Shape of My Life

by DC Renee

  Let’s just say, I showed her what talents I had. I had met her parents, and now, she had met mine. So parent meetings? Check. Serious relationship? Check. Happy? Check. So many things down, but an “I love you” still to go.

  Brooklyn

  I felt like I was living in an amusement park. Seriously, this tour business was a roller coaster. And with any roller coaster, there is that sense of foreboding before the big drop. Then when you hit it, it’s a rush like you’ve never felt, only to be plunged into a loop and turned upside down. You get whiplash, you scream, you laugh, you close your eyes and pray for the ride to end, and then once it’s over, you say, “Wow,” and then follow that with a, “That’s it? That was so short.” But it didn’t feel short while you were on it.

  That was happening, and even though I hadn’t gotten off the ride yet per se, I’d be missing it. For now, I was at the whiplash section. Almost every night, we were in a new city, and it was both exhilarating and tiring. There were new people to meet, some parties to go to, and groupies galore. The guys even used me to get rid of the clingy ones.

  I acted the part of the sister, the jealous girlfriend, the manager—you name it. It actually started as a challenge to see what I’d come up with next. It was hard to keep a straight face when the guys were busy laughing and pretending they were choking; unsuccessfully, I might add.

  “Stop using my girlfriend for your amusement, assholes,” Grennan told them on numerous occasions, but I think he secretly found it entertaining. He sucked at hiding his laughter too, especially when I said things like, “You said the rash would go away just like it did for you. It’s been two months, and it’s still there.” The dumb girls didn’t question why I was there in the first place, or they might have found the situation a little suspicious.

  Meeting Grennan’s parents and knowing they liked me was definitely part of the big drop of the roller coaster, a mix of trepidation and relief with a hint of exhilaration. They were amazing and reminded me of my parents in so many ways. They cared about Grennan, but they were hands off, one of those cool parents you saw on TV and wondered where you could find a pair for yourself. Of course, my parents were cooler, but his were a close second. They told me so many stories of Grennan as a kid while we watched him perform that I had a list a mile long to use against him if I ever needed to.

  They also took a moment to tell me they were happy Grennan had found me.

  “He had a tough time growing up,” his mom told me.

  “When he got to college, he went a little wild, making up for lost time,” his dad added.

  “We never worried about him because he has a good head on his shoulders, but a mom still gets nervous. Ever since he met you, he’s been a different person. More grounded. And the way he talks about you”—his mom smiled—“I can literally feel him grinning. Thank you, Brooklyn. Thank you for being perfect for Grennan.”

  “Thank you for raising such a wonderful man,” I responded.

  “And remember,” she said, “I love him; he’s my boy. But if he does anything to hurt you, let me know. I’ll make sure to straighten him out.” She winked, and I had a funny feeling that her straightening him out would most definitely be something Grennan didn’t like. Huh, I’d have to remember that.

  I also continued to write music … a lot. Grennan and this tour were a huge inspiration to a piece of myself I never knew existed. I mean what reason did I have to write lyrics before? But once the words were on paper that first time, it was as if a floodgate opened. I had filled pages with lyrics I didn’t know what to do with. I wasn’t even sure if they sucked or were something to write home about. Either way, I felt completely at peace when I wrote.

  One part of the tour I couldn’t determine which part of the roller coaster it belonged to was my feelings toward it all. Watching Grennan and the guys on stage, listening to their voices, the beat of the drums, the strumming of the guitars was something I didn’t have words for. I felt like I was a part of something surreal and didn’t think I could even describe it properly. I felt it all in my bones, deep in my soul even. That was about as much as I could say without sounding crazy. It was as if it was a part of me; a part I didn’t know existed. Simply put, it was magical.

  Every time I stepped on the stage, I still had a weird feeling of dread. I knew it was me subconsciously reliving that panic attack and the embarrassment that came with it, but it was just so opposite of the emotions that came with listening to The Rising Sun from backstage or even while they rehearsed. I never tired of it.

  Any lingering doubts I had about Grennan caring about me or that I was just a passing phase for Grennan were gone. He made me feel like I was the best thing in this world, even when we disagreed, and we did. Our arguments were mostly about his jealousy, if you could believe that. Half-naked women threw themselves at him, but if anyone so much as batted an eyelash at me, he went all caveman. It was sweet at first, and then super annoying. We got into it a few times.

  “I don’t like people flirting with what’s mine. Flirting means hope. There’s no hope there. I’m not letting you go, Brooklyn. You’re mine. End of story.”

  When he put it that way, I couldn’t be mad.

  We had stupid arguments too over what to watch on TV, what to eat, and his occasional overprotective moments. They were minor tiffs, and we worked through them all reasonably well, and by reasonably, I mean I stripped, he forgot what we were fighting about, and I won, usually multiple times. Insert mental high-five here. Yes, I was letting Gavin, Cody, and Trevor rub off on me apparently. Surprisingly, I liked it. They were feeling like family.

  “I’ve always wanted a sister,” Gavin even told me one day after I finished making food for everyone. “Glad I got you.”

  I hugged him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to which I swear I heard Grennan growl. I smiled.

  Grennan had once told me he’d make me believe he liked me. Well, I more than believed.

  One night, after a show where the fans were particularly unruly, I woke up with a start. Usually, when I woke up in the middle of the night for whatever reason, Grennan was still asleep. This time, though, I was awake because Grennan was cradling me in his arms, whispering, “Shh, it’s okay, Brooklyn. I got you.”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” I told him, but the unease I felt during my dream was still there, so I wrapped my arms around him while I waited for my racing heart to calm. He continued to whisper words of comfort, and I let him. I vaguely knew I must have been projecting my dream in real life, and it must have been something big if I had woken Grennan.

  When I was no longer trembling, and my heart was no longer beating frantically, Grennan pulled away and stared into my eyes. It was dark in the room, but with the faint glow coming in through the crack in the window blinds, I could see the way his eyes shimmered. They were streaked with exhaustion and worry … worry for me. God, I loved him. I wished at that moment I had the courage just to tell him, but I didn’t.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “It’s strange, really,” I started, and the memory of the dream crashed over me, sending a shiver down my spine. “I was on a stage …” I paused. It had seemed so real—the sounds, the cheering, the music, especially the music. I couldn’t figure out what song I was singing, but that’s just it, I was singing. “I was in front of a packed audience. I was you, Grennan. I mean I was like you. I was a star. I had my band behind me, and I knew they were my band, but I’m not sure how I even knew that. I was excited; I was amped up. I imagine it was similar to what you feel after the shows, but I had that high right then and there.”

  “And that freaked you out because of your anxiety about being the center of attention?” Grennan asked.

  “You’d think, right? But no, I was actually happy up there. Yet something was off about the entire situation. It was as if I wasn’t truly happy, but rather, I was acting the part. No, that’s not even right. It’s hard to explain.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have t
o.”

  “I do, though. I sound crazy even to myself. Okay, I was the person up on stage, but somehow, I was also a fly on the wall watching everything happening from afar. The me on stage was great; the me overshadowing it all wasn’t. And those two emotions were warring with each other. The me on stage started seeing faces out in the crowd. I imagine that’s hard to do?” I asked, and when Grennan nodded, I continued. “And for me up there, it was too, but it’s like I couldn’t help but still see some features. I noticed a couple of signs, a cool shirt, and I even saw some faces. And one of them … a guy, he was smiling, but it was a cold smile. It was nothing to become so scared over, but somehow, even in my dream, my hands got clammy, my throat became dry, my heart started racing. That’s when the bad feelings the outside me had merged with those of the me on stage, and it was too much. I collapsed, and a scream tore out of my throat right on stage. I knew it wasn’t even over yet. I had a feeling more was to come, but that’s when I woke up.” My voice cracked on the last words.

  Grennan pulled me to him, and as I buried my head in his neck, I felt the dampness there from my tears, the ones I hadn’t even noticed were falling. I tasted the salt on my lips and realized I had been crying the entire time.

  “It’s okay, Brooklyn. It was just a dream. I should have protected you better. I know things can get crazy here sometimes. I’m used to it, but you’re not. I’m sorry.”

  “Grennan, it’s not your fault. I want to be here. I want to be with you. And I’m having fun. Sure, sometimes the fans are a little much, but I have you.”

  “And I’m doing a crap job apparently.” He sounded so dejected.

  “No, Grennan, you’re not. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you about the dream. I should have known you’d blame yourself.” I muttered it more to myself than to him.

  “No!” he roared. “You’re mine to protect, and anything that bothers you bothers me. God forgive me, but I’m a selfish bastard, and I want you with me, but you should know, Brooklyn, I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. I love you, Brooklyn.”

  My heart stopped. Or was that time? It was as if my tears hung suspended in midair. My lungs ceased to take in air. My mind couldn’t process thoughts. And my heart was still skipping beats.

  “You what?” Of all the million things my mouth could have said, from “I love you too” to even a crappy, “Thank you,” it went with, “You what?” Really? Well, I said my mind wasn’t processing properly.

  “You’re safe with me Brooklyn because I love you. You’re a part of me; you are me. My heart is yours, and if anything were to happen to my heart, I wouldn’t survive. I wouldn’t survive without you.”

  Now, it made sense as to why my heart stopped because it was merging with his, figuring out how to beat together as one instead of two separate entities. And just like that, time no longer stood still, and my tears were flowing again, but this time, they were tears of joy. I could breathe again, inhaling Grennan’s scent, making it my own. My thoughts were back, and they were full of love, and my heart was beating with his.

  I would never remember this night as the night filled with a horrible nightmare, but rather as the night Grennan gave me his love and allowed mine to escape the cage I had put it in. No longer were the words perched on the tip of my tongue, floating only in my mind; they were out and free.

  “I love you too, Grennan. I love you so much.” Then I attacked his lips and poured into them every ounce of love I had so he’d know I wasn’t just saying it back. I was proclaiming it.

  Grennan

  I didn’t mean to snoop. I didn’t. Brook was at the front of the bus chatting with the guys, and I had just gotten out of the shower. I walked to the little bedroom, and her notebook was poking out of her bag. Normally, I wouldn’t even think twice, but the way it had been stuffed into the bag made it so the pages were open. A giant heart around some words caught my attention. I’d seen Brook writing in her notebook sometimes. She’d go between furiously writing to putting the pen to her lips with her eyes cast up as if she was looking for some answer. Her eyebrows would draw together, and her lips would pucker against the pen. I watched her raptly when she did that.

  I always assumed she was writing letters to her parents or Cassidy, but looking back, that was a dumb assumption. She talked, texted, even emailed them so many times a day there would be no purpose in writing letters.

  I’d like to say I warred with myself on letting her have her privacy, that I mentally had a talk with the mini devil and angel on my shoulders like they have in cartoons. That would have made me a little better, right? Alas, I didn’t even think twice as I grabbed the notebook, plopped down on the bed, and turned to the page that had intrigued me.

  I realized just looking at the format it wasn’t a letter. It looked like a poem at first. Then I read the words.

  The memories, they haunt me

  The dreams, they come and go

  Feelings consume my senses

  Emotions are so raw

  Yet you hold me in the dead of night

  Rocking me back and forth

  Giving me your ease and comfort

  Giving me your love

  The words never tasted so sweet

  On your lips or mine

  The words never meant so much

  Before you were mine

  When I’m feeling lonely

  I know you are nearby

  Chasing away my demons

  Protecting me from myself

  Your arms they surround me

  They scare the darkness away

  You’re a part of me now

  Your love inside mine

  The words never tasted so sweet

  On your lips or mine

  The words never meant so much

  Before you were mine

  Three words, too many meanings, but none so grand as love

  Three words, not enough meanings, but all of them mean love

  I’d give you all I had in me

  If I could reach that deep down

  I’d give everything I had

  To show you what I’m about

  Yet you still somehow see me

  And you care nonetheless

  You give me all you have in you

  You give me all your love

  The words never tasted so sweet

  On your lips or mine

  The words never meant so much

  Before you were mine

  Before you were mine

  Now you are mine

  “Wow,” I said out loud even though I was alone in the room. I had no words. I was surprised with myself that I even formed that one inadequate word to describe what I had read. I flipped through the pages. Dozens of lyrics covered the pages. I didn’t know which ones to read first. I wanted to read them all—no, I wanted to hear her read them all. I scanned them, reading bits and pieces of every page, not able to get through them fast enough.

  I had written songs for a while now, mostly with Gavin. Trevor and Cody had a hand in a few songs too, but none, and I mean none, compared to the words I was reading in Brooklyn’s notebook. All her lyrics were raw with emotion, pain, love, safety, fear—I heard it all. Where had it come from? And why hadn’t she told me?

  She was brilliant, a fucking musical genius, and I hadn’t known. I was right by her side for months and months and never knew.

  I didn’t know how long I sat there, but it must have been a while because the next thing I knew, I heard Brook’s voice calling out to me.

  “Grennan? You okay in there?” she asked before she stepped into the room.

  I looked up, and I told myself I should have looked guilty, put on a remorseful face to tell her I was sorry for going through her things, but I couldn’t. I was too awestruck, and I was sure my face showed it.

  “Wha-what are you doing?” she asked, her eyes darting back and forth between my eyes and the notebook in my hands. Her voice was low, trembling even, her hand was on her neck, as if she had brought
it up to her mouth on a gasp, but stopped before it made it to its destination. She looked so frightened, so nervous. Why, I couldn’t understand. What in the world did she have to fear? She was so unbelievably talented, and I had a feeling she didn’t even know.

  “You wrote this.” I meant it as a question, but it came out as a statement. I guess that was accurate considering I knew she had.

  “You went through my things.” I was sure she meant to accuse me, but her voice was still shaky.

  “I didn’t, Brooklyn.” I held up my hands in defense. “It caught my attention. Call it wrong, if you want, but I didn’t think you’d have anything to hide from me.” I didn’t realize that I was hurt she hid this from me until I had said the words. I knew she heard my wounded tone because she opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again and bit her lip. I felt like an ass; she had the right to be upset with me for invading her privacy, and still, I had turned it around on me. I wanted answers, though. “When did you write this? All this?” I swept my hand over the notebook.

  “Here and there,” she answered quietly as if she didn’t want to tell me. “The ideas come into my head randomly. Sometimes, I wake up at night.” I nodded as if I understood, but I didn’t really. I liked writing, but more so I had something to sing to my songs. I couldn’t imagine the words just coming to me as if they were a part of me just waiting to be heard.

  “How long have you been writing songs?” I asked her, wondering why the heck she never told me.

  “Not long.” She shrugged, but I could tell she was just trying to act as if it was no big deal.

  “A few years?” It came out as an accusation, although I never felt that way.

  She must have heard some sharpness in my tone because her eyes widened and her tone became slightly desperate. “No, no, it started the first night of the tour. I was dreaming of being on stage before the panic attack I had, and when I woke up, I had these thoughts. I wrote them down.”