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It was all about a girl.
I followed her around everywhere. I timed it so our paths only crossed when she was at home. I needed to be there before her, in her way, in her peripheral.
“Oh my God, Steven!” Betty shouted across the house. “Pick up after yourself.”
Steven laughed from where he sat across from me in the sunken living room. He was picking at his bass guitar, playing with rhythms I hadn’t heard before.
Betty all but stomped her way towards us. “Why don’t y’all practice in the garage? Dad had it cleared out and put extra sound proofing in.”
“He did?” Steven questioned.
Betty rolled her eyes. “I swear, you don’t listen.” She muttered something under her breath.
“Do you still sing?” I interrupted them.
Betty looked at me with wide eyes. “No.” She turned and walked up the stairs towards her room.
Something about the way she answered made me not believe her. That girl loved to sing. Now that I think about it, I hadn’t witnessed her sing except along to the music in her car.
“Call the band. We’re practicing tonight, I have an idea.” A thin, breakable string of an idea, but an idea no less.
“Groovy!” He placed his bass down next to him and leaned over to the phone to start dialing.
I hustled up the steps to follow her. She was just about to shut her bedroom door when I put my foot in the way.
“What do you want, Dean?” Betty spun around and walked into her room.
I followed and closed the door behind me. “Why did you leave?”
“I wanted to be alone.” Her hands flipped through a box of records.
My eyes roamed down her bare legs before attempting to focus on her room. “You know what I mean.”
She pulled a record out of the box and put it on. She turned the volume just high enough to tune me out but not so high it would annoy anyone if they were downstairs. I recognize the folky rock tune. The lyrics came out of the speaker, a woman singing about female empowerment.
Betty was angry.
Good.
One thing nobody else seemed to notice that I had, Betty’s love of music ran deep. Ever since she was about twelve, she let the music do the talking. I picked up on it fast because it was a language I was all too familiar with. I always knew her mood based on the music she chose to listen to or sing.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
She spun on her heels and narrowed her eyes at me. I thought she’d stop there, but she walked right up to me, pointed a finger into my chest and said the words I never expected to hear.
“I wasn’t good enough.”
The fuck.
“You are-”
“It wasn’t my opinion,” she interrupted. “You think I sat around and moped because some stupid man said I would keep you guys back?” She laughed. “Baby, I only got better.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I grabbed her wrist to keep her from turning away.
“It doesn’t matter, Dean. It’s been three years. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve changed.”
I swallowed.
