Getting Over You

by Jaxson Kidman

  And that was that.

  My traveling consisted of running until I was physically unable to do so.

  Demanding my body to prove itself… to what? For what?

  I buried my head in the water to chase away the thoughts.

  They’d go away.

  But they wouldn’t stay away for long.

  Jonny turned in the chair toward a small mixing board I had in what was supposed to be the dining room of the house. I had a table, but never sat there to eat. It was a makeshift recording studio. And it worked.

  As Jonny pointed back at me, he bobbed his finger one, two, three, four…

  That was my cue to play.

  I shut my eyes and let my fingers slide up the guitar with a slow and whiny note that broke into a short-lived guitar solo for the sad song we were writing.

  Our concept was simple.

  Guy meets girl. Guy falls in love hard and fast. Everything is wild and free.

  I wasn’t sure why the song had to be sad, because everything was so happy about this couple. But the song needed emotion. It was the kind of song you’d listen to and think back to your first wild love. You knew how yours ended, but for this song, it didn’t matter.

  I played the song I wrote and hit the last note, bending it high for a few seconds as Jonny faded the sound out.

  He stopped the song and spun in the chair.

  “That’s a wrap,” he said.

  “No, it’s not,” I said.

  “At least for the solo it is,” he said. “We can cut this and send it over to Jackie.”

  “Is he really that worried about us?”

  “Not us, Cros. You.”

  “Me?” I curled my lip. “Why me?”

  “Because you and Jackie go back how many years? You went from writing music for car commercials to…”

  “To what?” I asked.

  “Jackie is a big-time music guy,” Jonny said. “And you’re recording songs in your dining room.”

  “My life is great.”

  “Sure thing,” he said. “Let’s add in the piano now.”

  “Piano…? Honestly?”

  “What?”

  “That’s going to flood the sound,” I said. “You know what? Never mind. It’s not my song.”

  “Look, I know selling songs might not be your thing,” Jonny said.

  “It’s how I make a living,” I said.

  “Cros, shut up for a second. Why don’t we add in the goddamn piano so we can send Jackie the rough cut? Then you play this thing acoustically. One guitar. One vocal track.”

  I swallowed hard. “Not a chance, Jonny.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do you really want me to explain it again?”

  Jonny leaned forward and put his elbows to his knees. “I’m not asking you to play it for a crowd, Cros. If we can do a rough cut and an acoustic cut, I promise you Jackie will lay off our ass for a little while. Look, we need one filler song and one hit.”

  “And you think this is the hit?” I asked.

  “That’s up to Jackie to decide.”

  “Christ,” I said. “Let me get the piano.”

  “No,” Jonny said. He reached to his right and lifted one of my acoustic guitars off its stand. “This first. It’s fresh in your head. Just kill it, Cros. One track. I’m hitting record and not stopping. Even if you fuck up, it’ll be on the recording.”

  I took the guitar from Jonny.

  I knew what he was doing, and I felt like breaking the guitar over his head.

  But I went along with it.

  I sat there and strummed the guitar, feeling the song for a few seconds.

  Then I gave a head nod.

  Jonny pressed record and gave me a thumbs up.

  So, I played the damn song acoustically. And I sang without a mic against my mouth. It was going to make the song sound really echoed. Really raw, which is what Jonny (and Jackie) wanted from me.

  I never knew you until I had you.

  I never loved you until I lost you.

  I never cared… until now…

  The words on paper didn’t feel like much. Even hearing it with the actual lyrics wasn’t all that much. But sitting there with an acoustic guitar… and my voice…

  I looked down at my left foot as it tapped on the floor instinctively to keep the beat of the song going.

  During the solo, I improvised my own thing by moving the chords up on the neck of the guitar, which allowed me to hit the main notes while throwing in a few solo notes too. It kept the sound legit.

  I sang the last chorus, played the main riff one more time, and let the last chord ring out until Jonny killed the recording.

  “And there’s your paycheck,” he said as he stood up. He opened his arms. “Stand up and hug me, Cros.”

  “I already told you I’m not interested,” I said with a grin.

  Jonny shook his head. “Still an asshole. But that was musical genius. I’m sending that to Jackie right now.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m going to have a cigarette.”

  “How the fuck can you work out as much as you do and smoke?”

  “Easy. Watch…”

  “I’m serious. You run how many miles a day? And you smoke? You’re a freak of nature, Crosby.”

  I put my guitar down and touched the tips of my callused fingers.

  I wasn’t a freak of nature.

  I was a fucking failure. And playing guitar and singing a song wasn’t going to take away what happened. What I did. What I didn’t do.

  What I couldn’t do.

  Outside, I balanced my lit cigarette between my lips and looked at my phone.

  I found my last text to Cindi.

  She said she hated me, but I was her brother, so in some forced way, she still loved me.

  Last time she texted me was three weeks ago.

  Another week and she’d text me to check in.

  Just to make sure I was still alive.

  Her son wasn’t alive… and that was my fault.

  2

  WITH THIS BREATH…

  NOW

  Josie

  “It’s disgusting. And it makes your lungs turn black. And you won’t be able to breathe. And you can even get cancer and die. Do you want to die?”

  I sat in a too small chair that made me feel self-conscious and watched as my eight-year-old niece paced her bedroom in jeans and a unicorn shirt with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her bright blue eyes staring right at mine through her big framed glasses.

  “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked, showing off her adorable gap between her front teeth.

  She hated that gap and said kids picked on her for it.

  I told her to tell those boys to kiss her ass.

  Her mother - my sister-in-law, Kaitlyn - had another view of it. To just ignore those kids and they would eventually go away.

  Kait was right, but I would have loved to have seen the look on the kids’ faces when a good girl like Meadow said kiss my ass.

  Sitting in Meadow’s room, I endured a lecture on smoking, thanks to her health class.

  “I have nothing to say for myself,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “Well, do you want your lungs to turn black?”

  “I can’t see them, so I don’t know if that matters,” I said.

  Jesus, Josie, you’re talking to an eight-year-old girl who looks up to you… at least lie to her…

  “What about cancer?”

  I licked my lips. “You’re right, Meadow. I’ve got to stop.”

  “So, you’re quitting then,” she said with a big smile. “That’s perfect.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” I said. I moved from the chair to my knees and reached for her. I gently took her by the arms. “You know, there’s a lot of stuff I’m supposed to say right now. A lot of grown up stuff. But you and me… we’re different together. Right?”

  “I guess,” Meadow said.

  “Everything you’re learning is right. And it’s amazi
ng. I’m happy you’re learning about it now. And I know you’ll never touch cigarettes when you’re older. But here’s the truth, Meadow. This is what makes it so scary. When you start… it’s not easy to stop.”

  “It’s not?” she asked, her voice becoming a sweet and innocent eight-year-old’s voice.

  The dueling voices in my head battled, wondering what the right thing to do here really was. The best move - the easiest move - was to just leave it for Kait and let her deal with it. Meadow was her daughter. And I was only going to be living in the guesthouse for a little while longer. Which was what I told myself a while ago too…

  “It’s not,” I said, stepping over a thin line.

  I was the cool aunt. I was the friend-like aunt. I was the fun aunt.

  Now I wanted to take a stab at being the honest and down to earth aunt. The aunt who tells it like it is. If you don’t like it… well… kiss my ass.

  “Meadow, everything you’re saying is right,” I said. “But what happens… if you start to do that… it’s really hard to stop. It’s hard to explain why it’s hard to stop.”

  “Addiction?” Meadow asked with a head bob that made her look eighteen years old.

  “Uh… yeah,” I said. “How did you…”

  “Well, my friend Janey said her brother is addicted to video games and soda,” she said. “And then Rachel said her mother is addicted to coffee. So, I asked Mommy what that meant, and she said it was when you liked to do something a lot. But that didn’t seem right to me. So, I looked it up online. Addicted is something bad.”

  “Wow,” I said, realizing just how far over the line I had gone with my niece. I suddenly missed the chair that was too small and being lectured about smoking cigarettes. “Uh… you’re right again, Meadow. Addiction can be very bad. But, you know, you could be addicted to learning. At school. Or addicted to a sport. Or cheerleading. Or gymnastics. So it’s not all bad.”

  “Smoking is,” Meadow said.

  “Yes. Smoking is.”

  “And you’re addicted.”

  “That I am,” I said, feeling smaller by the second.

  “So how do you stop then? If you’re addicted?”

  “Well, it takes time. You need to really want to stop. You have to really try. You…”

  “Do you want to stop smoking, Aunt Josie?” Meadow asked.

  The concern in her eyes melted my heart.

  And ironically, she had me backed into a corner… and all I wanted was a cigarette.

  Kids.

  I laughed. “You’re too much sometimes, Meadow. I love you and your heart, you know that?”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “You’re right. I didn’t. I guess if I have to tell you the truth…”

  “Knock, knock,” a voice said.

  I turned my head and was never so relieved to see my sister-in-law, ever.

  Kaitlyn was the image of perfection. The kind of woman who could carry a baby full term with a beautiful, round belly, and then somehow give birth, take amazing pictures right after, and then two days later, have a flat belly. To be fair, she took good care of herself, did all that fancy vegan crap, practiced and taught yoga, and as far as I was concerned, she was so far out of my brother’s league, it was nothing short of a miracle that he caught her eye.

  Her legs were a mile long, sticking out of her tight shorts. Wearing a tank top with an elephant that looked like it was praying, her sports bra straps showing, and still showing off her ample chest. If Meadow looked even a quarter as beautiful as her mother did, my brother was going to lose his damn mind when Meadow got older.

  “Hey, Kait,” I said as I stood up. “How was class?”

  “Great,” she said. “Just about to make some tea and unwind a little. Sweaty today.”

  She touched her forehead.

  There wasn’t a drop of sweat on it, or her body.

  Kait didn’t sweat.

  And if she did, it would probably smell like honey and nutmeg or something like that.

  Me?

  I couldn’t run down the stairs without breaking out into a messy sweat that smelled like days old dinner.

  But truthfully, I loved Kait to death. We were total opposites, but it didn’t matter.

  She offered me the guesthouse before my brother did. She held me when I cried. She said all of her hippie sayings and left me rocks that allegedly had powers to help me feel better.

  The rocks didn’t work, but time did.

  And cigarettes.

  Which Kait hated.

  “Meadow, come downstairs for a little bit,” Kait said. “Let’s go outside and do something before dinner.”

  “It’s beautiful out today,” I said.

  It was early spring, which meant you never knew if you were going to get comfortable weather, a surprise warm day, or three inches of snow.

  Meadow strutted to the door and reached for Kait’s hand. Then she looked back at me.

  “We’re not done here,” she said and flipped her hair.

  I burst into laughter.

  “Do I want to know?” Kait asked.

  “Trust me, you don’t,” I said.

  They disappeared, and I stood in Meadow’s bedroom alone.

  I was only supposed to crash at my brother’s house for a night or two. Maybe a week. A month at the most.

  But now I lived here.

  In the middle and mix of a family.

  Because I lost the only person I loved.

  The kitchen had some sort of minty and fruity smell. It was a type of tea that Kait had made. She loved her tea, that was for sure. Hot tea. Cold tea. She was the tea queen. I opted for a cup of coffee and spotted my brother standing on the deck just off the kitchen. He rested his forearms on the wooden railing, watching as Kait and Meadow chased bubbles. Kait had some kind of giant wand that made giant bubbles. Watching her spin to make a super large bubble for her daughter, she was the epitome of an amazing mother. Worse yet, when I walked outside to stand with my brother, I saw the look on his face. A smile that never went away and a gleam in his eyes as though he had just seen Kait for the first time.

  He was so far head over heels for her, it was almost gross. But she loved him back just the same.

  “Do you need a napkin for the drool?” I asked.

  Corey’s hand clasped around his coffee mug and he turned his head to look at me. “Did you come out here to break my balls while I’m having a moment?”

  “A moment, huh? And what moment is that?”

  “A family moment.”

  He sipped his coffee.

  Like me, he didn’t get into the whole tea thing, which I appreciated.

  “I’ll leave you be then,” I said.

  “Just look at them,” he said. “What the fuck does Kait see in me?”

  “I ask myself that all the time.”

  “Thanks for that,” Corey said.

  I laughed. “Corey, come on. You’re a catch. You have the most beautiful wife in the world. And a daughter who looks like her mother. Don’t question it.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “You work hard. You provide. Your family loves you. Just eat it up.”

  Corey nodded.

  He was always a dorky kid growing up. Being his older sister, I had to kick some serious ass to protect him. Then when he turned sixteen, he exploded. He went from a skinny little kid to a monster of a man. But he kept his genius-like brain, which let him float through college with ease. Now he worked as some type of fancy engineer and made a lot of money doing it. He worked all that real-world stuff so Kait didn't have to. She had her small yoga studio and she was happy with that.

  Their life was amazing.

  “How’s your life going?” he asked me with a head nod and grin.

  “So now you’re going to break my balls?” I asked.

  “You don’t have balls.”

  “Wow, you can pass eighth grade health.”

  “Oh, I knew long before eighth grade
the difference between boys and girls.”

  “Only because you spied on my friends when they’d sleep over.”

  “I did not,” Corey said.

  “Yes, you did,” I said. “Should I tell Kait the story about your sticky socks?”

  “You do that and I’m burning down the guesthouse,” he said.

  We both laughed.

  “I am asking a serious question though,” he said. “How’s the painting?”

  “It is what it is, Corey.”

  “Meaning?”

  I sighed. “I got commissioned to paint the inside of that new Italian restaurant down off Overbrooke.”

  “That’s good.”

  “No, it’s not. I get to paint green fields. And cows. And little cottages. And…”

  “Noodles?” Corey asked.

  “Noodles?” I asked.

  “Yeah. You said it’s an Italian place, right?”

  “You’re a dork.”

  “I thought you were working on some kind of gallery thing or something,” he said.

  “You need a gallery for that,” I said. “Or know someone who has one. So they will feature you. And then hope people show up and… you know… spend money.”

  “Well?” Corey asked.

  “Well what?”

  “What are you waiting for? I’m sure you can find some galleries. You’re a hell of a painter, Josie. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “My inspiration hasn’t been all that…”

  “I know nothing of art,” Corey said. “But what you paint is really good. It always was. Just because you didn’t go and do some four-year college degree doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

  “Can you tell that to our parents?” I asked.

  “You mean the parents who retired, sold everything, and moved to the Florida Keys? The ones who maybe call once every two weeks? The ones who send birthday cards and Christmas cards but never visit?”

  “Those are the ones,” I said.

  “Josie, life is all around us. You know you can stay in that guesthouse as long as you want. You’re a big help around the house. Meadow loves you. You’re her idol. I caught her scribbling in a notebook the other day. And when I asked her what she was doing she said she was practicing to be a painter like you.”

  “She said that?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Corey said. “Maybe you should start showing her some stuff.”