dissonance. (a Böhme novel) (17 page)

“Hey guys,” Toby said. “Sorry I couldn’t make it Karl.” Then he turned to me with an overly eager expression. “I heard Brecken was there.” I looked over my menu at him, wishing him as shy as he once was. I missed the quiet Toby. I gave him a glare and he retreated into himself and focused back on Petra’s serious expression as she evaluated his hand.

“Yeah, she was,” I said as I checked my phone to see if she might have sent another text—she hadn’t.

“Well, well, well,” Gabe said. “It looks as though Blakey Boy is smitten.”

“Smitten?” Hannah asked with a laugh. “I think the 1940s wants its word back.”

Wynn leaned forward and gave me a skeptical expression. “Smitten is actually the past participle of smite. And that’s interesting, because smite means to be struck with a heavy blow. That said, smitten is a perfect word to describe Blake’s appearance,” Wynn said in complete seriousness. Sometimes I wanted to punch him when he turned into a walking dictionary. Other times, I wanted to give him a bro hug. This was one of the latter times. But he was right, I couldn’t stop smiling and I was positive my expression looked like someone hit me upside the head.

“Thank you, Wynn, for validating my choice of words. Look at that smile on his face,” Gabe said as he waved his hand toward me. “Blake
like
likes Brecken. I’ve seen you with many girls over the years my man, and Wynn has as well, I’m sure. But I’ve never seen you like this.”

Everyone at the table went silent, and I looked at each of my friends as they gave me a knowing smile.

“Yes, I like her. I like her enough not to want to get into her pants… right now,” I said as I glanced at Mason, hoping he got the hint.

Everyone laughed at once.

“That’s very noble of you, Blake,” Mason said with a nod.

“Now my young friend, you need to understand something with Blake. His comment is monumental for him. Our Blake is not a man-slut, but he’s also not one to shy away from life’s pleasures. So to hear him say he’s not going to pursue the contents of Ms. Brecken’s pants is quite noble,” Gabe said with a raise of his brow.

“Okay, enough. Why do I hang out with you, man?” I said as I shook my head. “This is getting moronic. Yes, I like her and we’re going to drop it.”

“Damn. You do like her,” Wynn said as he leaned back in his chair. His jaw dropped and he gave me a weird smile. “You know how I know?” he asked.

“How?”

“Because you usually never keep quiet about women—it’s as if you try to convince everyone else and yourself why they’re wonderful or why they’re perfect for you. But what I see now is a whole new level,” he said as he waved his hand in front of me. “You want to stay tight lipped and that’s an uncharacteristic approach for you. Ever since we were kids you were relentless with making sure I met women you date and you told me every detail. Sometimes more than I care to hear. That said, seeing you this way is surreal and I’ll honor your wish to stop speaking of it.” He smiled and waved to the waitress to come to our table.

Then in true form, the topic of conversation moved onto things we found ourselves usually discussing—life’s purpose, art, music, video games, movies, and wherever our minds took us. As everyone began to discuss the happenings in their lives as well as where their thoughts have taken them, I realized I was just like them.

As the conversations continued around me, my thoughts drifted back to Brecken and I wondered how she’d get along with my friends.

As I looked to each of their faces and took in their smiles I thought of what Mason said earlier. Happy topics and the love of life were just as inspiring as the heavy stuff.
Here I was getting deep again
.

These were my people. I was thankful in that moment for each of them. Not everyone has the opportunity to talk about things that are important. To most people the group of us looked strange. The older man covered in tattoos, the gypsy, the teenager, and everyone in between—each fell along the spectrum of the one thing we had in common
. Individuality
.
How strange is that—our individuality was a common trait?

Maybe I did have deep thoughts because I was having one now.

__________

After saying good-bye to my friends, I decided I wasn’t going to check my phone again. I wasn’t going to get on the computer either. I needed to unwind.

I went to my grandpa’s woodshop because I needed to do something with my hands. My grandpa once told me if I have extra energy it should never be wasted.
“Don’t sit if your mind is going—put it to use and do something.”

Karl’s words on finding the something we need to do reminded me of what my grandpa once said and I figured I should listen to both of them. One was a guy in his seventies and the other a crazy guy in his twenties—both had the right idea.

I picked up a piece of wood my grandpa left sitting on the bench and tipped it from side to side, examining it. I tried to see what hid from me and then it started to show itself.

My thoughts drifted back to Brecken as I began to work. I wasn’t going to get much sleep. When I started one of these, I couldn’t stop until I finished.

__________

“Why won’t you do it too?” Wynn asked.

“Shit, that hurts man—don’t cut me deep please,” I said, feeling ashamed at my fear. I couldn’t cut my hand like him. He was the brave one. I just stood back and watched as he cut deeper than I did. Even at that age I did it too much—just watched him take the brunt of everything.

“When are you going to realize that it always heals—everything does,” Wynn said with hesitation. He was saying it out of hope more than surety.

“I can’t do more than this—I’m sorry man,” I said as I ran from his house and across the yard to my own.

I ran into the house and let the door slam behind me.

“Blakey boy what’re ya doin?” my father asked as I ran past him and into my bedroom.

I slammed the door and hid in my closet. How could I be there to protect Wynn if I couldn’t even cut my hand deep enough to become his real blood brother? I was failing him.

Tears began to fall, and I bit the side of my arm, trying to push them back. I couldn’t do it. I was selfish yet again.

The closet went black and someone was shaking me. I started to open my eyes, realizing I had fallen asleep.

“Blakey boy what’re ya doin?” my dad asked, echoing my dream.

I sat up and ran my hand over my face. “I must’ve fallen asleep. What's the time?” I asked with a groggy voice.

“It’s half past ten,” he said as he picked up the figurine I made. “This is good.”

I took it from him and twirled one of the legs between my fingers, causing it to dance. “Thanks. I made it last night. I couldn’t sleep,” I said.

“I see ya got yerself
some
sleep at least,” he said with a smile.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked.

“She’s out with her lizards,” he said, taking the figurine back to examine it.

“What are you thinking, Dad?” I asked.

“I’m thinking it's the best you’ve done.” He smiled.

“I’ve met someone, Dad,” I said with hesitation.

“Aye, so that’s what this fella is about, eh? I saw there was something different with it. We meet people every day, Blake. Why does this one merit you mentionin’?” he asked.

“There’s no competition with her,” I said and a confused expression formed on my dad’s face. “I mean, she isn’t trying to one up someone else. She is what she is and I appreciate that.”

“Well, that’s a good quality to have I suppose,” he said as he quietly watched me. He always waited for me to say what I needed to say.

“How did you know Mom was the one?” Both my mom and dad told me the answer several times. They never tired of me asking and I never tired of hearing the story.

“I still don’t know she’s the one, son.” He paused, waiting for my shock to dissipate. That was not what I was expecting. “There are infinite possibilities of who you could be with in life. But it depends on every step of the life you choose. Every decision leads you to here,” he said pointing his finger to the ground as if this place right now was where he meant to be. “When you are in this place, you are right where you need to be and this person might just be the one you need. Your mother was the person for me at that place in the line of my choices and I continue to choose her.”

“You always said you just knew—what changed?” I asked.

“You did, my boy,” he said as he squeezed the back of my neck. “You did.”

I was the one to give a questioning expression now.

“You’re at the age where you need to realize fairy tales don’t exist, but you can make your own happily ever afters.”

It was eerie to hear him say that, especially since Brecken made comments about fairy tales the other night.

“Wow dad, is this seriousness something that happens in age or have you been reading Wilde again?” I asked.

He laughed. “I just want to make sure you don’t jump into things, and you should wait until you see her faults. Everyone has faults; you can’t put them on a pedestal and expect them to stay up there. It’s tiring up there, remember that.”

Then he left the shop without another mention of it. When my dad finished talking about something, he ended the conversation.

I stood from my stool and turned off the lights before going to find my mom. The wood shop was behind my mom’s iguana warehouse, which in turn was behind our family business’s office.

I found my mom speaking softly through one of the iguana habitats. She spoke with reassurance to O’Reilly, our most temperamental iguana. He eased toward her with caution.

“Will he ever come around, you think?” I asked.

“Of course he will. I have faith in the old boy,” she said as she looked up at me. “Did you stay the night here Blake?” she asked.

“Yes, I was working on something,” I said as I took a seat on the floor next to her.

She sat onto her knees and met my eyes, “What’s on your mind Blake? You look as though you’ve been deep in it.”

“I suppose I have—I just spoke with Dad about love and life,” I said on a laugh. "What a thing to wake up and talk about huh? I guess I'm just tired, Ma. I'm tired of the bullshit and I'm ready to stop playing."

She laughed. “Oh honey, aren't we all? I bet your father had lovely things to say on the subject.” She turned to the next habitat and put leaves and fruit in for the iguana’s meals for the day.

"Yeah, he did—he’s being more philosophical lately," I said as I began to help her. "I needed it though."

She laughed. “Blake yer father has eva been the philosophical genius. Ye just havna paid attention. It comes with the Irish blood, ya know?” She turned to me and ran her hand through my hair. "I'm so glad your natural color has grown back out. I hated the blonde you put in it last year. It looked odd on you."

“Thanks Mom, I'm glad you approve of my hair now and I'm happy you keep reminding me of one stupid mistake,” I said as I ran my own hand through my sleep crazed hair. “And that was a horrible accent. You’d think having lived with him for so many years you’d pick up on it better,” I said as I pulled her in for a hug.

She gave a pat to the side of my face and squeezed my cheek before kissing my forehead. “You are our boy Blake and we want the best for you—no matter what, okay?”

I nodded in agreement and couldn’t help but wonder where my parents’ need to be so serious with me came from today.

“What are your plans today?” I asked with a smile.

“A little of everything, my dear,” she said, just as she always did when I asked her that question. She never wasted any moment. “Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it love?" she asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, today’s the first of May right?” I asked as I took some leaves and fruit from her to help feed the iguanas.

"Yes Blakey boy, it's the first. That means in a few weeks you’ll be a quarter of a century. How has the time flown?" she asked, turning her back to me. "I can't fathom what it means to have a twenty-five year old son."

"Well you're going to need to figure it out Mom," I said on a laugh as I turned to leave.

No question was to be written this time. The writer only wanted to paint an image of happiness. The questions —though important—bogged them down. There was still happiness in life despite the pain.

The writer painted flowers growing out of the cracks in walls along the side of a building.

I bent to adjust the cupcakes on the bottom shelf of the case. My mother always put the spinach on the bottom. She said it was good because kids spot them, thinking they are just an average chocolate cupcake, and select them.

“So those have spinach in them?” a voice from the other side of the case said as he leaned to peek through the glass at me. He wore his usual smile and his glasses were again upon his face and I smiled myself in return.

I took one of the cupcakes out as I stood up and leaned against the case, handing the cupcake to Blake. “Yes, they do have spinach in them, but I guarantee you won’t taste it,” I said with a smile in return.