dissonance. (a Böhme novel) (4 page)

I unlocked the back as I set my drum on the ground.

“Holy shit, this is yours?” Blake asked as he approached. “I saw this on my way in tonight; it's fucking sexy.” When he said the word sexy, he let it draw out longer than necessary. It caused chills to run down my backbone and settle into an ache in my abdomen. “Early seventies right?” he asked as he bent to run his hand across the bumper.

“Yeah, 1973,” I said with a nod as I lifted my drum into the back, trying to ignore my curiosity in Blake, but only creating more instead.

He walked along the side of my car to take in every curve. It was enticing—watching him as he bent over to examine every curve. He didn’t rush. His eyes danced across the car with admiration and I couldn’t help but be jealous of the attention he was giving to my car.
Wow. Shut up thoughts
.
Not going to go there with this kid.

It was impressive that he knew something of cars. I watched the lean muscle on his arm flex as he ran his hand across the top of the hood. His muscles and tan were natural. He didn't pay for those, but worked outdoors with his hands.

His hands.
They were strong, and the skin chaffed on the sides as if he had washed them many times to get the dirt and grime from them.

“So did you restore her yourself or did you buy her this way?” he asked with a raise of his brow and stare of his eyes that made me feel twenty years younger.
I am Brecken—I am known for my control.
I will not lose myself to this guy. I took a deep breath and relaxed.

Leaning against the side of the car I looked at my crossed ankles, “My grandpa and I did the work. It used to be my dad’s. My grandpa has a garage on his property and once he retired, he helped me. It used to be a rust bucket from being parked for so many years.”

I saw him eyeing the tiny turquoise spiral just on the passenger side of the hood. “Why the spiral there?” he asked.

“That’s my little secret. It isn’t one I share with random guys after I play a set at a bar. It would take too long to explain.” I smiled a large smile, and I knew my toothy grin was showing, as Blake began to bring it out of me as much as I tried not to allow it.

He laughed, “Well I’d hope after I so gallantly saved you in there, you'd see me as more than just a random guy.”

I was the one to laugh now. “You saved me?”

“Yeah, those guys were obvious trouble,” he said with a tight grin and rocked back on his heels. “You know that's my job—saving people.”

“What?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yes. I fix roofs. If making sure people have a solid roof above their heads isn’t saving them, I don’t know what is.” He gave me a swift nod to drive his point home. He was definitely cute.

“That’s impressive, Blake,” I said as he confirmed my earlier assumptions on his job.

He looked me up and down and smiled a cheesy smile as he stood taller and crossed his arms. The motion pushed his forearm muscles out and I looked at my fingernails, picking at the chipped paint—trying not to look at him and his arms…or hands.

“Okay I’m going to be real with you now Brecken,” he said. “I find you incredibly interesting. Yes, you’re hot, but that isn’t why I want to keep talking to you. I just wanted to clarify that because I can tell you aren’t looking for a date. Though I want nothing more than to take you on one, I can handle just talking. So that said, I'd be an asshole not to ask for your number… to talk… about interesting things,” he said with a grin so consuming it made my heart beat faster.

I looked to the sky and laughed, telling myself the many reasons why I could not pursue dating him. “No. Not going to happen, Prince Charming.”

He dropped his arms, but kept his smile. “Prince Charming?” he asked with a laugh.

I shrugged my shoulders with a coy smile. “Yes, you have a Prince Charming complex and unfortunately for you, I don’t believe in happily ever afters. So you should just take your smiley ass back inside and find someone looking for one.” I watched his smile falter for a moment as I spoke. Then his eyes shifted from a light expression to a mischievous one.

“Well okay then Brecken, but you should know I won’t give up that easily.” He turned to walk toward the entrance. “I know your band is named Corrosive Underwear and you’re back at Henley’s in two weeks so I’ll see you then.” He turned and put his hand on the door before looking to the awning and then giving me his eyes with a laugh he continued, “One question though—you didn’t come up with that name did you?”

I shook my head and laughed as I saw Conall and Saul bringing the rest of my kit to my car. “No Blake, I had nothing to do with that. I’m just the drummer.”

“I don’t think you’re
just
anything, Brecken,” Blake said. His smile stayed firmly in place as he entered the building and I turned to help load my car.

“Who was that?” Saul asked. I had known Saul since high school as well and he could be just as much of an ass as Jonesie at times. I needed to expand my musical horizons.

“Just a guy asking about my car,” I said, as I wasn’t going to give him any more than that.

“What are you doing after this Breck?” Conall asked. He was the reason I was in the band and the reason I put up with the others.

Conall was my nephew. He was only twenty-one and the offspring of my older half-brother, Emmet. Though Emmet and I had different moms, my mom raised him as her own and wanted Conall to see her as his grandma. Conall was a good kid.

He was the size of a truck. Okay, maybe not quite a truck, but he was huge.

“I’m just heading to your grandma’s. I need to take a look at her computer,” I said as I twirled my keys.

He nodded before continuing, “Okay, I’ll probably head over there too. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.” He walked away without another word then stopped to talk to the kid who opened the door for me. The kid was young, eighteen at the oldest and I hoped Conall wasn’t bringing him with to my mom’s. I didn’t feel up to babysitting.

“Can I come by your mom’s too?” Saul asked. I forgot he was standing there. He usually wasn’t that quiet.

“I don’t care what you do, man,” I said.

“Okay, I don’t want to hang here with Jonesie. I also don’t want to go home to the wife. She’s been on a rampage.”

Well, jackass, I don’t want to hear about your personal life and your poor choices
.

“I told you I don’t care if you come over too. Just keep your shit to yourself. I’m not going to be your shoulder to cry on,” I said as I climbed in the driver’s seat.

I flipped on my music and selected my favorite playlist. I needed to zone out on music to ease this edginess in me. I was the independent woman who did her own thing and damn it if I was going to let a punk change my mind on things.

_______________

The closer I got to my mother’s house, the more memories started to bombard me. I wish I could blame it on my car conversation with Blake, but I couldn’t. My dad was always in my thoughts, no matter what conversation I had.

It has been over twenty years since he died, but he was in the forefront of my mind every day. He was the very definition of what a man should be and he made sure my brother and I knew we were important to him. It wasn’t just because we were his kids either. He truly saw the uniqueness in both of us and he was the same way with every person he met.

When he gave his ear to listen, he gave his full attention. There wasn’t somewhere else he'd want to be, and he never appeared bored. He was always present with whoever he was with at the time.

Where I was interested in music, my brother Emmet was interested in painting. Our dad made sure to take the time with both of us and help us foster those loves.

He also loved my mother with an unbelievable passion that I thought every set of parents held for one another. They were amazing together. The love they had wasn’t the cheesy, fake kind either. It was the real kind. The kind that got messy at times, but they always cleaned up the mess together.

It surprised me when a friend’s parents divorced when I was seven. I had no idea what the term meant, and I didn’t know it was possible for two married people to stop loving each other. I always believed that when two people fell in love, it was for life—despite the issues. That’s what I saw with my parents.

Then my father died when I was eleven, and the fairy tale of life came to its slow end. It didn’t happen at once. His death was sudden, but the fallout from his death unraveled for several years.

My mom no longer smiled. She drifted into herself, until one day she dressed herself up and left my brother and me at home. Emmet was sixteen, I was twelve. We didn’t see her much until my brother brought home his son. Then my mom stayed home more because she put all her focus on helping raise Conall.

I thought I found the love my parents shared. I was only fifteen and delusional. My best friend since childhood became my lover that year, and I thought he was my fairy tale. He and I were going to live with as much passion as my parents had lived. We went everywhere together—we were inseparable.

Then I became pregnant.

Sixteen and pregnant—but it wasn’t as glamorous as television wanted you to believe.

It didn’t stop me for seeing a fairy tale where there was not one though. In my mind, I thought the two of us shared enough love to be together as my parents once were. After all, my mother was sixteen when she had me. I may have been similar to my mother, but he was nothing compared to my father.

I was young and my belief in us and fairy tales failed me. He couldn’t love me as I loved him and he ran.

I gave the little girl up for adoption. I didn’t even take the time to look at her and my heart broke even more. I never met her or knew the color of her eyes, but the absence of her from my life feels as a page torn from a book. The frayed edge remained, but that part of my story and hers became fractured. I still hadn't found a way to put those pages back inside the book either.

Where can you go in life when you have fucked up at such a young age?

My way in life was not to be found with men. I couldn't become one of those girls that dated and dated to find herself and her happily ever after. It took me a bit to figure that out though.

There were some rough years following the adoption, until a deep determination formed in me to make my own way in life. I messed up, I wasn’t going to do it again, and I wasn’t going to wait around for someone to bring me happiness. I was going to create my own.

Now I rarely go out other than shows and the few boyfriends I have had over the years have disappointed me. They couldn’t handle my ideals.

I had the greatest man to ever walk the earth to compare to and if the same love and respect my father had shown my mother at one time isn’t given—they’re gone. You only get one chance in life and I wasn’t going to waste mine.

At a stop light, I flipped through my MP3 player and stopped on Elton John. My dad loved Elton.
Tiny Dancer
began to play and memories occupied my mind of riding in this same car with him when I was five. Back then, it didn’t matter your age, you sat in the front seat and without a car seat no less.

This song played on a particular day and I sat in the passenger seat, dancing my toes across the dash and singing along with my father. I asked him if I could be a tiny dancer, just as the song described. He laughed and told me I more than likely could be someday, because I was free to be whoever I wanted and if I wanted to be a tiny dancer, I’d be a tiny dancer.

I asked him to put me in dance class and the next week, I began taking Irish step dance. Being of Irish descent, my father thought there could be no other dance lessons for me.

My first recital he cheered me on and the look of pride on his face filled me with my own. His assurance that all was well, just with his smile as he watched, gave me strength. Anything was possible with my father's encouragement.

I parked in the alley next to my mom’s house and let the tears fall as the song played through, before I turned off the engine. There are just certain songs that can’t be cut short. It is an injustice not to listen to the entire story they have to tell.

This song told one story, but my memories of it gave it value. It brought me back to a snapshot in my life that my father still existed in.

The song ended, and the torn reality of my life returned. Regardless of my father's absence, it was time to go see my mom.

She has tried over the years to regain her footing in life, but continues to fail. It isn’t by lack of ambition on her part. She’s chasing the love she once had. Seeing the desperation in her to have that connection again is one of the driving forces behind my avoidance of it. I didn’t want to be given that much only to have it ripped from me.

My mother’s house was a small home toward the edge of town. I wished like hell she’d move in with me, but I learned my stubbornness from her. She could never leave, because the house held too many memories of what she once had in it.

I flipped my keys in my hand as I walked up her weed-infested sidewalk. Remnants of a party the neighbors had spilled across the fence into her yard. I shook my head as I picked up beer cans and threw them back where they belonged.