I’ll Become the Sea

by Rebecca Rogers Maher

  Jane cleared her throat. “So. You were fantastic.”

  “Oh, thanks. Not as good as I want to be, though, you know how it is.”

  “How long have you been with the band?”

  “About two years. I was playing on my own mostly, or jamming with friends sometimes. But I knew these guys from some of the clubs, and when their guitarist moved out west, they asked me to join. It’s made me a lot more serious about playing, which is important. We’re working on a CD right now.”

  “Really? That’s great! I’d love to hear it.”

  “I think we’ll be done recording in August. It’s great having a goal like that. Makes us work harder, getting the songs tight.”

  “Do you write any of the songs?”

  “Yes, I write some.”

  “You wrote that slow one you played tonight, right?”

  “Yeah.” He sounded surprised. “How did you know?”

  “You played it differently, more intently. That one and a few others.”

  He tested her, going through the play list. She was right about all the songs that were his, and told him which ones she liked best and why. They talked about some of the bands they were both obsessed with and compared notes about concerts they’d been to. As a teenager in Maryland, and in college, she’d seen a lot of shows. She had some songs on her laptop from those days that he only owned on cassette. The copies were ragged or nearly destroyed, he said, and he missed them, but hadn’t gotten around to replacing them.

  “You should come by and borrow them.” It was out of her mouth before she could think.

  “That would be great.” He paused for a minute. “Actually, I have my truck here. You don’t have to burn me CDs tonight, but I could drive you home if you like.”

  “No. That’s okay. I took a cab. I can call one to get home. You don’t need to go out of your way.”

  “It’s on my way. Only a little past home to drop you in Belmar. Let me give you a lift. Save you some cab fare.”

  Jane looked at him, considering. It would be easier, she thought.

  “Okay.” She smiled. “That would be nice, thank you.”

  They were nearly finished with their beer.

  “Do you want to go? It’s past twelve.”

  “Oh, I had no idea. Sure, we can go, I’m ready.” She hesitated. “You must be tired after working all day and then doing the show.”

  “No, I’m fine. Had some coffee earlier. I’m wide awake. I’ve barely talked to the rest of the band, though. Do you mind if I go say goodnight?”

  “Of course not, go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

  “Why don’t you come with me and meet them?”

  Jane hesitated, but she agreed. They walked across the bar to a table in the far corner where the bassist and the singer sat, legs pressed close to each other, deep in conversation with the drummer and a woman who appeared to be his girlfriend.

  “Hey guys. I’m heading out. Sorry I didn’t come by sooner.” He placed his hand on Jane’s arm. “This is my friend Jane. Jane, this is Patty, Scott, John and Sylvie.”

  “Hi,” Jane said. “It’s nice to meet you. The show was great.”

  “Thanks.” Patty looked Jane over thoroughly, not bothering to hide the effort to assess her. “Thanks for coming.”

  David exchanged a few words with Scott and John, congratulating them on a good show. They discussed the time of their next rehearsal while Jane and Patty chatted.

  “So how do you know Dave?”

  “I referred one of my students to his afterschool program about a month ago.”

  “Oh, you’re the teacher.” Patty’s face lit up. “Dave told me about you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Um, I guess Raymond made an impression.”

  “Who?”

  “The student I referred. Raymond.”

  “Oh, Raymond. Yeah, something like that.” She grinned at Jane. “Well, I’m glad you could come to the show.”

  David turned to them, ready to go.

  “It was nice meeting you. Goodnight.” Jane smiled and turned with David to leave.

  Outside, the rain was coming down hard. David led a long dash from the door of the bar to his truck, parked a hundred yards away. He opened the passenger door and Jane climbed in while he ran around to the driver’s side. Rain pounded the windshield; a fierce side wind beat more rain against the doors. They were both soaked. David laughed, apologizing.

  “I should have met you at the door, I’m sorry.” He grinned. Water dripped down from his hair and into his eyes. He ran a hand over his face to wipe it away, over his forehead, his cheek, down across his mouth and throat. She followed his hand with her eyes.

  “No. It was fun. Haven’t had a good run in a while.”

  “Well, let me turn on the heat at least.”

  Jane looked out at the drenched road outside the parking lot. She could hardly see past the windshield. “It’s raining pretty hard. Want to just sit here a while and see if it lets up?”

  He was looking at her face, into her eyes under their wet lashes.

  “Yeah, maybe we should. You wouldn’t mind?”

  “No, no, that’s fine. You won’t be able to see.” She smiled at him and looked away, out the window. Listening to heat seeping out of the vents with a slow hiss, she shivered a little, feeling the dampness on the thighs and calves of her pants. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. They were slick with rain. She should have put her jacket on.

  “You’re soaked.”

  “Yeah.” The inside of the truck was beginning to fill with the damp steam off their clothes. “You are too.”

  “Wait a second.” David turned around. He dug behind the seat with his right hand, pulling up an empty soda can. “That’s not it.” He threw it to the side. His hand closed around a canvas bag. “Here we go.”

  He emptied the contents onto his lap. “Water bottle. Want some water?” He handed it to her. “Granola bars.” He gave her one and put one on his own lap. “Bandages, don’t need those. Tool CD, save that for later. And a beach towel. Here you go.”

  He handed her the towel, stuffing the rest of the supplies back into the bag and tossing it back over the seat. “Emergency gear.”

  She brought the towel to her face, holding it there for a moment. It smelled like him. She shook her head and ran the towel back over her hair, rubbing it over the ends, down to her shoulders and arms.

  Absently, she dried her collarbone and throat above the line of her shirt, sliding the towel down between her breasts and up again to the back of her neck. Out of the corner of her eye she caught him watching her. Suddenly he was much too close in the small cab of the truck.

  “Thank you.” She handed back the towel, rolling the window down to bring in some air. “It’s letting up a bit.”

  “Yeah, I could probably see enough to get you home now. It’s not far.”

  He threw the towel behind the seat with the canvas bag and started up the car.

  “Wait, let’s listen to that CD.” She got up on her knees, reaching back for the bag. Again she felt his eyes on her, on her legs and backside as she leaned over the seat. She blushed.

  “Great.” He swallowed, slipping the CD into the stereo. “Mind if I skip ahead?”

  “No, the songs at the ends are the best ones.”

  He put the truck into gear and reversed, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road back to Belmar. Jane looked out the window and listened to the music, the fingers on her left hand moving against her leg.

  The rain was coming down hard again, but they were close to her house now, over the bridge to Belmar and nearing her street. David found her tranquil block and pulled into a parking spot in front of her house, turning off the engine. Outside, it was still pouring.

  “Well,” she said. “I guess we’re already soaked. Still want to come in and get those songs? I could make you a cup of tea.”

  This was not something she should be doing. But it was only for a few minutes. She told herself it
was innocent, just a couple of friends having tea and listening to music. Like Ben and Ana. She would keep her distance, and it would be fine.

  “Sounds great,” David said. “I won’t keep you up too long, though. It’s late.”

  “Okay. Let’s run for it.”

  They bolted out of the truck to her staircase, running up as fast as they could while the rain pelted down on them. She fumbled with her keys, laughing, and pushed the door open, pulling David in behind her.

  The apartment was warm and sparsely furnished. A soft navy sofa with red pillows sat against one wall of the living room. Above it hung a blotted silkscreen of Patty Hearst. On a side table, a round yellow candle stood next to a vase filled with tulips. The full smell of April rain and saltwater drifted in from an open window.

  Jane shut the door behind him and shook herself off, spraying more water into his face from her wet hair.

  “Hey.” He pushed her lightly on the shoulder.

  She started a little at the feel of his fingers on her bare skin and turned away. “I’ll get some more towels.” She stumbled toward the closet in the next room.

  Jane came back to the room with two clean towels and handed one to him. She dried herself off quickly and, grabbing a rubber band off the top of a bookcase, tied her hair back in a low twist. Rainwater dripped around her neck and to her throat, over her collarbone and down into the top of her shirt. She followed David’s eyes as he watched the water travel over her body and looked down, taking a deep breath and again turning away.

  “I’d better go change.” She blushed. “Do you want me to find a dry shirt for you?”

  “Um, no, it’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll put on the kettle before I go.” She poured cold water into the teapot and placed it on the stove, looking down as she passed him again to go to her bedroom.

  “Be right back.”

  In the bedroom Jane pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to force some sense into her brain. She yanked off the wet tank top, rummaging for a dry replacement in her messy dresser drawers.

  She padded back in bare feet, a pair of jeans and a faded green T-shirt. Walking over to the kitchen counter, she reached up to open the door of a cabinet above. The hem of her T-shirt rode up her lower back. Hastily she pulled it down.

  “My computer’s over there next to the TV if you’d like to take a look,” she said over her shoulder. “And there are blank CDs next to it. Copy as many songs as you want.” She took down a series of small boxes. “What kind of tea would you like? I’ve got Earl Grey, chamomile, ginger plum, peach…”

  “Plum. That sounds good.”

  “That’s my favorite. Honey?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Ha ha. Would you like some honey in your tea, David?”

  She watched him sit down on the floor in front of her computer, scrolling over the titles.

  “No thanks. I like it plain. This is a great collection.”

  “Thanks. I spend all my money on music and books. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Not at all. I can’t think of a better way to go broke.”

  He lowered his head to read, his shoulders bent forward. Great damp splotches spread out over his back. She felt a kind of magnetic pull toward him and held herself back, focusing on making the tea. She let it steep and brought a steaming mug over to him, sitting beside him on the floor.

  They talked about the songs for a while, playing a few old ones and laughing about the memories they associated with them: embarrassing moments, mostly, from high school and college. It was two o’clock before she knew it and suddenly, she was exhausted. She yawned and David, realizing the time, stretched and stood up, grabbing the empty cups of tea. He walked them over to the kitchen sink while she gathered up the CDs, binding them up with a rubber band.

  “Thank you for coming by and for driving me home. And thanks for inviting me to the show. It was good, really good.”

  “I’m so glad you came. Thank you for the CDs. I can’t wait to hear them all.”

  They stood at the open door. The rain had stopped and a fine mist floated out over the staircase and trees. Jane breathed in the fresh smell of early spring. “It’s beautiful out here.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Get home safe, okay? And thanks again.”

  “Goodnight, Jane.” He looked at her for a long moment. “I had a great time.”

  He made his way down the walkway to his truck, waving as he pulled away.

  Chapter Ten

  Raymond ripped the pencil out of Tyrell’s hand, scratching his palm with the sharp point.

  “Ow, Raymond! What you did that for?”

  “I said give it.” Raymond crammed the pencil into his notebook and shut it. He slammed his head down on the desk, burying his face in his arms.

  “Geez, man.” Tyrell rubbed the lead mark on his hand. “You see that, Ms. Elliott?”

  Jane motioned for a break with her reading group, rising to check out the trouble.

  “Yes, I saw.” She knelt down beside Tyrell’s desk. “Are you okay?”

  He held out his palm and she looked it over.

  “Go on to the sink and wash your hands. It didn’t break the skin.”

  She turned to Raymond. “What was that about?”

  He shook his head again, refusing to meet her eyes.

  “Okay.” She stood. “Next time you need help, you ask me. You could have hurt Tyrell.”

  She checked her watch. “Well. Show’s over. It’s lunchtime. Let’s clear the desks and get ready.”

  Once they were settled down, she lined her students up outside the classroom, sending them group by group to retrieve their jackets from the closet. They were silent, eager to get downstairs, knowing that if they made a sound Jane would hold them back. She called the last group.

  “Ms. Elliott?” Lisa’s hand appeared from behind the closet door.

  “Raising your hand is sufficient, Lisa.” She walked over to her. “You don’t have to call my name too. Oh. You’re stuck.”

  Lisa stood with her jacket half-zipped over her head, one arm sticking out the side.

  Jane smiled. “Zipper broken?”

  Lisa giggled underneath the vinyl fabric. “Uh-huh.”

  Jane wrestled with the zipper, freeing it from the lining. She helped Lisa wiggle her arm into the jacket and patted her on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  They were walking to the door when Daniel came barreling in.

  “Ms. Elliott! They’re fighting!”

  For less than a second Jane stopped moving altogether, waiting as an old familiar slowness and clarity slid down over her. She gave Lisa’s shoulder one last squeeze and stepped out to the hallway.

  Two boys stood bolted together, arms gripped around each other. They looked like they were hugging, they were pressed so close together. A crowd gathered around them. She gestured to her students to back up out of the way. The others, from Ms. Gibson’s class across the hall, she told to step aside.

  Raymond and Tyrell had each other by the neck. They turned in a slow circle the way boys did before they broke apart and starting throwing punches. It was a peculiar dance, ritually enacted at the start of every fight: each boy locked in the other’s embrace, praying for something or someone to come along and intervene, to stop from happening what was already underway.

  They held each other like that for a moment before Raymond pushed himself off. He reared back to land the first punch. His fist hit Tyrell in the gut and Tyrell hit back, knocking Raymond backward with a hard blow to the chest.

  Jane put out her right arm. “Stop.”

  She felt their dusty coats, the heat and sweat of their bodies against her skin. They were breathing heavily already, one child huffing on either side of her. They struggled against her restraining arm, both boys reaching around her to get to the other.

  “Come on!” Spit flew out of Raymond’s mouth. His face was trembling. “Come on!”

 
He grabbed Tyrell’s shirt, pulling him in and then pushing him back against the wall. Tyrell bounced off and charged back at Raymond full speed.

  Jane stepped between them. She turned to face Tyrell. She laid her left hand against his chest, holding her right hand out behind her to keep Raymond back.

  “Stop. Tyrell, stop. Listen to me. Enough.”

  She held him, feeling his heartbeat race against her fingertips, his chest heaving underneath his damp shirt. Raymond panted behind her, shifting from foot to foot.

  She eased Tyrell back against the wall where her students’ work hung. Several book reports and illustrations had been torn, partially pulled off the bulletin board. She decided to focus on that.

  “Look what you’ve done.” She turned to Raymond, one hand still holding Tyrell against the wall. “All these projects ruined. You’ll have to fix them yourself, Raymond. And apologize to the students whose worked you’ve torn up.”

  She turned back. “You too, Tyrell. Enough already. There is no fighting allowed in my classroom or in the hallway. No fighting. You two have a problem, you talk it out. You can’t talk it out yourselves, you come to me. You know what the rule is. You could have hurt somebody. Now stop. I want you both up here at recess today. You’ll get your lunches and you’ll come right back up here with me. Understood?”

  Both boys looked at her stonily.

  “Do you understand me?”

  Tyrell blew out a breath. “Yes, Ms. Elliott.”

  She looked to Raymond. He nodded. A tear streaked down his face and he hurried to brush it away.

  “Go to the bathroom and wash your face, Ray. Meet us on the way down.”

  She led her students in two lines down the stairs to the lunchroom. They whispered to one another, slowing in patches, stretching the class along the length of the hallway with empty spaces between them. She stopped them at the staircase, waited in silence for them to realize why they were standing still.

  “Shh!” Lisa turned to hush the students behind her. Others followed suit, fingers to lips, turning to gesture at the kids behind them.

  Jane stood, hands clasped behind her back, watching them snap and hiss in their serpentine lines. “You’re making more noise shushing each other than you would if you just remained silent.”