Keep Me in the Dark (7 page)

His letters remain under the bed. I haven’t received another one. I haven’t read them again, but I don’t need to. Lines from them filter through my mind when I least expect it: When the gate squeaks as I rush into the street; When the sunlight hits my eyes, too strong, making me squint and the back of my eyes ache; When the streets feel too cold, and even my wool overcoat can’t keep it out. Maybe others would think those lines were sappy. Maybe I coveted them only because they fed my vanity. But it doesn’t matter now whether they were sincere or not, whether they were good or not, whether I was only paying attention to what I wanted to hear or not. It doesn’t even matter if it was all a game. I need him.

You are so beautiful that sometimes I don’t believe you can truly exist; and then I hear you play, and I know that I am in heaven
.

It doesn’t sound like heaven when I play now. It sounds like every part of me is breaking. Or maybe it’s just because it feels like I’m breaking all the time, so I can’t feel anything else.

I remember you. I don’t want to remember you, but I do. I know I told you I couldn’t take it, but this is worse. Please come back just once more and let me tell you. Please come back
.

I can’t disintegrate. I am like a bead of water on a sheet of plastic. Sometimes at night I try to touch myself in the same places where he touched me—to wrap my hands around my stomach, to run my fingers up my neck.
I don’t want to love you
, I think before I amend:
I never loved you
.
This is all a dream. Maybe I am still dreaming
.

But I wake, empty. I drag my feet to the bathroom. I do my best not to recognize the young woman looking back at me in the mirror. Surely those aren’t my hollow eyes, my hollow cheeks, my dry, cracked lips.

I haven’t been able to dream since I met you. I look like a woman who’s never dreamed in her entire life. I only know nightmares and emptiness.

And then I turn on the water, wash my face, and begin another day.

My eyes have been puffy for five days. They aren’t anymore, thanks to Dolly’s makeover. That woman can work magic. Unfortunately, it is usually hoochie magic, but tonight Cassie and Anna were able to reign her back. This was a tasteful gig at the Guchenberg, for Chrissake. You don’t show up to places like that in a sequence-infested halter top, much to her dismay.

Still, the little white dress I wore was a little shorter than appropriate.
It’s not bad to have a little bit of hooch!
Dolly insisted. I wish I could have come back at her with something snappy, but the truth is I like it. I feel more beautiful and feminine than I have in a long time.

Still, I put my foot down when it came to the heels. I didn’t want to fall on stage.

I glance at my friends, who were in various stages of getting ready for tonight. All of them were going out together, which was a rarity. Anna and Dolly love each other, but their tastes couldn’t be more different. One lapped up anything “culturally rewarding,” while the other seemed to want to get more ass than an entire frat house before graduation. Tonight, their goals aligned. They were meeting Dolly’s newest beau at an off-Broadway show.

“I wish I was going out with all of you,” I pouted.

“No you don’t. Alexander
do-you-want-to-stick-your-hand-down-my-pants
will be there,” Cassie mutters.

Anna makes a face as she tries not to laugh. “I’m
not
sitting next to him.”

Cassie groans. “Alright, but if he tries anything again I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

I sigh. “You guys are going to have so much fun.”

“Uh, did you hear who Cassie was going to have to sit next to?” Dolly asks.

Dolly dodges Cassie’s attack. “What the hell? You’re supposed to be my friend! Why did you even let your boy toy invite along that jerk?”

I can’t help but laugh along with Anna. “I wish I was going.”

Anna tilts her head thoughtfully. “Laura, we’re going to have a great time, but so are you. We’ll all go out after Thanksgiving.”

That’s right. Tomorrow was the start of Thanksgiving break. Pretty much everyone in our building had already left.

I slip my feet into a pair of tasteful black flats. Anna hands me my cello case with a brilliant smile. “You’ll have fun, just see.”

I shift on my feet. “Okay.”

Anna isn’t discouraged. “You’re beautiful, and you’re going to do awesome.”

Dolly eyes Cassie to see if she’s going to spring another attack before giving me a thumbs-up. “My work is done. If tonight sucks, it’s your fault, not mine.”

“Thanks Dolly,” I laugh.

Cassie pats me on the back. “Kick some ass.”

“This isn’t really an ass-kicking event,” I explain.

“She means in the love department,” Dolly pipes in. “David’s going to be there.”

I groan. What was with all these comments about David? “Stop it you guys. There’s nothing there. All you’re doing is making me feel self-conscious around him.”

“A little bit of self-conscious wouldn’t hurt,” Cassie says.

“Just give him a chance,” Anna adds.

A chance at what? There’s nothing going on there! I groan and lean on the door right as someone proceeds to bang on it.

I fly back. “Shit!”

Cassie and Anna dart forward, catching me. The three of us are teetering and winding around each other like we’re playing
Twister
when Dolly opens the door with a smile. “David! You’re right on time.”

Cassie grunts as she pushes me onto my feet. Anna falls on her knees. Unfortunately she’s holding onto Cassie so Cassie goes down with her.

“You’re such a bitch, Dolly!” Cassie groans.

“Hey, watch your language in front of the gentleman,” Dolly snaps back.

David’s perfect brown eyes narrow with concern. “Is everything alright in here?”

“We’re fine.” I groan as I shake my ankle free of Cassie’s grip.

“Hey, you kicked me!” she squeals.

“Sorry!” I adjust my grip on my cello and stumble forward right into David’s arms.

“Hey Laura.”

His voice is lower than usual. It makes his chest rumble. I wonder why I noticed that.

He reaches for my cello case.

I move it out of his reach. “I got it.”

He grins. “But it’s part of my job.”

David volunteered to be the roadie for
Bruigh na Boinne
for the event. Why did he? I have no idea. It’s not like he’s the kind of guy who needs extra credit. “Don’t you think you’re taking this job a little too seriously? I’m not going to make my friends carry my shit.”

Cassie snickers. “Elegantly put, Laura.”

David grins. “I don’t mind hauling around your shit.”

I sigh. “You’re making this sound even worse!”

Dolly marches over and wrestles my cello case from my hands. “Hey! Don’t you dare deprive him of his sacred roadie duties!”

David grins as he takes it from her. “It’s my pleasure.”

“Hey.” I reach for it, but this time he moves it just out of my reach. “Come on. Stop playing around.”

“You should just let me take it for you,” he advises. “I’m not changing my mind, and if you put up more of a fight we’re going to make everyone late.”

Anna beams as I reluctantly walk to the door. “You two have fun!”

Yeah right. “I’m singing in front of a group of people. I only sing when I’m drunk. This is not going to be fun…unless David has some Peppermint Schnapps in the car?”

He holds the door open for me. “I’m pretty sure I’d fail as a roadie if I let you get drunk before you go on stage.”

I snort. “Where world are you living in? That’s not failure, that’s what roadies are for. Well, that and making sure I there’s a good looking guy waiting for me in my trailer.”

He rushes down the top three stairs so we’re walking side-by-side. “No trailer. Just Professor Cade’s stinky love bug. But I can find one for you if you don’t mind getting busy on top of four other people.”

I think of the backseat that even one person can barely cram themselves into and groan.

I hear Dolly laugh. “That wouldn’t stop me!”

I look over my shoulder to see my three friends huddled together at the top of the staircase. “Hey, what are you guys doing there?”

“Saying goodbye,” Anna defends. “You didn’t even say goodbye to us.”

“Yeah, she was blindsided with thoughts of booze,” Cassie murmurs.

“I can hear that!” I yell, not slowing my pace.

“I know you can hear it. That’s why I said it,” Cassie replies.

I grab David’s hand. “Whatever. Let’s get out of here.”

“Have fun you too!” Anna yells.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Dolly adds.

I don’t hear the rest of it because we’re finally outside.

“You okay?” David asks. “I know this wasn’t exactly something you were looking forward to doing…”

Understatement of the year
.

“…But I think you’ll do a wonderful job,” he finishes.

The left corner of my mouth curls up. “Thanks.”

The two of us walk through the gate. “I’m not just saying that,” he says.

“I know. That was a heartfelt thanks.”

He give me a small smile as he opens the back of the car. “I hope you have a good time tonight.”

“Me too,” I say. It’s the truth. For the first time in a long time, I’m excited. I’m ready for something new, and I feel like I might find it tonight.

I step forward. The microphone hits my lips. I always think the woven netting of microphones should be soft, so it never fails to surprise me how hard they are.

I look up. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light. People sit in the crowd, coughing and speaking quietly to one another. Others stand near the back of the room by the refreshments. They have some really good cheese and crackers back there—the best cheese and crackers I’ve ever had, and probably ever will have—along with grapes so plump and sweet that they resemble artisan pastries more than fruit.

To my left, Katie raises her bow. She pauses just before setting it to the strings of her violin, glancing at me. I can’t put this off any longer. I sit, adjusting the microphone so I can sing and play my cello at the same time. After a few more moments, I nod and she starts to play.

The other girls and I follow shortly after. I focus on the music, rocking back and forth slightly as my arms sway.

It’s almost time to sing.

I close my eyes, relax my throat, take a deep breath, and begin to sing.

My voice isn’t the kind that would get me far in the conservatory. It’s too low, for one thing. It would resemble a cello more than a human voice if it wasn’t so breathy and husky. I used to joke that I could get my points across better with my cello than my voice because it’s clearer and I have more control over it.

My voice is an indie voice. It’s reminiscent of the voices of hundreds of struggling musicians all over the city, sitting in front of their guitar in a smoky bar as a harsh spotlight shines down on them, making their face look older, their hair look stringier, as they suck in smoke and sing with all their heart even though no one cares.

My voice wavers, but I keep going. I don’t know why I’m thinking of such things. It makes me feel so alone that I can barely bring myself to sing one more note—like I’m sinking into a sea of dreams that will never come true, surrounded by people who will keep trying until they’re all dried up.

When you’re young it’s easy to talk about making it big. Each night you can go out there and imagine that the right someone is in the crowd who will take notice of you. But that’s not how it really is. That person isn’t there, or if they are, there’s nothing about you that moves them, or maybe there is but you’re not marketable somehow, you’re too soft or too hard and they don’t think people will be able to relate to you even though you pour your soul into your voice, so they glance elsewhere.

I don’t want to be that strange, little girl with the low, husky voice, selling her soul for less than what she’d get in the slummiest part of town for her body each night. I don’t want to give myself to someone who will never love me back. But what should I do when I’ve already given him my heart?

I feel like I’ve been slapped. Why do my thoughts always go back to him?

Stop thinking about it. You’re going to get so distracted that you’ll lose your place. He’s gone. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s time to move on
.

I repeat that and focus on the song. Even though I’m singing an octave lower than the previous lead, I struggle to hit the notes. My voice cracks a bit, sounds raspy, desperate. I lose my place a few times. I’m sitting too close to the microphone. My breathing is too heavy.

Thank god it’s almost over.

It feels like we started hours ago even though I know it couldn’t be more than thirty minutes. The violin and the viola quiet and soon it’s only my cello, the last note of the song, drawing out as I whisper my final lines.

I finish.

Silence. Just silence.

I take a deep breath, then another, the silence only broken by my heartbeat. Heat flares across my cheeks. I can’t look up.

They hated it
.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. We’ve already been paid. It’s not like I have any aspirations to be a professional singer. I’m not even supposed to be here. Still, it’s embarrassing to bomb in front of so many people…especially if it means we can’t get another gig. God, it couldn’t have been that bad, right?