Page 3 of Easy

Chapter4

I shovethe phone in my purse and shut off the computer. I need a techie to trace where this email came from, but if I show the email to anyone it’ll raise questions. Irritation prickles down my spine. Every time I talk to Lizzie it becomes clear that I’ve made no progress. I still don’t know what to do or how I can fix things so I can go home. The email means I’m out oftime.

I grab my bag and shut off the lights to my broom closet of an office and head down the darkened halls. I’m lost in thought, not even realizing that I’m passing by the one place on campus that I can’t resist—the concerthall.

There is a row of stage lights shining down, casting an amber glow on the edge of the stage and first few rows of chairs. The soft illumination reveals a man standing over a music stand. His hands grip the sides as his head hangs low. I don’t recognize him. The school isn’t that big, but still, I don’t know every face. That’s to my benefit because that means most of them don’t see me. We’re a city of strangers who nod in hallways and walk through life blind, never really looking our fellow man in theface.

The crayon-colored hair is off-putting for many. They see it and can’t take me seriously, so they don’t bother with pleasantries even if this is the Southwest. I’m an outsider. They sense it and they’re right, but it’s not the obvious. It neveris.

The man lifts a baton and slashes it through the air for a few measures to an invisible orchestra before stiffening. He grips the small piece of wood tightly before hurling it across the wooden stage floor. His other hand swipes the pages and the sheet music goes flying. He clutches the sides of the music stand firmly. His back arches as it fills with air and every muscle in a strong body tightens.

I know how he feels. I walk away. I can’t help anyone. I can’t even help myself. What good would I be to him? A weight settles heavily across my shoulders and sinks into my chest. I’ve been here for ninety days and I’m no better for it. I could pick up and run again—go somewhere else and hide. The problem I’ve noticed is something I don’t want to face. Not tonight.

You just need more distance, Jos, a voice chimes softly in the back of mymind.

I’m starting to think that she’s wrong. I’m two-thousand miles from home in a place that makes no sense to me. The people here are super religious but only on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. It’s like they’re living a double life and it doesn’t concern them in the least. They don’t even see it. It’s Jesus this and Godly that, but they’d cut a mofo for taking their parking spot at the local WalMart after services. At least the plastic people in Manhattan know they’re fake. Maybe I don’t see it because faith eludes me, but if living like that is what it means to believe in God, I can’t do it. I lie enough for my parents. I don’t need another all-powerful, self-centered asshat telling me what to do. I have enough of that athome.

I head out of there as fast as I can and don’t think too hard about where I’m headed. Dark, noisy, alcohol. No one will recognize my voice with the banjo twanging or the boots sliding. And I sure as hell need a drink tonight. The thought of going home alone right now scares me. Maybe I should jump in my car and keep driving. Maybe that thought was a premonition. Either way, I didn’t listen and staying changed everything.