Stuff We All Get

by K. L. Denman

Before I can wrap my head around that, a couple of people come up behind me.

  “You mind letting us by, kid?” a guy asks.

  “What?” I stammer.

  He looks me over and shakes his head. “You haven’t got a chance.”

  “Huh?” At first I think he means I haven’t got a chance with her, but then I get it. “I was just listening to the music.”

  “Sure,” he laughs. The woman beside him raises her eyebrows.

  “Seriously,” I say. “I know that song and I…Uh, would you mind doing me a favor?”

  “I’m not booting for you,” the guy says.

  “No. That’s not it. Could you ask that musician to come out here? Tell him I need to talk to him.”

  The guy squints at me and shakes his head again. “Look kid, I’m not a messenger boy. Take off.” He brushes past me, the jerk.

  But the woman pauses. “It looks like this is important. I’ll ask one of the servers to pass along your message.”

  “Really? Thanks!”

  “No promises. And if I were you,” she adds, “I’d stay clear of the door. You don’t want someone calling the cops.”

  I slink into the shadows alongside the building and wait.

  Chapter Seven

  I wait for over an hour, listening to the singer. He doesn’t play any more of her songs, which is good—and not good. I don’t think it’s right for someone else to do her music, but I’d rather hear more of her stuff than his. The colors are different with him, deeper in tone, and duller too. The dullness is likely because the sound is muffled. But if he played her tunes, I’ll bet the colors would be brighter, more vivid. I think about that to distract me from the fact that I’m getting cold and hungry. I’m ready to give up when the music stops.

  Every muscle in my body tenses as I hear him say, “That’s it for this set, folks. Time for me to take a break.” There’s a smattering of applause before the clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices take over.

  Will he come out? I lurk around the corner from the door and watch. Some people do come out, including the couple I talked to earlier. They head straight for their car. I’m wondering if I should run after them to ask about my message when I hear something behind me. I turn and see a side door opening. Light spills into the parking lot, and a guy steps outside.

  He looks the other way, then swings his head back and stares straight at me. He doesn’t say anything.

  “Hey,” I croak. I clear my throat and step toward him. He’s older than me, maybe around twenty or so, with long hair tied back in a ponytail. “Um,” I manage. “Are you the performer?”

  He lights a cigarette, takes a deep puff and slowly blows out the smoke. “Who wants to know?” he asks. Jeez. Major attitude.

  “Me. I was wondering about one of the songs you sang.”

  He takes another drag. “What about it?”

  “I’ve heard it before. And I’m looking for the girl who sings it.”

  His cigarette hand stops halfway to his mouth. “Say what?”

  “The girl who sings that song about traveling and Skaha Lake,” I explain. “I want to find her.”

  He laughs, but there’s no joy in the sound. “You do, eh? Why’s that?”

  “Because.” I shrug. “I do. I mean, I like her music. And I, uh, want to meet her. Do you know her?”

  I have to wait through three more smoke drags before he mutters, “I used to.”

  Something about that sends a chill right into my bones. “Used to?” I choke. “She’s not”—I can’t bring myself to say dead—“gone, is she?”

  He shrugs. “Not so far as I know. Last I heard, Jolene was working at a coffee joint over by the marina.”

  “Jolene?” I echo.

  “Yeah,” he says. “At least, I think that’s who we’re talking about.”

  “Does she sing there?” I ask.

  “I doubt it. But then…” He pauses. “With her, could be.”

  “Is she there all the time?”

  He drops his cigarette butt into a metal can by the door and says, “I don’t know. I’ve gotta get going.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Thanks, uh… whoever you are.” I’m talking to a door.

  Part of me is ticked off at the guy’s attitude. But then the realization hits and sweeps all that away. I’ve found her!

  Jolene.

  It’s the perfect name for her. So perfect, I should have known it. It must be her last name that starts with F.

  The coffee shop by the marina. The marina isn’t far from here. My phone shows I’ve still got half an hour. It’s a no-brainer. I jump on my bike and go.

  There are two coffee shops by the marina. One of them is a chain, the kind you see everywhere. The other, a café called Jumpin’ Joe’s Java, is closed. I wheel over to the window and glance inside. It looks like someone tried creating a tropical marine theme. Pictures of boats and brass anchors line the navy blue walls, and the counter is shaped like the prow of a ship. The tables are topped with grass umbrellas and fake parrots swinging on perches.

  I’m almost certain Jolene wouldn’t work in such a cheesy place, until I spot the music stand in the corner. A stool with a guitar propped beside it sits behind the stand, and suddenly the place doesn’t look so cheesy. It has character, and this is where I’ll find her tomorrow. The Js in the name are like a clue. It all adds up. In less than twenty-four hours, we’ll meet.

  I pull out my phone to check the time again. I’ve got seventeen minutes to make it home. There is no way I can risk getting grounded again. No way. I force my cold muscles to work hard, and luck is with me. The few traffic lights I hit are green, and I skid into the garage at exactly ten.

  Mom squints when I come puffing into the kitchen. She points at the clock. It is one minute past the hour.

  “I made it,” I tell her. “I was in the garage on time.”

  She rolls her eyes, mutters something about cutting it close, but that’s it. There’s no Q and A. She just yawns and says she’s going to bed because she’s got an early shift tomorrow.

  My luck is definitely changing. An early shift for her means I won’t have to do the Q and A tomorrow morning either. Yeah, things are falling into place.

  Chapter Eight

  It takes a while for me to fall asleep. I keep imagining meeting Jolene, and the scene keeps changing. There’s one with me looking totally cool and walking up to her, smiling. She smiles back, and we start talking. It’s as natural as breathing. We walk out of the café, hand in hand. And we don’t care where our feet take us, as long as we’re together.

  There’s another scene, where she’s not working at the café anymore. She’s long gone. No one knows where she went. There’s one where I trip and knock a hot coffee out of her hands, and it spills all over her guitar. Worst of all is the scene where I find her kissing another guy. I follow them to the marina, where they jump aboard his yacht and cruise off into the sunset.

  I concentrate on the first scenario. I block out the others by playing her cd, turned down low, and closing my eyes. I finally doze off with the colors of her music drifting in my dreams.

  In the morning I have a long shower, brush my teeth thoroughly and cut my chin when I decide to shave. I only have a bit of fuzz along my upper lip, so I don’t know why I went for the chin. I stick a piece of toilet paper on the cut and have to wait almost half an hour before I can peel it off without bleeding again. I wait another fifteen minutes to make sure. Finally I’m on my way.

  When I get to Jumpin’ Joe’s Java, it looks packed. I lock my bike, take a deep breath and go inside. It turns out only the tables by the window are full. No one is playing the guitar. I steel myself to be cool and move toward the back without gawking. I sit with my back to the wall and casually look around.

  I’ll know her when I see her. I know I will. Maybe she’ll know me too.

  I feel someone’s stare. When I turn my head, I meet the gaze of a woman with beefy arms planted on the counter. She lifts a weary han
d and points to an overhead sign: Place Orders Here.

  Right. I stand and saunter toward her but freeze when I notice a large gold J pinned to her apron.

  No way. I gape at her, and she asks, “Is something wrong?”

  “Uh…” I say.

  She squints and says, “You want to order or not?”

  “Jolene?” I croak.

  “Excuse me?” she says.

  I point at her apron. “Are you Jolene?”

  “Look, kid, I’ve got things to do. If you’re not going to order, then I’ll get on with it.”

  “But…” My voice is barely more than a whisper. “Are you Jolene?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not Jolene. I’ve never heard of Jolene. Can I get you something or not?”

  “You’ve never heard of Jolene?” I ask.

  “Oh, Lord,” she says. “I’m getting too old for this business.” And she walks away.

  I walk away too. Fast. I go out the door and get on my bike. Then I have to get off again to unlock it. I need to settle down. I pedal slowly over to the other coffee place. I decide my instincts were right the first time. Jolene wouldn’t work in a cheesy place like Jumpin’ Joe’s.

  Thinking that woman was my Jolene messed with my head. When I’ve got that freaky image blotted out, I square up my shoulders. Then I march through the door and head straight for the counter.

  And there she is.

  I know it’s her. She’s blond, she’s pale and she’s got violet blue eyes. She doesn’t look the way I imagined, but she is gorgeous. When she says, “Can I help you?” I recognize her voice.

  “Jolene.” It’s not a question. I simply state her name.

  She frowns. “Do I know you?”

  I summon a grin. “Not yet.”

  “Um,” she says. And her bottom lip pouts. “Did you want coffee?”

  “Jolene,” I say, “I’m Zack. And I’m in love with…your music.”

  She blinks a few times, and then a small smile appears. “My music? You’ve heard it?”

  I bob my head up and down. “Oh, yeah! It’s fantastic.”

  Her smile widens. A dimple appears in her cheek. “Thanks. Where did you—?”

  She’s rudely cut off by the guy standing behind me. “Hey! I’m in a hurry. Can I get some service here?”

  Everyone in the café turns to stare. Then a woman behind the counter rushes over. Her name tag reads Manager. “Is there a problem?”

  “No,” Jolene says. “I was just talking—”

  The manager cuts in. “I’ve spoken to you before about visiting with your friends.” She nods to the guy behind me. “I’m sorry. Can I take your order?”

  It’s my turn to cut in. “Excuse me. It’s not Jolene’s fault. I’m not her friend.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “And yet you know her name?”

  “For pity’s sake!” the guy behind me barks. “Can I get a tall dark and get out of here?”

  “Of course,” Jolene says sweetly. “Coming right up.” She steps aside to pour the coffee, glances at me and asks, “And for you, sir?”

  “Large mocha,” I blurt. I look at the rude guy and deliberately add, “Please.”

  Jolene smiles, the manager shuffles away, the guy gets his coffee. As Jolene collects my money for the drink, she says, “I get a break in an hour. I’ll be outside under the awning.”

  The next hour passes by in slow seconds, very slow seconds. I take my coffee outside and drink it. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, so I go to a corner store and buy gum. Then I ride around, never going more than a block away. When the hour is finally up, I’m waiting under that awning when Jolene steps out the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Jolene walks straight toward me but stops before she gets too close. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I echo. Nothing else comes out of my mouth. My brain has gone blank.

  “So,” she says. “Zack, right?”

  I manage a nod.

  She takes a tiny step closer. “You wanted to tell me something about my music?”

  “Yeah!” I wave my hands around as I struggle to speak. “It’s freakin’… whoa. Amazing!”

  She smiles. “Thanks. I’m wondering who…I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen you before, have I?”

  I keep nodding until I’m finally able to form a sentence. “I moved to town about a month ago.”

  Her smile fades as she asks, “So you live here?”

  “Yeah,” I say. For some reason I feel like apologizing. When she doesn’t say anything else, I add, “Uh, is that a problem?”

  She shrugs. “No. I was hoping you were from someplace else.” She eyes me and says, “I did think you were a little young.”

  I ignore the part about me being young. She looks close to my age, maybe a bit older—not enough to matter. “Well, I was from someplace else but—”

  She cuts me off. “Where exactly did you hear my music?”

  “There was this guy who…but never mind him.” I jam my hand into my jacket pocket and fish out the cd. I hold it up and say, “It was this. I heard you singing on this.”

  She snatches the cd out of my hand and stares at it as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Then her eyes flick up, and she nails me with a furious glare. “Where did you get this?”

  “By the lake,” I stammer. “On the hill. It was in this, uh, thing.”

  “A thing?” she asks.

  “A geocache. It was part of the swag.”

  She shakes her head. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “You mean you didn’t put it there?” I ask.

  “Why would I do that? It was the only copy. Someone took it. A long time ago, like, last fall.”

  “Really? That’s terrible. Your only copy, huh?”

  She nods. “Yeah.” She tucks the cd into her purse and turns away.

  “Wait!” I yelp.

  She turns and raises her eyebrows. “My break’s almost over. I have to go.”

  “But. Um. Maybe I could help you.”

  The eyebrows go higher. “You could help me?” she asks.

  “Yeah. I love your music, you know. I could make you extra copies. I mean, I can’t believe you’re not already famous.”

  Her smile is back. “Yeah?” She hesitates for a moment, then pulls the cd out of her purse. “You’d make some copies for me? You can do that?”

  “Absolutely. No problem. I’ll burn them on my computer—as many as you want. You can send them out to radio stations. And maybe you could put it online, like other indie musicians. As soon as people hear this, they’re going to want more.”

  I stop talking when she grabs my hand. “Wow, Zack. You think so?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. “I do.”

  She’s still holding my hand, but her gaze is far away. “That’s my dream. To do all that. But after the cd was taken, I gave up for a while.”

  “Why didn’t you make another cd?” I ask.

  She frowns. “I couldn’t. I did some other stuff. Like, I went to auditions and things. But…” Her smile shines on me. “Maybe I can try again. With your help.”

  I feel warm all over. This is almost exactly the way I pictured it. I don’t want to let go of her hand. I want us to start walking down the road to forever. But she pulls away, saying, “I have to go. Can we meet up later?”

  “What? Yeah, for sure. That would be fantas—I mean, cool. Where should we meet?”

  She shrugs. “You pick.”

  I scramble through the possibilities. I don’t know what place would be good. I think of the pub, Slick Sal’s, but that’s stupid. “Should I come to your place?”

  She shakes her head. “No way. I can’t stand it there. How about yours?”

  With my nosy cop mom hanging around? Right. The best I can come up with is a place within sight. “Would the burger joint over there,” I say, pointing, “be okay?”

  Her nose wrinkles. “Fine.” She hands me the CD. “You’ll bring the copies, rig
ht? What time?”

  We agree on seven. She gets my cell number, and then she’s gone. I stand there for a few minutes, letting it all sink in. I met her, at last. She’s beautiful, like I knew she would be. And we’re going out together…

  I give my head a shake. We’re meeting up again, yeah, but I don’t think I came off like I wanted to. I was a starstruck idiot. I need to work on that. How?

  I’m on my way home from the drugstore, a bag of blank cds in hand, when it hits me. I should tell her how much I relate to her music. If I show her I get it, that I get her, then she’ll get me. We’ll have a real connection.

  I spend the afternoon burning cds. When Mom gets home, she gives me the Q and A. She’s into it the second I tell her about my plans for tonight. I explain that I met Jolene in the coffee shop and we talked about music. Also that I found out Jolene is the singer on the geocache cd, but she didn’t cache it. I don’t tell any lies. I just leave out some details. Then I ask, “How come you trusted me last night, and today you don’t?”

  “I trust you, Zack,” she says. “It’s others I have a problem with. What do you know about this girl?”

  “I know she’s smart and talented and a victim of crime. Who do you think stole her cd and put it in the geocache?”

  Mom rolls her eyes. “Don’t try to change the subject. Jolene works in a coffee shop. That’s a good sign. Kids with jobs are usually responsible.” She pauses and asks, “How long has she worked there? How old is she? Does she go to school?”

  “Tell you what,” I say. “I’ll try to get all the details tonight if you stop bugging me now. Deal?”

  She gives me her stink eye and mutters, “Deal.” Then she sighs and adds, “I’m glad you’ve made a friend. I was invited out tonight, and I wasn’t sure about leaving you alone.”

  “Mom. I’m fifteen, not five.”

  “I know, I know. But you’ve been stuck here alone too much.” She glances at the clock. “I should get ready.”

  Chapter Ten

  I’m on my way out the door when my cell phone rings. It’s Jolene, and she whispers, “Zack?”

  “Yeah?” Oh no. She’s going to cancel.