dissonance. (a Böhme novel) (5 page)

I made my way to the door, knocked twice, and walked in to find Conall with his girlfriend, Jessica. I gave him a quick nod before I started toward my mom’s bedroom.

“You got here fast,” I said. “Hey Jess.”

“Hey Brecken,” she said with a smile.

“Well Auntie we came right here, because we don’t possess the need to drive around aimlessly. I get places in a straight shot,” he laughed, and I flipped him off as I continued past them.

I passed through the well cleaned kitchen. My mom was always adamant about her kitchen being clean. I hated it growing up, but now I was thankful for the instilled need to keep the silverware drawer organized.

I found my mother lying on her bed with her back to the door of her bedroom as she watched a movie on one of those channels made specifically for women. “Oh Brecken, this movie is so good,” she said as she pulled a tissue from its box and looked back at me.

“I can see that Mom,” I said, taking my seat at her computer and as I assumed earlier, her virus scanner had run out. “Mom, why didn’t you renew this?”

“I don’t pay attention to that stuff honey. I guess that just means you need to come over more regularly,” she said with a smile that said more than her words.

“I come over enough, Mom. I’m going to run this and you should be fine, unless you’ve downloaded porn on it or something—that could be causing more issues than I can take care of in a few minutes. Those viruses are tricky.” I smiled to myself as I turned my back to her.

“Brecken Drake, I don’t watch that stuff. Why did you say that?” she said with a false bashfulness.

“Just to get you pissy, Mom, I’m a perpetual teenager I guess.”

“Did the show go well?” she asked, without responding to my comment.

“The usual,” I said as a knock pounded on the front door.

I rolled the computer chair to the bedroom door, looked across the hall, and watched Conall let Saul in the house. I quietly moved back into the room and shut the door.

“Who’s here?” my mom asked.

“Just Saul,” I said nonchalantly as I looked at the computer screen.

“Oh,” she said with a jolt from her bed. “You didn't tell me he was coming.” She began to pat her head and run her fingers through her black hair. She frantically ran around her room, looking in drawers, until she pulled a small tee shirt from one and a skirt from her closet. She ripped off her baggy sweatshirt and shorts and changed into her new choice of clothes. She wore them well.

My mother was young when she had me, which made her just shy of fifty now. But she looked only a few years older than me. I hoped I looked as good as her at fifty.

She had a fling with Saul shortly before he married and it seemed she still appreciated his attentions. My mom searched desperately for any attention. But she told me her luck in love ran out the day my father died. She believed that love they had at one time couldn’t happen again, but that didn't stop her from searching for attention.

I began to check my online accounts. I could easily use my phone, but this gave me a reason not to have to watch my mother and Saul flirt. I've learned to be the queen of looking busy.

My mother pushed the back of my chair to give her room to exit. I shook my head as she straightened her skirt and sashayed toward the living room.

I leaned over and shut the door behind her because I didn’t want to hear what was going on in the living room. The volume went up on the stereo, notifying the house that Saul was now in charge of the music. He forced that—entering a room and making it his. I told him once that he was a self proclaimed alpha male lacking the respect one of such a title deserves. He didn’t appreciate that.

I turned to the computer —my account finally loaded— and I saw a message waiting for me.

Blake Lawson: Hey- I figured that since you didn’t give me your number, I could just find you online. Isn’t technology great? It makes it unnecessary to actually talk to people and ask questions about them. You can find out everything you need to know online.

What a dork. I had to admit to the truth in what he said though. I’ve been known to cyber stalk and I wasn’t good at getting to know people in person. I couldn’t help but smile at his photo. He grew up in the Power Rangers time, not He-Man, so his photo surprised me.

Me: He-Man?? And, there’s certainly more to me than my online persona.

I watched as modern technology notified me as he typed his response. This anticipation at waiting shouldn't happen. I should stand from the chair as I selected the block option and leave the room. But outside this room I'd have to watch my mother fawn over one of the biggest assholes in six counties.

Suddenly, Blake became more appealing. He was still typing his response, so I spun slowly around in the chair, looking to the ceiling and the posters of meditative scenes my mom placed above her bed. Then I heard the ding and turned back to the computer to read what he had to say.

Blake: Yes, He-Man. I understand he may be seen as juvenile in someone’s eyes such as yours. Especially since you are a tough rocker chick who does NOT have time to give me her number, but you have time to mock me. But I digress. I think what you should be asking is, “Why not He-Man?”

He-Man is a fantastic representation of me. The raging muscle, flowing hair—I’ve been known to wear furry boots and speedos too. Although my dad did give me a weird look when I came to a work site wearing them… but I told him don’t worry, it’s all in a day’s work. I shingled that roof regardless of the chafing I received. His response to me was, “Blake me boy—the chafin’ ye receive from tha is far better than the one yer ma will give ye if she caught ye doin tha.”

A shudder ran through me and I let my head rest in my hands as I rolled my shoulders. I’m a grown woman, I should not be shuddering at the thought of Blake dressed as fucking He-Man, roofing a house. That is some weird shit… but incredibly funny.

I contemplated my response and tapped on the keyboard, and deleted. I typed again—deleted again— until finally I responded.

Me: Wow. That’s kind of crazy
.
Your dad sounds as if he’s a trip—does he always sound as if he's from Ireland or are you exaggerating?

Blake Lawson: Yes, he’s Irish. But other than that I have to say—What?! That’s all you got for me? Come on, you’re an intelligent woman, you should be able to say more than that in response to thoughts of me in a furry speedo
.

Me: Are you still out?

Blake Lawson: Nice change of subject. Yes, I’m still out, why? Are you going to meet me for burgers? I’m fucking hungry.

Me: Nope. I was just wondering why you were sending me messages about cartoon characters from the 1980s when you’re out with your friends. You should have better things to do with your time.

I thought of the girl I saw cuddle up to him at the bar. He didn’t seem to want her around, but if there was a possibility there was a girlfriend in the picture, this was going to end fast.
Damn it, it isn’t even beginning.

Blake Lawson: There’s nothing I would rather do than spend time chatting with you about cartoons. Are you a fan?

Me: Of course I am. Who’s not?

Blake Lawson: The princesses seem to like the different variations of Prince Charming. I always liked those movies.

Me: lol

Blake Lawson: I’m joking by the way. I don’t want you to question my manliness. Don’t get me wrong, I love cartoons. But princess ones aren’t my thing. The majority of the princesses only want to meet a guy and be saved. I don’t think I could handle a chick just waiting to be taken care of.

I pulled my lips in and nodded in agreement as I thought of what he said.

Me: Took the words right out of my mouth. That’s why I called you Prince Charming. You were acting Neolithic.

Blake Lawson: Ouch. (Big word)

Me: It’s true. I had that covered. I could have kicked both their asses in less than two minutes.

Blake Lawson: lol

Me: Why lol? I’m serious.

Blake Lawson: I know. My lol is my defense mechanism at the fear you instill in me. You’re kind of intimidating.

Me: fear?

Blake Lawson: Yeah. I wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley. ;)

I scoffed at the screen.
Patronizing asshole
.

Me: Fuck you dude. You’d be surprised at how well I can hold my own
.
Maybe you should think on that for a while.

I logged out of my account and finished looking for viruses and other creepy crawlies on my mom’s computer. Fuck Blake. I didn’t need that shit. My first thought on him was right. I shouldn’t have let myself imagine he could possibly be someone worth spending time with.

I began comparing his humor to my father’s. He reminded me of him in that one way. My dad teased my brother and me incessantly. It wasn’t to be mean, he only joked.
Damn it, he was joking Brecken-get over yourself.

My reaction was bitchy, but I learned over the years that when a guy mocks you or tries to be superior, it never stops. Half the time they are doing it not to flirt or tease, but because they have a need to remind you that they’re in control. Well, I wasn’t going to go that route with any man.

I left the bedroom and walked out the front door with a simple wave good-bye to everyone.

The old grade school on my mom’s street had become even more run down since the last time I saw it. Graffiti now covered its walls and one in particular caught my eye. Across the front door in bold, block lettering, someone had written,
Why did you do it?

This wasn’t the first question I saw written across town. Who was this person and why the fuck did they keep asking these questions that pissed me off?
Why did I do what?
Why did I do anything in my life? Why does anyone? We adapt. That’s what we do as humans and sometimes when we adapt, we hurt others. It builds up our own scabs and pushes us to move forward with our lives. I’m moving on, that’s why I did it.

Or I did it out of my own fear.
Fuck you and your questions.
I rolled my eyes at my anger toward someone I never met.

I’ve spent the last few years establishing myself as an independent person. Granted, to an outsider my life now seems average—I work at my mom’s bakery. I play in a cover band. That’s it. I don’t do much else. But now that I’m back home, my family means the world to me and that is enough. Whatever I have done in the past doesn’t matter. I’ve learned to focus on this day, right now. So I wasn’t going to try to answer that question.

_______________

I made it to my apartment before the Tonight Show finished. I based my evenings on the time that shows aired. The Late Late Show was now my usual bedtime.

I didn’t watch the TV; it merely filled the background, reminding me life continues moving forward.

I got a bowl of fruit and sat on my couch and mindlessly stared at the television. I needed to reel in my emotions. I am a reactionary person. I found myself always reacting to something and this evening it seems Blake fell to the blunt end of it.

Guilt reared its horrible head for being a bitch to him earlier. I reacted without thinking.

I pulled out my laptop and thought of a response to send to him. The least I could do was accept his friend request.

After doing so I found myself sucked into the life of Blake.

I spent several minutes reading about him and found that his birthday was this month. Our age difference was closer to nine years rather than ten and my anxiety eased slightly.
That one year made a difference.
I laughed at my own juvenile way of thinking.

I clicked through his photos and saw many selfies in front of random inanimate objects. All of which looked sexual in nature. Instead of annoying me, it made me laugh. The farther I scrolled I found one album of older photos and each had him and another little boy in them.

Blake stood about a head taller than the other boy. The other boy was thin compared to Blake and seemed to have the same expression on his face in every photo. Blake always laughed, but the other boy seemed standoffish in the photos. But in the occasional photo he laughed along with Blake. In those photos the two of them didn't pose, but Blake acted goofy as the other boy watched.

The funniest photo had the two of them dressed as He-Man characters. Blake was He-Man and the little boy he referred to as Wynn in each photo was dressed as Skeletor. The costumes were homemade and the pants Blake wore looked as though he took the fur off a stuffed animal and tied it onto his shorts. He was something else.

I smiled as I scanned through more recent photos. The photos in the album shifted to the high school years and Wynn eventually caught up to Blake in height the older they grew. I paused on a photo of the two of them singing. The caption under it read,
“Mom making us sing songs from musicals… again.”

It made the photo even funnier when I noted the fact that Wynn had tattoos and the contrast of singing musical numbers with his appearance was surreal and humorous. The two shared a deep connection in the photos that reminded me of my own brother and me.