by Elle Bennett
“So that’s the real reason you want me in the band? It gets you off?”
“No! No, that’s not it. Don’t get me wrong, it is sexy. But that’s not why I’m trying to get you to do this,” he said. He ran his hand through his already messy hair. “I’m trying to get you to see how wonderful you are. You are a musician, whether or not you realize it. You can sing for me or for five hundred people, and you fucking glow. I’m actually jealous of what you can do.”
I let out a derisive laugh.
“How are you jealous of me? You’re… You! I fucking hated being on that stage, Andrew. I wasn’t glowing. I was sweating bullets. I shook when I touched the piano, and my voice quivered when I tried to sing. I was terrified. Why can’t you understand that I don’t want to be on stage with you? I don’t want to be a musician. I just want to be your girlfriend. That’s all I want.”
“You are so much more than just my girlfriend, though. I wish I could get you to see that,” he said. He let out a deep sigh.
“Can we go home already?” I asked.
He nodded and handed me the keys. He got into the passenger side of the car. For once, he let me decide where to go.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The clouds cover a gray sky
Life can try to be kind without you
But it’s cold
It’s dark
It’s never blue
“Anonymous,” Peristerophobia
Over the next couple of weeks, I avoided the Washington household as much as I possibly could. Joan ended up coming by our apartment more often so we could hang out, but I figured that as long as I wasn’t near the band while they were practicing, there was less of a chance that they’d bother me to join them. Plus there was less of a chance of Joan bothering me about it as well.
We were lying on the floor, trying to make shapes out of the ceiling paint blobs as if they were clouds, when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw Andrew’s name, so I immediately answered.
“Shouldn’t you be practicing right now, mister?” I asked instead of saying hello.
“I was, but something happened and I had to call you right away. Holy shit, April. Holy fucking shit.”
“What is it?” I asked.
Joan cocked her head, curious as well. Andrew let out a laugh.
“Seriously, just tell me what happened. Are you drunk or something? You sound a little drunk.”
“No, I’m just… I don’t know. I guess I’m in shock. So. You know KALT, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
It was basically the only radio station I listened to, and it was always on in my car. Of course I knew it.
“So, at first, I thought they were just fucking with me, but it turns out they were serious. Little Plaid Dress Records has an A-and-R guy in town, and they went to the station to see if there were and bands they should check out while they were here. The station said we were the only ones worth checking out.”
“Holy shit,” I said.
Vic Hanzel, the lead singer of Like, I Like That, had terrible taste when it came to making his own music, but amazing taste when it came to other bands. His label, Little Plaid Dress Records, was one of my all-time favorite labels. They were small, but not so small that they were obscure. The bands on their labels were unlikely to get nominated for major awards, but they had their followings.
“The A-and-R guy is coming to our next show. This could be it for us, April. Some dude named Neil might make or break us.”
“Oh my god,” I said.
“What is it?” Joan asked.
“I’m so proud of you, Andrew,” I said.
Andrew laughed again, out of sheer joy.
“I wish you were here right now. We need to celebrate. Shit. Wait. No. We need to practice. Where are you? Are you busy?”
“I’m with Joan at our place.”
“Ditch my sister and get your ass over here?”
“How about I take her home and meet you there?” I suggested.
“I don’t care. I just want to celebrate with you.”
With a smile, I jumped up and grabbed my car keys. I gave Pigeon a little pat on the head before I ran out the door with Joan on my heels. I explained what was going on while we drove, and Joan squealed.
“Seriously? I love that label.”
“I know, me too.”
“Macklin got their start there, didn’t they?” she asked.
“Yeah, they moved on to a different label, but Vic Hanzel was the one that discovered them.”
“Oh my god. And they’re huge now,” she said.
“Just like Like, I Like That,” I agreed.
What would happen if Peristerophobia got to that level? I was excited for them to take the next big step in their careers, but a little nagging voice in the back of my head said, “You’re not going to be good enough for Andrew anymore.”
I told the voice to shut the fuck up and kept driving until I pulled onto the street where Andrew’s parents lived and hopped out of the car the moment I turned off the engine. I ran downstairs to the basement and jumped into Andrew’s arms the moment I saw him. He greeted me with a kiss that was probably not appropriate in front of his bandmates and his sister.
All the guys were grinning wildly, even Chad. I didn’t even know he could smile like that.
“We’ve got a shot at this becoming real,” Ken said. I swore I saw tears in his eyes, though he’d never admit to it.
“So, if you guys get signed and go on a big ass world tour, can I open for you?” Joan asked. Everyone’s smiles faded and we all stared at her for a moment. “I’m kidding.”
Andrew burst into laughter and hugged me tighter. He refused to let me go, even for a second.
“The concert’s this Saturday. It’s the last day Neil is in town, and we’re the only band we’re going to see while he’s here, so we have a good shot. You know what we have to do, right?”
“I know the label is run by Vic, but that doesn’t mean we need to get a fog machine. They’re so tacky,” I said.
Andrew gave me his “what are you smoking?” look and shook his head.
“What? No. I want us to do ‘Spackling’ at the concert.”
“I sure hope you mean the activity and not the song. Though I don’t know how either would help you get a record deal,” I said.
“Please?” he asked.
“Buying a fog machine is a better idea than me doing that song with you.”
“Please?” he asked again, his eyes going full puppy dog. “Please.”
I shook my head until I felt like I was going to have the worst headache of my life. Maybe even worse than a mosh pit headache.
“No. A million times, no. You said the bet meant I had to sing it once. Only once, Andrew. I’m not doing this again. I’ve told you ‘no’ so many fucking times, it’s getting ridiculous. I’m sick of arguing about the fact that I don’t want to be on that stage again. Plus, the gig is at The Walnut Tree. Do you know how awkward it will be with my coworkers if I fuck up on stage?”
Andrew looked like he was going to say something, but he was cut off by Doug.
“You’re not going to fuck up. You’re talented,” Doug said.
Ken and Joan both nodded in agreement. I looked over to Chad, to see if he had something to say for once. He opened his mouth and for the first time since I met him, his words didn’t sound slurred.
“The song is damn good, and it’s only because it’s you singing with him. You have that thing. Shit. What’s it called? I failed it in high school…”
We all stared at him.
“Chemistry,” Ken said with a nod. “And you have perfect harmony. Though I’m pretty sure Chad didn’t fail harmony in high school, he might have failed a girl named Harmony, though.”
He held out his pointer finger straight, then made it go limp. Oh dear.
“Fuck you,” Chad said. “That was just a rumor.”
“Was it? Because Harmony herself told me that -”
I cut Ken off.
“Guys. Shut up. Listen to me for once. I. Don’t. Want. To. Do. It.”
“What do you mean you don’t want to?” Andrew asked me.
“Get a fucking dictionary if you’re that confused,” I said.
Andrew shook his head and wrapped an arm around me. I tried to ignore the weight of his arm on my shoulders and the fact that he smelled really good. His words were heavier than his arm, though.
“Take a shot, April. Do something. Fuck not wanting to. Fuck being scared. You know what you’re going to miss out on in life if you keep running away from things? If you keep hiding?”
I pushed his arm off of me and I crossed my arms.
“The last time I took a shot and did something with you, I ended up homeless and unemployed. I like my life right now. I don’t want to fuck that up. Taking shots have only made me lose things, and I can’t lose anything right now. I can’t handle that.”
“You won’t lose a thing. You’ll gain so much.”
I blinked a few times. He had no idea what I could lose. I could lose the little respect for myself that I had left. I could become the person I never wanted to be. I could prove Cassidy right. I didn’t want to be an official part of Peristerophobia because I needed to be on the outside, looking in. I didn’t want to be in a band. I needed it to stay the way it was so I could stay sane.
A little part of me wished I had my old life back. Sure, my best friend was hardly around, I had more exes than friends, I tolerated my job aside from Friday nights, and I had no one in my life that loved me (except for my dog). But back then, Peristerophobia was just a band that I listened to, not a band that begged me to be a part of their shows. I had time for myself and I didn’t have to worry about anyone but me. I kind of missed being a social recluse who did almost nothing but go to concerts.
I missed being a face in the crowd, nothing more.
“I have nothing left to give,” I said quietly. “Nothing.”
Andrew threw his hands up in the air in frustration.
“Fine. Give up. That’s great. Yeah, it’s the solution to everything. Give up, be selfish. That’s going to get you places in life.”
I let out a sigh.
“I don’t want to go places. I want to stay here. It’s safe here.”
“I don’t understand you at all, April. Why won’t you do this for me?”
I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. I’d been trying so hard to keep them at bay, but there they went.
“Don’t you get it? It’s not that I won’t. It’s that I can’t.”
He wrapped his arms around me and whispered in my ear, “I believe in you, April. I need you.”
I pushed him away.
“That makes one of us,” I said.
I walked away, up the stairs and out of his house. With tears still clinging to my cheeks, I drove away. I didn’t want to go back home. Andrew would show up and we’d start the argument over again. I was done arguing. I tried to dial Erica so I could talk to someone a little more neutral for advice, but of course she didn’t answer. I should have known she wouldn’t be there when I needed her. She never was. No one was.
I had no one else to call. Nowhere to go.
A freeway and an hour later, I found myself outside of my old high school, where I took voice lessons after school with the choir teacher. Before Cassidy came back into my life, I knew the path I wanted to take. I was going to be a singer, a song writer. I was going to play the piano and make a name for myself. Then Cassidy showed up, and every single one of those plans changed.
Considering it was after school hours, I figured the doors would be locked, and my old teacher likely wouldn’t even be there anymore. But I needed someone to talk to.
To my surprise, I walked in with no problem, and the janitor gave me a nod instead of asking me why I was in the school after hours. I walked to the choir room. The halls brought back so many memories. Erica and I sitting at our lockers before school started, making out with boys under the staircase by the math hall, getting high my senior year in the bathroom next to the library.
I made it to the room that I used to spend hours in and opened up the door. To my surprise and relief, I recognized the woman sitting at the desk. Her brunette, graying hair was pulled into a harsh ponytail, and her mouth was moving along with the words she read on the computer screen in front of her.
While I felt a million years older than I was the last time I saw her, she didn’t look like she’d aged a day.
“Ms. Moon?”
She looked up and tilted her head at me.
“I feel like I should know your name. I’m sorry, what is it?”
“April O’Connell,” I said, pointing at myself, as if there was someone else in the room she could be talking to.
“Oh!” she said. She pushed her chair away from her desk and jumped out of it, rushing to give me a hug.
“Oof,” I said as her arms flung around me. “Nice to see you too.”
“April O’Connell! My goodness. I can’t even remember the last time I saw you. I remember you dropping out of my class, what was it? Five years ago?”
“Somewhere around there,” I said. “I’m actually here to see if you could maybe give me some advice?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. She sat on the edge of her desk and gave me a smile.
“So, you used to know my voice backwards and forwards. You knew it better than I ever did. You helped me with things that I didn’t even realize were a problem. Remember that issue I had with my vibrato?”
She let out a laugh.
“It was a challenge to get you out of that habit.”
“Anyway. I was wondering. Did you ever actually like my voice? I mean, did you ever think I had a real shot at being a singer, professionally? Or a musician?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. You had a unique voice. Not quite right for the choir, since we mostly sang show tunes, and you don’t have a traditional Broadway sound. Your voice was always meant to be a solo act. Any other voice mixed with it sounded wrong. But by itself? Your voice was a masterpiece.”
I let out a sigh and walked over to the grand piano she had sitting in the middle of the room. I used to tinker with it after my lessons every now and then, when I wished I could have a piano that beautiful. I always went home to my beat up, well loved piano. Unlike my piano, her piano (or rather, the school’s piano) was shiny and black, just as a grand piano should be. A part of me wondered if any of my fingerprints were still smudged on there somewhere, or if it’d been cleaned properly since I last sat at it, forever erasing the trace of my existence in its life.
“I remember listening to you play that piano,” she said. “You had potential, April. I never understood why you gave up on everything.”
“It’s a long story,” I said. I ran my fingers across the keys, not pressing down hard enough for them to make a sound. “But I gave up. I didn’t believe in myself. I still don’t.”
“Do you still play at all?”
“Not if I can help it,” I said.
Ms. Moon pulled out the bench and told me to sit down. I followed her instruction as if I were still her fifteen year old student, not a twenty year old woman who could walk away from this at any moment.
“Let’s see how you’ve progressed in the last five years,” she said. “Come on. Sing. Play. Let’s hear it.”
“I don’t think that’s -”
“Come on, now. I’m growing older every second of the day. I don’t have much time for you to work up some courage.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not? You come to visit me and you don’t expect me to make you sing? I once was in charge of controlling your voice. You didn’t relinquish that power when you left my class.”
I was pretty sure that power had transferred to Andrew.
With a deep sigh, I placed my hands on the keys and began to plink out a simple melody, one I used to mess around with on the
piano at my dad’s place, back before I quit playing. It wasn’t a song I’d ever done anything with, but it was one I could never forget how to play.
“Sing,” Ms. Moon pressed.
My fingers swiftly changed from playing my simple melody to “Nine Alarm Wake Up Call,” one of the few Peristerophobia songs I could play on the piano.
Andrew didn’t know that I’d been practicing his songs in my own time while he worked as a bartender at night. I wasn’t always at The Walnut Tree, working. Sometimes, I was at home, alone. Fiddling with the piano in secret. Any time he asked me if I played the piano while he was gone, I denied it.
I never planned on telling him that I began to play it after the fight we had outside of his parents’ house. I didn’t know how he’d react, and I didn’t want to know.
“You woke me up, brought me out of this spell, and now I know, that no matter where you are, you’ll be beside me, never allowing me to drift again,” I sang, my fingers gliding across the keys in practiced movements.
I felt like a teenager again, performing in front of my teacher, waiting for a grade. She was the only one who ever really understood my voice, understood who I was. She never judged me, no matter what shit I put her through. She only ever believed in me.
The moment I played the last chord of the song, Ms. Moon placed her hand on my shoulder.
“I said this to you the first time I heard you play, and I’ll say it again - damn, kid. You’re going to go places.”
“My boyfriend wants me to perform with his band on Saturday in front of a rep for Little Plaid Dress Records,” I blurted out.
“That’s an amazing opportunity. I hope you take it.”
“What if I fuck up?” I asked.
“Then you’re human.”
“But… if I only have this opportunity because I’m with him, what does that make me?”
I braced myself for her answer. For her to call me a groupie, a slut, a piece of shit. But she didn’t. She simply smiled and said, “A very lucky girl.”
