Joy and Tiers

by Mary Crawford

  I laugh out loud at her rabid curiosity. “Whoa, Mindy a musician can talk forever about their work. How about I give you the short answers for now and we’ll talk more lately? Yes, I’ve played in several bands, but nobody was very famous. I can play the recorder. Although I prefer the alto sax. I’d be happy to show you,” I answer solemnly.

  Mindy nails me with a sharp glance as she demands, “Are you sure? No trickin’?”

  I shake my head no and hold up my pinky. “Pinky swear,” I offer.

  Mindy gives me a lopsided grin and tugs on Tara’s hand to get her attention as she announces. “I am going to call Mr. Aidan, Band-Aidan, because he’s Miss Tara’s friend and he helped saved Mr. Jeff from the bad guy. So he needs an epic nickname.” She runs across the dance floor to give me a hug.

  I can see that Tara is fighting to hold back tears. So I turn back to the piano and begin to play You Are My Sunshine. “Mindy, after this song is over, I’ll play you a drum roll. Sound like a plan?”

  “Roger Dodger!” Mindy exclaims as she drags Tara to the assembled guests and awaiting bride. “Miss Kiera, everybody’s here now. We’re ready!” she announces as she arranges Tara next to the other bridesmaid.

  I quickly press the drumroll button I have programmed into my soundboard. I prefer to play the piano, but for times like this, the synthesizer and MP3 player come in handy. I wink at Mindy as she gives me a thumbs up. I watch as Tara swallows hard and looks as if she’s about to face a firing squad. She grabs her friend’s hand. “Heather, aren’t you obligated as my best friend to stop them?” she pleads.

  Heather throws her head back and laughs as she replies, “Sorry, Tar. Girlfriend Posse or not, you’re on your own. This baby is mine. I’ve been a bridesmaid way too many times.”

  “You don’t understand!” Tara sputters, “I don’t want to catch it.”

  Heather raises an eyebrow at her as she quips, “Well, I suppose you could try ducking. Still, aren’t you the one that’s always telling us we can’t avoid fate, and all that?”

  I try to smother a grin when I see Tara practically stomp her foot as she rolls her eyes and retorts, “You guys know that I hate it, when you make me apply my own advice.”

  Just then the bride wheels to the center of the dance floor and spins her wheelchair around. She grabs the bouquet off her lap and counts to three. She heaves it over her head with such force that she almost topples her chair over backward. The groom swoops in to catch her before she falls. He purposefully tilts her chair back and kisses her deeply. I feel a twinge of envy. The love between these two shines like the sun on a hot summer day.

  I hear shrieks of laughter as Heather wrestles the bouquet away from a teenage girl who isn’t trying very hard to keep it. Heather raises the bouquet in triumph and gives Tara a high five. Tara smiles at the appropriate time, but her eyes are blank and the dimple in her cheek is non-existent. Before I can study the situation further, the groom lets out a wolf whistle and performs a complicated dance maneuver with the bride. He kneels in front of her, reaches up under her wedding gown, and fishes out a delicate garter belt as she leans over and murmurs in his ear. Whatever she said, it must have been pretty racy because he loosens his tie and the tips of his ears turn red as she teases, “Oh trust me guys, you are all going to want to catch this, because I have a feeling married life is going to be more fun than he can handle.”

  I start my sound effect shtick for the garter-throwing routine and I hear Mindy yell across the dance floor, “Hey Band-Aidan? You ain’t married, right?”

  “Uh, nope. I’m not married,” I answer carefully.

  “Then get your tuckus over here! What is it with you grownups and directions?” she asks with frustration.

  “Sorry,” I reply, “I didn’t think you meant me. I have to work.”

  “Of course we meant you. You can take a little break. After all, you can’t mess with fate,” Mindy announces.

  Almost before I can turn around with all the other single guys, the groom sends the garter flying directly into my hands as if there was some invisible force drawing it there. The guy in a cowboy hat scowls at me as he says, “Damn, dude! For a little guy, you have fast reflexes. Do me a favor and keep those quick mitts off my Gidget.” I look up to see a wide grin on the blonde bridesmaid and a look of stark devastation on Tara’s face.

  Oh man, this is bad. It’s just a lame tradition. It wasn’t supposed to make her sad.

  I’m rarely called little at six-two, but sure enough, I have to look up at him. “Gidget? I thought Mindy said her name is Heather,” I ask, trying to follow the strange conversation in this loud atmosphere.

  The cowboy chuckles and sticks out his hand. “I’m Ty, by the way. I forgot you don’t know the story. I called dibs on the blond a couple of weeks ago. I call her Gidget so she remembers I’m around.”

  I return his handshake with a grin. “Whatever, Ty, she’s all yours. I have my eye on the other one,” I admit.

  He pats me on the back as he lets out a low whistle of admiration and murmurs, “Wow! Nothing like choosing the biggest challenge in the room. Tara is a knockout for sure and a talented artist, but she is more skittish than a new cutting horse.”

  “How well do you know Tara?” I ask in what I hope is a casual tone.

  “Well enough to know she shouldn’t be selling Red Bull and Doritos at three o’clock in the morning. That girl could be working in some art gallery in Seattle or New York,” Ty responds.

  “Art gallery?” I ask, “Don’t you mean dance company?”

  Ty’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he remarks with a grin, “Dance? Huh. I guess the little filly has been holding out on us.”

  Immediately, I regret that I shared Tara’s story if she didn’t trust people here enough to share on her own. Ty looks at the expression on my face and addresses me soberly. “Relax, Aidan. I’m not going to say anything to her. My best friend is married to her best friend, and she still jumps when I walk into a room. Its obvious Tara has some very real ghosts in her past, yet I’ve seen her stand up to a guy meaner than the devil himself twice now. She has real grit.” He takes off his leather jacket and digs out his phone. “Want to see what Tara painted?”

  I try not to look like a kid waiting for Santa Claus as Ty wipes the fingerprints off of the screen with the edge of one of the tablecloths. He hands the phone to me and explains. “Jeff’s sister, Donda, did the teddy bear room, and Tara did Mindy’s.”

  To my surprise, instead of a few little snapshots, there is a fully produced slide show. I raise an eyebrow in question.

  Ty shrugs and replies, “Jeff’s twelve year old nephew, Gabriel, is a computer genius. He could probably do a music video or infomercial better than most adults.”

  Suddenly a portrait of Mindy comes into frame; it is so realistic that it’s spooky. The next frame is a much younger version of Mindy. Both are dressed as fairies. As slide after slide appears, it is clear that Tara has created a phenomenal fantasyland for one very lucky little girl.

  “Wow, was it Mindy’s birthday?” I inquire.

  “After all they went through before, I really think of their rescue as a birthday of sorts, Especially if the adoption goes through, like Jeff and Kiera hope.”

  “I was wondering why Mindy calls them by their first names,” I remark, curious about the unusual situation.

  “I know, isn’t it wild?” Ty replies. “Jeff took one look at Kiera and knew she was the one for him. They only went out for about three months before today. When Kiera decided she needed to step up and rescue the girls, Jeff was right beside her. At first, I thought he had a few screws loose. But then I met Mindy, and I totally got it. That kid is irresistible, and Becca is as cute as a button. It’s a good thing I’ve never met those girl’s parents and grandmother while I was on duty. I’d lose my badge for sure if I had to spend any time alone with them.”

  “That bad, huh?” I ask, grimacing as I remember the scars on her hand.

  “Just
think of your worst nightmare and multiply it times a hundred, and it might come close to explaining what those little angels have endured,” Ty explains, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

  “Are they going to be okay?”

  Ty sighs as he responds, “I expect so. Jeff and Kiera have made it their mission to love these girls and get them the help they need. I don’t know Kiera all that well yet, but Jeff is my best friend and he’s always been an overachiever. I don’t expect that to change. Besides, Jeff and Kiera have some pretty awesome friends to help out,” he finishes with a grin and a tip of his cowboy hat.

  I return his grin. “I can’t argue with you there. I happen to think at least one of Kiera’s friends is totally awesome. But I’d better get back to the piano.”

  Getting ready for my set, I hook my cell phone up to the auxiliary jack of the soundboard and turn on the “Do not disturb” setting. I pull up a special playlist and watch for Tara’s reaction. She is across the dance floor talking with Kiera and Heather when the opening notes of Lee Ann Womack’s classic I Hope You Dance break through the chatter in the room.

  As soon as she recognizes the song, she shoots me a startled glance, narrows her eyes and frowns slightly as she signs abruptly, “You know I can’t."

  I quickly respond in sign, “Tara, listen to the rest of the lyrics before you get ticked off, please.”

  Tara’s jaw sets and she rolls her eyes at me. Her spine is stiff and her muscles tense as she listens to the artist sing about chasing dreams and being brave. When the lyrics refer to giving heaven more than just a passing glance, a single tear rolls down her face. It takes all of my willpower to keep myself planted behind the piano. She looks like she could shatter at any moment. Yet, as the song progresses and the music and lyrics wash over her, Tara kicks off her strappy sandals, flexes up on the balls of her feet, and sways to the music.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. I know I am taking a huge gamble pushing her buttons in public. There is no guarantee that any of this is going to even help, and she could think I rank right up there with a huge pile of dog poop before the night is over, but I have to at least try. I can only imagine that to her, a world without dance is as crushing as a completely silent world was to my musician’s soul. Even if she hates me just a little, if I can help bring dance back to her life—it might just be worth it. She bobs her head with the music and a huge hunk of her hair comes out of her up do. Tara calls out to Jeff, “Hey, can you ask your other half if she has enough pictures? I am falling apart here, and I don’t think there’s enough hairspray in the world to put me back together at this point. I just want to get comfortable.”

  Kiera laughs as she replies, “Well, I was going to tell you to take your shoes off and make yourself comfortable, but you’re already a couple of steps ahead of me as usual. I already told Mindy she could change, so knock yourself out.”

  At lightning speed, Tara grabs a plastic cup and sets it on the table next to where she is standing. She bends at the waist and runs her fingers through her hair, flinging bobby pins and rubber bands into the cup as if they’re on fire. After she removes the last one, she stands up, runs her fingers through her long main of hair, and shakes it out. Her hair is amazing. It’s the kind of hair that inspires song lyrics. It forms a dark inky curtain nearly to her waist. Usually it’s straight, but today it has soft waves from being restrained in a complicated hairstyle all day. My fingers itch to touch it. I decide that I’d better give my fingers something to do. So, I start to play the ‘80s classic True Colors by Cyndi Lauper. Tara instantly recognizes the song and she swings around to glare at me. I give a small shrug and wink.

  Tara sighs and signs, “Okay, you win. I love this song too.”

  DEDICATION

  To all the soul-mates out there.

  Whether you find yours

  through adoption,

  online dating,

  or the old fashioned way—

  Love them the best you can.

  Welcome to the family Elizabeth.

  “I thought I told you guys not to do this kind of crap!” I protest as I examine the 356 email messages from the BrainsRSexy online dating service. “Where did you guys find that stupid picture of me? I don’t even recognize that shirt and I swear I haven’t had that color of eye shadow since I had braces.”

  Marcus raises an eyebrow at me, “When did you ever sit still long enough for braces?” he asks sarcastically.

  Sticking my tongue out through my sparking white Chiclet teeth like a six you old, I ask again, “Funny. Seriously, where’d you get that picture?”

  Marcus looks up from where he’s sketching a design on the light-box and replies with a shrug, “I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. We were all playing pool and online poker on the computer, and someone thought it would be funny to set up a profile for you. Somebody probably had it on their Facebook or Instagram or something.”

  “First of all, unless you guys are going to pay me like a reality show that comes attached with Ashton Kutcher, you really should leave the punking to the professionals, because this really sucks,” I state emphatically as I turn the computer screen toward Marcus.

  He cringes as he watches a particularly colorful Vine video showing things a girl should never see, even for six seconds.

  Ducking his head back toward the light-board, he mumbles an apology in my direction, “Oh man Rogue!” he exclaims in disgust. “I feel like I need to apologize for my entire gender. I swear not everyone’s like that. There are some pretty nice people on this site. My brother met his fiancée on this site. He swore to me there wasn’t anything creepy involved.”

  I’m starting to feel a little bit bad for Marcus as he rakes his fingers through his spiky blond hair making it stand on end. He looks like he’s had an unfortunate accident with a fully charged outlet. He’s wearing large gauges in his ears today; so with his hair, piercings and many tattoos, he looks very fierce. In reality, he’s about as scary as a golden retriever.

  Usually, I would have a little bit of fun at Marcus’s expense. Yet, he seems so upset over my displeasure, I’m not sure he might not have an anxiety attack if I don’t let him off ease off.

  I sigh as I concede, “Look, you might be right. Some of these guys seem like they could be normal enough.”

  I narrow my eyes and pin him with my meanest stare. “But, you’re not off the hook. You are supposed to be my best friend. That means you watch my back—even if you are slightly buzzed.”

  Marcus at least has the good sense to look chagrined as he’s suddenly very interested in getting a precision point on the pencil he’s sharpening.

  “If you ever get another harebrained idea to sign me up for dating service, just ask me first,” I continue. “I might even surprise you and say yes. But, I’d like to be able to have a free choice in the matter.”

  “Done.” Marcus readily agrees. “I know this is going to sound lame now. But, we didn’t do this to hurt you. It’s true that we didn’t factor in the creepaziods, but we thought you may meet some people who would knock you out of your rut and give you something positive to think about.”

  I shudder as I remember some of the more egregious pictures in my mailbox. “Trust me, I have plenty to think about now. But not much of it’s positive,” I reply. I try for straight sarcasm, but I’m not completely successful in keeping my laughter at bay.

  Marcus smirks at my joke as he explains, “Come on, you know what I mean. I was trying to get your mind off of he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned.”

  “You mean Lawrence?” I ask as I lift a questioning eyebrow in Marcus’s direction.

  “I’m just saying the guy has a lot of nerve for someone whose last name is Poser,” Marcus mutters bitterly.

  “Marcus, it’s really sweet for you to be all pissed off about it. But, he is just the latest in a string of guys to assume that just because I work at a tattoo parlor I must be randomly screwing bikers in the back room,” I answer.

&n
bsp; “Just because he’s not the only one doesn’t give him a free pass. The guy was supposed to be your boyfriend. He should’ve known better than to believe the stereotype. Wasn’t he also the charmer that said you’d be perfect for giving him ‘little tax deductions’ because of your wide Hispanic hips?”

  Diet Coke surges up the back of my throat and threatens to come out my nose as I choke back a startled laugh. “You can understand why I don’t miss him all that much. Still, it was fun to get into all those nightclubs. Well, let me rephrase that; it was fun to get into the ones he didn’t own to do opposition research. Lawrence’s were pretty lame. You make a great wingmen,” I reminisce with a smile.

  Marcus smiles brightly as he declares, “I know. If I don’t get you to come up for air every once in a while, my social skills are going to wither up and die.”

  “You poor baby,” I soothe. “You know, I might actually have some sympathy for you, but since I don’t make your kind of money, I still have to work hard to keep my scholarship. So, that means studying and apprenticing here take priority.”

  Marcus’s bottom lip starts to slide out like a four-year-old who’s just been told he has to take a nap. “Let me guess, you’re not going to go out with any of these guys this weekend because you’re too busy?”

  “I don’t know. There’s this guy who wants to shoot his antique car collection and wants to use a couple of models. He requested me and I told him I would probably do it if I could get my art history paper done in time.”

  Marcus’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he says, “Oh really...”

  Exasperated, I shoot a rubber band at him. “Oh shut up!” I exclaim. “It’s not like that. The last time I was there I exchanged recipes for empanadas with his very lovely wife. She insisted he give me a big enough tip that it bought two of my textbooks this term.”

  “Okay, so I was wrong. But I worry about you going out on these modeling gigs,” Marcus grudgingly admits.