by Elle Bennett
I looked back up at Andrew and refused to break eye contact. It was the only thing keeping me steady.
As I sang, I saw everything flash before my eyes. Things that hadn’t even happened yet, things I could picture as my future with Andrew. The future we could have together on stage, years and years of us doing exactly what we were doing in that moment.
“Put your hand in mine, follow me down this path, and I promise we’ll be fine,” I sang. My voice didn’t sound as shaky as I felt, and it didn’t sound as off as it did when I sang “Dancing Queen” with him in that Konfusion months ago. A calmness came over me as he gave me a slight nod, still not breaking our eye contact.
I could have everything with him.
Everything.
We sang our hearts out together. At times, I felt like throwing up and running away, but for the most part, I felt like I was at home. Nothing had ever felt so right in my life. Playing the piano was like breathing, singing was just like thinking out loud. Even the noise of the audience cheering sounded like the universe pushing me in the right direction.
“You make me regret every single fuck I ever wasted,” we sang together.
We finished out the song, playing the final chords. I blinked slowly taking in the crowd in front of me. So many people, and they were all watching me. Listening to me. Cheering for me.
I walked over to Andrew, hugged him, and whispered into his ear.
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
He leaned down and kissed me on the lips. Thankfully, he left it at a peck and didn’t try any funny business or make it gross and awkward for everyone else in the venue.
“You were spectacular,” he said. He kissed my forehead, then turned back to his microphone. “Isn’t April fucking awesome?”
The crowd cheered and my face glowed like a neon sign.
“You’re too kind,” I said into his microphone.
“And you’re too humble,” he said.
I shook my head with a little smile and walked offstage. I didn’t look back until I was on the sidelines again, watching, feeling a little more comfortable. I made a heart with my hands after he looked back at me. He did the same in return.
He sang a few more songs and I let my mind wander and race wherever it had wanted to go while I was on stage, to the places that I wouldn’t let it go while I stood in front of the crowd.
Part of me felt like I’d found a home that I hadn’t realized I’d been searching for. Then there was that part of me that felt like an impostor for thinking I belonged on that stage for even a second. The voices in my head were tough to get rid of.
When Peristerophobia finished up their set, Andrew came running towards me. He drenched me in sweat with a single hug.
“Gross,” I said. I looked down at the marks that were sure to stain my shirt. “I was already sweaty enough, thanks.”
“Hey, you don’t complain about the sweat when I’m fucking you,” he said.
“Andrew! Your bandmates are right there,” I pointed out.
“Like we don’t know that you’re fucking,” Ken said with a roll of his eyes. “We shared a van on tour. Plus, you just sang a song about it.”
Okay, so he had a point.
“You did great out there,” Doug said. I was grateful to him for changing the subject.
“Especially considering the fact that you’re an amateur,” Ken added.
I wasn’t sure if that was considered a compliment or not.
“Um. Thanks,” I said.
We began to pack up the instruments and I placed the piano in the back of the van with care. My fingerprints were everywhere on it. It was filthy with them.
It was mine.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Life never took us
Where we thought to look
Love sneaks up
Life escapes
“Processing Your Request For Failure,” Peristerophobia
Erica Hall:
Sorry, was that text just sent to me from fifteen year old April?
Me:
It’s me, right now. Present day April. Don’t make a big deal out of this.
I wanted to let you know, but please. Don’t make it a big thing.
Erica Hall:
I’m sorry, I honestly can’t believe you played the piano and sang in front of that many people.
I thought you’d sworn to never do that again.
Me:
Yeah, well, it happened.
Erica Hall:
Pics or it didn’t happen.
Me:
Seriously?
With a sigh, I went to Peristerophobia’s website, where they had posted pictures from the night before. One showed me on stage from the crowd’s point of view. One showed Andrew and I onstage, side by side. There was one of the kiss Andrew gave me right after the song. I sent Erica the links to all of them.
Erica Hall:
Holy shit. Okay, fine. I believe you. You really did it.
Me:
I can’t believe you needed actual proof.
Erica Hall:
I can’t believe you’re not freaking out right now.
My phone dinged, letting me know I had another new text. I switched over to it.
Andrew Washington:
We have a show at The Walnut Tree when you have a shift next week. Think you could take a break and join us for a bit?
Before you say no, here’s your reminder that you’re talented and sexy as hell.
Me:
No.
Andrew Washington:
Why the hell not?
Me:
Because no means no.
Andrew Washington:
I don’t fucking get it. You’re talented. You sound amazing with the band.
Hell, if you want, you can BE in the band. We had a vote this morning.
This is your official offer. Join the band?
I needed to sit down. I was stunned. Then my phone beeped again.
Andrew Washington:
I always felt like Peristerophobia was great, but not perfect. We were missing something.
Turns out we needed you to go from good to great.
Me:
…
Andrew Washington:
Are you stunned into silence or is that your way of ignoring me?
Me:
I don’t know.
My phone beeped again.
Erica Hall:
Are you mad at me?
Me:
Sorry, Andrew distracted me.
You know how I get when a cute guy needs my attention.
Erica Hall:
Just making sure. I know how sensitive you can get when I’m joking around.
I wanted to make sure you weren’t pissed off again for no reason.
Me:
Maybe I wouldn’t get mad if you took me more seriously.
Or if you didn’t act like you didn’t believe me after I tell you big news.
She didn’t reply for the rest of the night. Fucking typical. Andrew sent one last text before I fell asleep, though.
Andrew Washington:
Promise me you’ll think about it, April. I love you.
The rest of fall passed by pretty quickly. Every night, I was either working with the band (and avoiding them every time they asked me if I’d like to join Peristerophobia) or working at The Walnut Tree. It was the happiest I’d been in years.
Andrew and I moved into a dog-friendly apartment by the middle of November. I found myself sitting on my purple couch in front of my old rug in our new place. I finally felt at home again, a feeling I never could quite get while living with my dad. It included Andrew, and that made it so much better. It made it an actual home.
My only qualm with the new apartment was how small it was. We could barely fit a bed and a dresser into the bedroom, and our living room fit the couch, a small coffee table, and a TV, nothing else. The band definitely couldn’t practice there. We still ended up at Andrew’s p
arents’ place a few times a week to use their basement for practice space. I was sure our neighbors at our apartment would be thrilled if they knew we were refraining from playing instruments in our place.
Whenever I joined Andrew and the guys for their practice, I’d end up hanging out with Joan to get away from them asking me if I’d join the band. We ate cookies and talked about all the drama going on in her life. The more I got to know her, the more I liked her. And unlike my friendship with Erica, I actually felt like I got something in return for everything I gave.
After we fought over the last of the cookies, Joan leaned against the counter and gave me a look that suggested I wouldn’t like whatever she was about to say. I could see the hesitance in her eyes.
“So, I have a question,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Why aren’t you where you belong right now?” she asked.
What the fuck was she talking about? I gave her a look that asked just that.
“I mean, why aren’t you downstairs, with the guys, with your piano, singing?” she asked. “I saw you at the Noir show. I know that’s where you belong. It’s where you should be.”
I shook my head.
“I think we should make another batch of cookies. These don’t have nearly enough chocolate in them,” I said.
“You can’t use chocolate to change the subject with me,” she said.
We talked about pretty much everything, aside from my sex life with Andrew (because hello, that’s her brother), but there was one thing I always made sure to keep out of our conversations - my musical past and my musical future. I had my reasons for not wanting to talk about it, and I had my reasons for not wanting to talk about those reasons.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where did you get those shoes? The new store at the mall? They’re really cute. I like the little cats all over them, though it’d be even better if they were dogs.”
“No, I got them at the April-needs-to-stop-her-bullshit store.”
“Drop it, kid,” I said. She laughed.
“I’m only two years younger than you. You can’t call me kid.” I glared at her and she grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the hallway. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
I followed her into her bedroom, which was approximately one-third the size of Andrew’s practice space downstairs. It had powder blue walls and it was absolutely covered in album artwork, magazine articles on bands, handwritten lyrics, and sheet music. She was not kidding when she said music was her life.
“I like your walls,” I said.
“Thanks. This collage has been in the making for nine years,” she said. She sat down on her bed and grabbed her phone off the charger on her dresser. I sat down next to her.
“So, what do you plan to show me on your phone? Because if it’s nudes, you can keep those to yourself. I don’t care if you’re old enough to show them off now, I don’t want to see them.”
She rolled her eyes at me.
“No, I’m not showing you nudes. I’m showing you something you really need to see.”
I saw her open her videos app and clicked on a thumbnail. It didn’t take me long to realize it was the show at Noir, when I’d performed. My eyes widened.
“I was there for that show. I don’t need to see a video from it.”
“You didn’t see this, though,” she said, holding out her phone for me to take.
“‘Spackling?’ come on, Joan. I don’t want to watch myself.”
“You need to,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
It was awkward enough to hear myself sing through the microphone. I didn’t want to watch a video of it. It would be twice the awkwardness for the low, low price of my humiliation.
“Watch it,” she demanded, shoving her phone at me. “You think you suck, right? That you only got on stage by sleeping with my brother? You’re wrong. If you’d sucked, he never would have put you on that stage. But I don’t think you’ll really understand how wrong you are until you actually see this. Watch yourself. See what you can do. It’s fucking awesome.”
I took a deep breath and hit play.
The video version of Andrew called my name, and I showed up on stage, a redheaded, blurry mess. The video wasn’t great, but the audio was impeccable. A rare quality in a concert video.
I cringed as I heard myself sing through the phone’s speakers. My voice out loud and my voice in my head were two very different things.
“God, that’s really how I sound now?”
Joan hit pause.
“Shut up, and stop thinking about the fact that it’s you that you’re listening to. Just fucking listen. Close your eyes, if it’ll help. Focus on the music.”
She hit play again.
I tried closing my eyes. I tried shutting off the part of my mind that told me that I was awful, that I only got there because of my relationship with Andrew. That part of my mind that always spoke in Cassidy’s fake southern drawl. All I could hear was failure and insecurity in the voice of the girl in the video. I heard a girl who sounded like she belonged in the audience, not on the stage.
I tried to listen to only Andrew’s voice, block out my own. But I couldn’t. So I exited out of the video and tossed Joan’s phone back down next to the charger that it had been plugged into just a few minutes previously.
“Are you serious right now?” Joan asked.
I shook my head.
“I can’t. Okay?”
She scoffed and stared at me.
“Did you even bother listening? Or were you having a panic attack and not hearing a thing?”
Goddamn it.
“Why are you doing this,anyway? Why do you give a shit? Are you trying to make Peristerophobia fail by getting me to join them? Because that’s what’s going to happen. They’ll go from a great band to a mediocre band. That’s why I’m not down there right now. That’s why I refuse to play the keyboard that Andrew put into the living room the other day. I don’t want to get in their way. I don’t want to ruin their future.”
“I think you’re preventing them from becoming what they’re meant to be,” she argued. “The band is better with you. Spackling is one of their best songs, and that has a lot to do with you.”
I sighed and looked away from her. There was a picture of her and her boyfriend in a frame on her dresser, their smiles wide and their hair messy.
“How’s Ron doing?” I asked.
“You’re really determined to change the subject, aren’t you?”
“Thinking about marriage yet?”
“Of course not. We just graduated high school, for fuck’s sake. Don’t make me punch you in the boob.”
“Wait, what?” I asked. “Seriously?”
She nodded.
“That sounds really awkward.”
“And it hurts,” she said.
Andrew poked his head into Joan’s room and gave me a smile. I hadn’t even heard the music stop downstairs.
“Hey, are you ready to go? I’m starving,” he said.
I hopped up from Joan’s bed and rushed to meet him in the doorway.
“So, so ready.”
“But we weren’t done talking!” Joan said.
I flipped her off and walked down the hallway with Andrew, yelling a goodbye.
When we got to the car, Andrew leaned me against the door and kissed me, soft but passionate. He pulled away, kissed the tip of my nose, and gave me a smile.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi to you as well.”
“I had a thought.”
“Dangerous,” I said.
“Sometimes.”
“So. Continue.”
“Yes,” he said. “So. I had a thought. Maybe you should play ‘Spackling’ with us again for our next show. One last time?”
I pulled away from him and walked away from the car. Why was everyone trying to push me around? Was it just a Washington family thing?
He followed me down the sidewalk.
“April, where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Away.”
I didn’t want to get in the car with him if he was going to be like that. I wanted to go away. Far away from the idea of me singing, far away from the idea of me touching a piano again. After hearing myself on that video, I was more certain than ever that it was a one time deal. That I couldn’t do it again.
I knew I never would have made it up on a stage like that on my own. It had taken me getting into Andrew’s pants to get me there, and I was fully aware of it. I hated myself for doing that. I didn’t want to be that girl. I didn’t want to be my mother’s daughter.
“Why?” Andrew asked.
“Here is pissing me off. Away sounds better.”
“We need to go home,” he said. “Pigeon needs his dinner. So do we.”
Fuck. He was right. Pigeon probably also had to use the bathroom. We hadn’t been home in a few hours, and it was an hour past the time I usually took him for his walk. So with the image of Pigeon waiting for me, I turned back around and headed back to the car with Andrew.
“Fine, let’s go home. But no more talk of me singing with you again. I just can’t, okay?”
“But you’re so good -” he began to say before I cut him off.
“No! Stop it! I know your fucking opinion! I don’t need to hear it again. Did you tell Joan to talk to me about this?”
He shook his head as we reached the car again.
“No. If she talked to you, that was all her own doing. She knows we want you in the band, though. I’ve told her about that.”
“I’m just… I’m sick of you guys trying to push me into this life that I don’t want,” I said.
He tried to grab my hand. I pulled away so he only caught air.
“I don’t get it. You seemed so at home on stage with me. You sang beautifully, and you played your keyboard wonderfully. And you playing that piano? Massive turn on.”
