Page 47 of SnowBound

11

ANDERSON

“Are you coming tonight?” my friend Joe asked just when I was sending the musical piece I’d been working on for the last month. It was due for an assignment in four days, but I was confident it was already perfect. Nothing like submitting schoolwork early and gaining some free time in the process. I had a gig scheduled for tomorrow night. And a wedding in two days.

Joe and I were sharing a small apartment in Brooklyn in a building owned by his uncle. He agreed to lease us the space at a cheap price—way under the market value for New York City—in exchange for us playing superintendents and keeping the place clean and doing other handiwork for him from time to time. Once a month, I performed at the club he owned. I wasn’t paid but could keep the tips, which usually ended up being a few hundred bucks. Just for the experience, the monthly gig got my heart pumping. Because it brought me closer to my dream. Another step in the right direction as my mother would tell me.

She wasn’t super ecstatic about the idea of my pursuing a professional music career. After all, she had dated a guy who was famous, got pregnant with me, and when she thought they would settle down together, he returned to his wife and never looked back.

I got it. She got burned by love. In more ways than I could imagine.

But except for sporting half of his gene pool, I wasn’t him.

Never would I be the guy living a double life and hurting people in the process. Never would I abandon my own child, no matter what it implied. See? My sperm donor and I weren’t wired the same. My mother had to realize that. She couldn’t blame my choices and dreams on the jackass who knocked her up.

“So, are you coming?” Joe repeated.

I blinked to reboot my brain. This had been happening a lot lately. My zoning out. Losing myself in my thoughts. Most of the time, they involved Abby. The girl I swore to myself I would forget but couldn’t seem to.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay in. Write.” Since the night I spent with Abby a while back, I’d been so inspired. I couldn’t stop writing every time I had some free time. Soon I would have two full albums worth of new material if I kept going.

Our place was not big by any means. White walls and simple furniture, it was everything we needed and nothing more. A vintage oak table set that used to belong to Joe’s grandmother, a black leather couch we bought at a garage sale when we first moved in, and a dark-wood coffee table that doubled as an ottoman. Posters from our favorite movies decorated the walls on each side of the television, just above a chipped, red-painted console that hosted videogames, an array of liquor bottles, and a bunch of music-related magazines. My mother had sewed the charcoal curtains framing the patio door and kitchen windows and two matching cushions that gave the living room a homey feel as she said.

Joe slouched on the couch beside me. “Man, what happened to you during the Holidays? You were dedicated before, but you still mingled. Now you’re like a hermit. You refuse every opportunity to go out and meet people. Seriously, you need a pussy. Someone to snap you out of this funk. Your Abby-girl is long gone. You can’t pine for her forever. At some point, you’ll have to move on. I thought we already agreed. And the best way to get over a girl is to get under another.”

“It’s a guy. Not girl.”

Confusion painted his face, and he bunched his eyebrows together.

“The saying. Best way to get over a guy is to get under another. See, it’s a guy, not girl.”

He studied me for a long second before shrugging. “Whatever. Sounds alike. Same principle. If it works for girls, it should work for you too.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t wanna forget about her. My short time with her triggered my creative side. When I think about her, I can’t stop writing music. Good music. Amazing stuff. Wait until you hear it. You’ll be flabbergasted. I’m telling you. Who knows, if I forget her, maybe it will shut down the creative juice. And I’m not ready to find out.”

“If I didn’t know you like I do, I would believe you were in love.”

I elbowed his side. “Stop starting rumors. We had a great time. She was nice...amazing. We had fun. And now the memories of her are serving my purpose. Don’t put too much thought into it.”

He eyed me, and I bet he could read through my bullshit. It’d been a little over six weeks since Abby and I parted ways. And every night, I still dreamed about our short time together. And every day, I sang to her as I wrote new stuff. She had taken a permanent spot in my mind, and I had no idea why or how, but I wasn’t ready to chase away the only memory I had left of her. That and the snow globe she gifted me. On the bookshelf by my bed, I stared at it every morning, wondering what she was up to. Then I would shake my head, call myself silly, and move on with my day.

And it’d been over a month of the same shit. Whatever. At this point, I didn’t question the process anymore, I just rolled with it.

“Man, you sure you’re staying here?” Joe asked once more as he moved to his feet, ready to leave to attend another frat party, after preening in the mirror.

Something I hadn’t done lately. My everyday outfit these days consisted of a pair of washout jeans and a plaid shirt rolled at the elbows. Sometimes, I spiced out my look by wearing an unbuttoned shirt over a plain tee. A leather cuff around my wrist and some biker boots completed the look. Simple, casual, and comfy.

“Yep. See you later.”

He waved and disappeared as my eyes stayed locked on the front door for some time. As if I expected someone to walk in. A petite girl with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes.

I shook the thoughts away and grabbed my guitar. She and I would be up all night. I could already tell.

* * *

“Ohmygoodness, you were so good up there. Hot. Hot. Hot. So much that your singing gave me a heatstroke. And the way you play your guitar. I could die listening to it. I wish you would play my body like that. I bet those fingers have skills with the hours of practice you probably put in. Andy, I am so wet for you.” Lilianna, the bride’s little sister, had been clinging to my arm for the last fifteen minutes, fangirling over my performance, under her daddy’s watchful eye.

For the umpteenth time, I tried to peel away the fingers embedded in my biceps, but in vain. The girl was like Velcro. She was attached to my arm permanently by now. I faked a smile, and her eyes shot sparks. Long blond hair waving over her shoulders, thick—probably fake—eyelashes, and dark red lipstick. She was beautiful. And in another life, I would have maybe taken her up on her offer. Yeah, she’d been propositioning me for hours. But not tonight. I didn’t feel like getting together with her. Because if I did, would it erase my memories of Abby? Would I lose my inspiration? Sex with a beautiful girl wasn’t enough for me to risk it all. Nah, I preferred my celibacy. For now.