid guitar sends a new wave down my body. Every crack in his voice—his voice that is suddenly so much older, so much…sexier—gives me shivers. I’m so thankful that no one has come near me, because if they did they’d see the flipping goosebumps all over my arms. But no one has ventured anywhere near my spot at the bar. They haven’t moved because they’re frozen stiff. Mason has everyone captivated; he’s just that amazingly good.

  I wonder if he’s looking at me. I want to turn around to check so badly, but I’m terrified I’ll meet his eyes. That would be it—I don’t have many cards left to play, and my defense is weakening. If I look at Mason now, I’ll be lost. And I don’t have time to be lost—I have too many things on the other side of this fantasy that depend on me.

  When the crowd stands and starts to whistle and yell at the end, I take my opportunity and race to the kitchen, heading right for the safety of my locker. By the time I get there, I have my shirt untucked, and I’m pulling it in and out from my body just to get the air flowing around me. I’m so hot I think I might pass out, and I lay back on the bench with my knees pulled in.

  “So, that was kind of intense,” I hear Claire say over me. I could lie, tell her I’m not feeling well, but Claire’s always seen though my bullshit. I can’t pull any punches with her. Besides—who else would I talk to?

  “Yeah…that was,” I say, flopping my head to the side and meeting her eyes. She’s already smirking, and I just keep my stare on her, hoping she gets that I’m not ready to be teased. I’m overwhelmed right now.

  “I’m not going to brag that I was right…but I was right, huh?” she starts.

  “Right about what? That Mason Street is hotter than ever? Uh…yeah, check. That he’s gotten sexier? Uh, yes…he has. That my stupid girl-crush is going to come raging back like a case of the shingles?” I fold my arms over my head while my ears pick up hints of Mason’s next song. He’s singing “In Your Eyes” now—fucking Peter Gabriel!

  “Well, yes. I was right about all of that,” Claire says, lifting my feet and putting them on her lap so she can sit down. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  I squint at her, and my chest feels heavy; I’m having a hard time filling my lungs with air.

  “I meant about him having a little thing for you,” she says, and I roll my eyes immediately in response, and cover my face again.

  “Claire, Mason does not have a thing for me. He likes to get to me, he likes the attention—that’s it!” I say, swallowing hard, probably with a bit of disappointment.

  “Right. So that’s why his eyes were glued to you the entire time he sang that song, huh?” she says, and I sit up quickly in response to this. “Yeah, I thought that might get you to see my side. Aves, he stared at the back of your head, and the only time he wasn’t looking at you was when his eyes were closed, probably imagining your face. Dude is a little smitten, that’s all I’m saying.”

  My mouth betrays me, and slides into a fragile smile. Claire notices—I can tell because her eyes light up a little. But she doesn’t call me out on it, probably because she knows how quickly I’ll retreat back into hiding.

  “Maybe…and just hear me out, okay,” she starts, swinging my legs to the floor to force me to sit up. “Maybe you can just go out there, do your job, and…I don’t know…stop when you have a minute, and just think about it. Just see if you get any vibes.”

  I can’t help but snort-laugh at her suggestion. I’m pretty sure the only vibes I’m going to get are the ones that travel all the way down my spine. But I guess it can’t hurt anything to indulge a little—I’ve always loved to listen to that man sing. And pretending he’s singing to me isn’t anything new to me either.

  “I can do that…but I’m not doing any vibe testing,” I say, tucking my shirt back in, and pulling my hair from its tie so I can rebuild the bun on top of my head.

  “And Aves? How about you leave it down?” Claire says, reaching her hands around mine and urging me to let go of the small band holding my hair up. “It won’t look like flirting—I know that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just a hair tie.”

  I hold her gaze for a few seconds. I’m not sure I want to do anything different. It feels like giving in. But, it is just a hair tie—something I take out and put in every day at work. No big deal. I finally nod okay, and shove it back in my pocket before straightening out my work clothes and marching back to the kitchen door. I turn to Claire one last time for reassurance.

  “Max is happy, so we can stay as long as you want,” she says, knowing what I need to hear. I smile softly, and take in a deep breath before I head back out to the crowded bar, hoping I blend in with the sea of prettier girls out there and fly under the radar. Or maybe I hope I don’t. Maybe I hope I stand out, and that I’m all Mason can look at. My heart is sputtering at the thought—it’s fear. I fear the pending disappointment, and I know it’s inevitable.

  He’s finishing up “In Your Eyes” when I get up the courage to walk to the tall tabletops that line the back. They’re right in view of the stage, and if there was ever a time to sneak a look at Mason, this was it. I load my tray with empties, sliding my hair behind my ear so I can see better, and that’s when I take my moment.

  Max is always telling me about gravity, and how it pulls two masses together. Gravity. That’s what I’m feeling right now. I’m sure I’m flushed, and despite Dusty’s being filled beyond fire code, I can’t hear the crowd. I’m completely locked to Mason, his eyes squared to mine, and he’s the only thing I see. The background…gone. It’s just Mason.

  Sitting on that stool with a small spotlight on him, he’s wearing a worn-out pair of jeans and a tight black T-shirt that hugs his biceps; the tattoo on his right arm finally showing enough to let me know it’s a tiger. Dusty’s is never formal. It’s not a place where performers dress up—but tonight Mason is making that l
ook so unbelievably sexy. His hair is twisted in all different directions, and he keeps brushing away the long strands that fall in his eyes.

  He licks his lips and bites his tongue before letting a smile slide up into his cheeks. I actually have to catch myself on one of the chairs when he does. A few faint whistles from the women in the crowd break through my tunnel.

  “I’ve got a few more, if you guys don’t mind,” he says, toying with the audience. They eat him up—they always did. “Good, good,” he chuckles.

  Adjusting the mic a little, he props one knee up on the top ledge of the stool, letting his guitar slide to the side and fall on the strap. The whistles start again—I get it, he’s downright dreamy right now. But I still roll my eyes. It’s annoying when Mason gets this kind of attention, and I’ll admit that I’m probably a little jealous.

  “I bet you’re all wondering what I’m doing back in town,” Mason says, his eyes leaving mine for just a moment before coming back to find me. I give in and set my tray down, sitting in one of the seats to fully take him in. “I blew it.”

  The crowd laughs, but I know Mason’s not really joking. He’s dead serious, and when the audience realizes this, too, they start to get quiet.

  “No, it’s okay. Y’all can laugh. But it’s the truth. I tried doing this all on my own, but I wasn’t ready. I’m sure some of you have read about our failed concerts, fights in clubs, shit like that. Sorry, Ray…I know you don’t like it when I swear on stage.”

  My dad just waves a bar towel at him and goes back to his business.

  “You see, I was ready to leave this town when I was sixteen. And I don’t think my head ever matured beyond that, even though I was twenty when I finally left to tour. In my head…I was still sixteen. Sixteen and stupid,” Mason laughs at himself now, and the crowd starts to relax and join in. He has them—he has us all. He could tell us to vote for him for president right now, and we’d all mail in our ballots.