by Vicki Green
I look over at her but my attention is quickly drawn to a full pitcher being placed in the center of the table. I look up and into the green eyes of Cian. Bright and staring straight into mine.
“You ladies looked parched,” he says never looking away from me. Parched? Who says that? Yet, along with his light red hair, he seems to have a hint of an Irish accent. His words flow from his lips, making it warmer in here, instantly.
“Oh. My. God! That was totally a blast!” Heidi laughs somewhat breathless. She grabs her cup of beer and takes a drink. We’d been watching Heidi line dance, for better part of an hour. Cian gave her “special” attention the entire time. Jealous? Maybe. I sit up straight as I watch Heidi grasp his arm, his eyes moving slowly from mine to hers. “Thank you, Cian, for showing me the dance steps.” I watch as she gives his arm a squeeze, her smile playful, yet sexy as she bats her eyes. I try not to roll mine.
“It was my pleasure,” he responds with a smile.
She looks at me, and I notice her hand is still on his arm. “Piper! You should really come try these line dances!”
“Oh, I don’t think…”
“Yes, Piper. You really should.” My eyes snap from Heidi to Cian when I hear my name sound from his lips. “I’d be happy to show you tonight, or maybe you’d be more comfortable joining my dance class here on Wednesday evening?” Dance class? I must be giving a strange look of confusion when Heidi jumps in.
“Yes, Cian…” she squeezes his bicep for affect, “will be teaching the line dances every Wednesday. I’ll be here.” She looks at him and smiles. Not obvious at all.
“I’d love it if you’d come, Piper.” He raises his brows and has a smoldering look in his eyes. I’d say that held a double meaning. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he only means he wants me to join his dance class. Why in the hell would he mean anything different? I mean, this is me we’re talking about. I purse my lips, holding in my laugh.
The music becomes louder, if that’s possible, and Trina runs up and grabs Heidi’s hand, who in turn grabs Cians. As Heidi tugs on Cian’s hand to join them, he looks at me like he’s reluctant to leave. Finally, he allows her to pull him away. Even Shelley scoots out of her chair and follows them onto the dance floor. Leaning my elbow on the table, I rest my chin on my hand and pick up my beer with the other, taking a long pull as I watch them do – what I now know is the “Bus Stop”. I guess it’s one of the many things this particular dance move has been called over time.
The night comes to an end for me, long before it does for the girls. I snuck out around eleven-thirty, feeling the need to take a shower to wash away all the different smells of perfume seemingly stuck to my skin from all the girls there, and I think I can drink my weight in cold water. Once I’ve thoroughly washed, brushed the tangles out of my hair and the feel of beer off my teeth, I grab a couple of bottled waters from the fridge and my sketch pad and open the sliding glass door, settling in the wicker chair. Placing the pad on the small round table, I open a water and practically guzzle it dry. Bad thing about drinking beer, just makes me thirsty afterwards. I lean back against the chair, looking out at the darkened water of the ocean. The only lights come from inside my apartment and small various ones on different decks. The moon is mostly covered with clouds, a little light coming in spurts as they move across. From the corner of my eye, I see movement on the beach. I can tell it’s someone jogging but even with squinting my eyes, I can’t make them out clearly.
I open my second bottle of water and begin to drink, loving the slightly cooler breeze moving over my damp skin. Suddenly, the figure moves close enough that one of the apartment deck lights shines on them briefly. It’s him! The guy I saw yesterday! Quickly, I reach down, grabbing my charcoal pencil and sketch pad and flip it open to a blank page. My hand moves quickly as he jogs closer still, going in and out of the small lights. Damn! I wish I could get closer. What is it about this guy that feels so familiar? I keep sketching as he jogs on the beach past my building, my eyes continue following him until he disappears. Looking down at my pad, I hold it up closer to the inside light. My eyes widen as my mouth drops open. Is that…? Couldn’t be.
Chapter Three
The night turned out better than I had imagined. And I had imagined it to be filled with horror. I saw a few people I knew from high school and was glad I had the plastic shield around the booth, along with the darkness of the bar, to help hide me. I know it’s inevitable, at some point, that someone will recognize me. I’m just hoping it won’t be for a very long time. I don’t know why I thought by moving here, to a junior college town, that no one would know who I am. I’m so fucking stupid. But I really like working as a DJ, more than I thought I would and everyone who came up to request songs seemed friendly enough. Some of the girls, a little over friendly.
I got home before one, even though the bar stays open then. Johnny had told me it takes a while to get everyone out so I was to shut off the music at twelve-thirty right after last call was announced. I’d had my fill of loud music, bolstering laughter, and the stomping of feet on the dance floor. My head was splitting by the time I got home and the stench of every woman’s perfume and every guys cologne, seemed to sting on my flesh. I felt disgusted. So, I took a much needed shower, drank a bottle of water, and settled on my couch, flipping on the TV and scouring boring channel after boring channel.
Suddenly, without thinking, I jump up off the couch and change into a pair of gym shorts, lock my front door and walk around the building. My feet aching to hit the sand, my muscles flexing for a good run. I need it. Crave it. It’s one of the few things that calm me. The darkness around me is only illuminated briefly by deck lights, here and there. I stop when I hit the sand, putting my iPod buds in my ears and bringing up one foot at a time to stretch my legs, and then I do a few other exercises. I take off, to the left, in a dead run on the beach, hoping to get a good sweat. It’s a little cloudy tonight so there’s a slight breeze, helping my already overheated skin as I turn around and start heading the other way. I tone down to a jog, keeping a steady pace. There’s nothing like being out here so late that all the partygoers are either at another party or hopefully safely at home.
I continue, letting my music take me away, keeping my mind off my racing heart and aching muscles. A bigger breeze blows across my heated skin, my eyes catching a glimpse of someone up on their deck as a nearby tree shadows moves away from a light. I don’t turn my head but continue looking as I keep moving. I swear it’s the same deck as yesterday, what I thought was a girl watching me. Is it the same girl? Again, as the light flickers, I can see she’s doing something up there. A fast movement of her hand. What is she doing? Looking ahead, I notice I’m coming up to the coffee shop. Not much further and I’ll turn around. It must be well beyond one-thirty by now, and I’m starting to grow tired. I used to be able to run for longer. My stamina is not what it used to be. I need to find time to workout more.
By the time I turn around by the dock and head back, I couldn’t stop myself from looking at that deck, the mysterious person gone and her lights off. Why do I feel sad about that? I guess I was hoping to see her again. At least I think it’s a – her. I must be more tired than I’d realized. After making it home, a little out of breath, I take another shower then put on a clean pair of boxers and climb into bed. Laying here with my head on my arm, I stare up at the ceiling and think about that girl and what she was doing. Well, I hope it’s a girl, otherwise, my mind might have gone crazy.
The next day, I cram in some time playing my music, taking a run on the beach and lifting some weights in my apartment. It’s another long night at Johnny’s but one that I didn’t mind so much, again. It was louder than last night and more people crowding the place, dancing and drinking. But it was a good atmosphere. Word must be spreading.
Two days later and two days off, I return on Thursday, on my last free night, but only for open m
ic night. I thought I’d hang in the background and watch. This working two days and having two days off is kinda nice. I’m sure it’ll be even busier and hectic on the weekends. Johnny pays well so having Wednesday, Thursday and Sundays off is a dream job, one I can easily get used to. The bar is fairly crowded, the lights low, more than normal, as the dance floor is taken over by a couple of chairs and a microphone. A karaoke machine sets off to the side with a display panel beside it. A couple of spotlights hang overhead, shining down on the chairs. There’s a woman sitting in one of them. Looks to be in her early thirties, if I had to guess. I find a chair in the back, most of the patrons are sitting closer to the makeshift stage. I’d brought my guitar, thinking I might want to get up there, but now I’m not so sure I want to expose myself just yet. I set the case down beside the chair, folding an ankle over my other knee and sit back, waiting.
She opened her mouth and I thought she was going to sing, instead she held up a piece of paper and read a poem she’d written. It was eloquent, full of emotion, and actually very well written. She finished and everyone applauded. I even found myself clapping. Next was two girls, too giggly and definitely showboats. They tried – and I use that word loosely, to sing to the karaoke machine. Their rendition of Taylor Swift’s “Shake it Off,” was hysterical, to say the least.
“You gonna play?” I look up as Johnny sits down and shrugs. “Ever play in front of anyone before?” I shake my head, my brows lowering. He lets out a laugh and settles back in the chair. “What’d ya bring your guitar for?” I look down at the case and wonder that myself. Was I really planning on playing in front of everyone? Am I even good enough? A bottle of beer fills my vision and I take it from him, giving him a nod and taking a big drink. “Try a little liquid courage, my friend. Then, go out there and play a song.” He stands, patting my back, and I watch him walk around the side, behind all the people sitting in chairs and filling up the area. Do I dare? Am I strong enough to overcome my fears of being noticed by someone I know?
Six more people have gotten out there, as I’m on my third beer. There’s singing with the karaoke machine, another person reading a short story they’d written, more singing to the machine, and a guy telling jokes. Finally, he sits down, people all around still laughing and clapping. Unconsciously, I reach down and grab hold of the handle of my case, my fingers sweaty around the worn leather. Am I really going to do this? I’ve watched many others up there, some making a fool out of themselves but laughing it off. Others are enjoying sharing their talents and people around them seeming to like it. I don’t know if it was their exuberance or the beers, but I stand, pulling up my guitar case with me and walk around the chairs. Slowly, I make my way to the dance floor, set my case down, open it and pull out my guitar as I sit down on one of the chairs. Silence. Waiting. My heart feels like it’s pounding against my chest as I place my fingers on the strings, resting the base of the guitar against my leg. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, and start strumming, waiting for the chord I need. Just pretend you’re back at home practicing. I close my eyes and imagine myself at home, sitting on my couch, and let the music take me away.
Just be you,
Don’t hold on to who they wanted you to be,
Be yourself and hold on tight for the ride.
Change is coming,
Embrace it with all your might,
Let go of the old you,
And be who you are.
Some will hold on,
Trying to keep you were you were,
Let them go,
And just be you.
Just be you,
Don’t hold anything back,
Be yourself and hold on tight for the ride.
I keep strumming and singing. It’s deathly quiet except for my voice, my guitar and the gentle pluck of my fingers. I keep my eyes tightly closed, letting my music take me under. It’s the most free I’ve felt for as long as I can remember. After strumming the last chord, I stay still, afraid to open my eyes. It’s quiet, not even a sound is made indicating there’s people in the room. Was I that bad? My love for music has only been for me alone, never intended on sharing it with others. Maybe they all left. Suddenly, someone claps, slowly at first, then others join. I crack open one eye, pursing my lips in shock as I see everyone standing. I’m taken aback as their clapping grows louder. Standing, I clear my throat, emotions choking me.
“Thank you,” I barely whisper into the mic.
Stooping down, I gently place my guitar in its case and stand back up, holding onto the handle tightly. “Wow! That was amazing!” Johnny says into the mic as he suddenly appears. He pats my back. “How about we take a short break? Go wet your whistle. Bar’s open!” People walk by saying their congratulations and how much they liked my song. Pride swells as I start to turn, thinking I need a beer pretty badly after that. In the midst of the crowd, across the dance floor as I head toward the bar, stands a girl. Everyone and everything fades away around her. It’s like she’s a beacon in the dim light – glowing. My fingers long to touch her long blonde hair, my hand aches to grasp her long slender neck and touch her skin, which I imagine to be soft and supple. She appears to be caught in a trance, looking into my eyes – hers brown with dark long lashes. Her face is small, round with high cheekbones. She’s – beautiful. She seems familiar but not. That doesn’t make sense but nothing does right now. Suddenly, she blinks, turns and fades into the crowd. I step up on my toes, looking over the heads of everyone, trying to find her. Why would she look at me like that and then leave?
I start to move, wanting – no needing to go find her when a hand pushes against my chest. “Hey, great performance.” I look at Johnny, my heart beating so fast, adrenaline still rushing through my veins but urgency overwhelming me. “I’m thinking maybe we could use you to perform more. Got more songs like that?” Tilting my head in confusion, all I can think of is her. “’Course, you can always sing songs that are already out too. Like cover songs. It’ll be great!”
“I… uh… I have to go.”
I start walking across the floor, looking around the crowd gathered at the bar. “Okay! We’ll talk!” he yells after me.
By the time I managed to get to the bar, I’d looked everywhere for her. She looked petite but I can’t believe she could just disappear. I walk aimlessly around people, drinking my beer and continuing to look for her but she’s nowhere to be found. By midnight, I give up, walking home feeling out of sorts. What is it about her that seemed so familiar? As it’s become my normal routine, I put on some running clothes as soon as I’m home, stretch and start jogging down the beach. I think this is my favorite part of the day, feeling the breeze against my skin, taking in the ocean and breathing the salty air as I let the music and pounding the sand calm me.
Also, as part of my new routine, I turn and head the other way, fully running. Thoughts of exhausting myself so I can sleep well form in my head. Or maybe I’m just trying to forget things I’d rather not think about. Like how my mom texted me earlier tonight asking if I’m coming home for Thanksgiving. Jesus. That’s only two months away. And why would I want to subject myself to her torture? My body glistens with sweat, the moonlight bright tonight. Slowing down to a jog, I stop for a moment to catch my breath and to take a drink from my bottled water. Putting the cap back on the bottle, I start to turn around to head back, suddenly tired. Something catches my eye. I watch as a piece of paper floats down from a deck at the apartment building a small distance away. Jogging over, I pick it up as it settles onto the sand. I shake it a bit, watching the grains of sand fly off and hold it up to the bottom deck light. My brows lower as I take it in, anger sweeping through me. What the fuck? Looking up, I determine which deck it flew from and storm around the building.
I enter the front door and race up the steps, out of breath but knowing it’s due to anger and not that I’m out of shape. Not hesitating, I kn
ock on the door in rapid successions. Looking down at my watch, it’s nearing one in the morning, but somehow I don’t care. No sounds come from inside so I start knocking again, a little more forcibly. I continue, my knuckles becoming sore, when the door flies open, mid knock. My fist still raised, I scour the girl before me. It’s her. From Johnny’s. Her blonde hair is darkened slightly as it hangs over her shoulder, wet. Her hand is pressing a towel with several strands folded into it. There’s little droplets of water on her cheek, that slender neck, shoulders, and what little I can see of her chest from a tank top. I take in the silkiness of her legs and even notice that her feet are even small, yet pretty. I open my mouth then close it, suddenly unable to form words. She’s beautiful and still seems somewhat familiar, but I just can’t place why or where.
“Eyes up here, buster!” My eyes snap up to her mouth and suddenly mine goes dry. “Who are you and why in the hell are you banging on my door at this time of night?”
Clenching the paper in my other hand, I’m reminded why I’m here. I lower my fist and raise the paper up in the air. “Just what in the fuck is this?” I wave it around for good measure. Her eyes follow it back and forth. “THIS! Is an invasion of privacy, not to mention, since I obviously didn’t give you permission to do it, it’s a… a… a copyright issue! Just who in the fuck do you think you are?”
I watch her Adam’s apple on her slender neck as she swallows. Down. Up. She knows she’s wrong. It shows in her face. Then she surprises me by placing her hand on her hip and tilting her head. “You’re Weston Minton.” Shit! Her brows lower in confusion. “You went to Northwestern High. Weren’t you playing guitar earlier tonight and singing at Johnny’s? I thought you went away to play pro football.” Shaking my head, I’m still trying to place her from school. So weird that we both went there and now we’re here. She lets out a laugh. “Don’t strain yourself, Mister Big Popular Star Quarterback. I’m sure you don’t remember me,” she says a bit sarcastically. Now my brows lower as I concentrate on her face. Nope. Still can’t place her.
