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I pause my chords to empty the rest of my can down my throat, crush it, toss it, then resume playing.
The beer is disgusting, by the way.
Jonah was right.
The angry chords soon turn into heavy ones. Then all I hear is ringing echoes of my dad’s wasted talent when he used to play. Things were so different in my childhood, when it felt like I had a big, happy family. Now everyone is doing their own thing, half our relationships are shattered, and all that’s left is this tired house on the beach.
No wonder a part of me gives up the moment there’s hope that I’ve met a good guy. Nothing lasts in this place.
“Hmm. There’s only one reason you play your E minor songs.”
I barely flinch from the sound of my mom’s voice in the hall. I ignore her and continue strumming.
“You’re pissed,” she announces, coming to the back of the armchair where she leans. “Wanna talk?”
“Nope.”
“You sure?”
“All I want to do is get drunk and play my guitar.”
She nods, then heads to the kitchen. “Okay. I’m sure that’s how half of every singer/songwriter’s discography is made, anyway. Maybe if you and your brother keep this up, you’ll have a Grammy by the end of the year.”
I stop strumming and frown. “How’d you know it had to do with him?”
“Who else would it have to do with?” She pulls out a beer for herself, then leans back against the fridge as she takes a sip. Then she eyes me. “Don’t stop. Keep playing. I’m going back out to the bonfire, anyway. Only dropped in to tinkle.”
I strum a C major 7. “Aren’t you a bit old to be joining the kids for a bonfire?”
She stops mid-sip. “Say that to me again, baby, and you’ll wake up tomorrow morning with that pretty head of hair shaved clean off.” Then she sets down her beer and brings a cigarette to her lips from thin air, lighting it.
“You need to quit that habit.”
She eyes me and speaks with the cigarette on her lips. “Who’re you? Your dad?” She pockets her lighter, picks up her beer, and blows smoke from her lips. “Love you kiddo, but we’ve only got this one life. You’ll understand when you’re my age—something your dear dad failed to grasp. Keep playing those heart strings.” She heads out the door.
I glance out the window behind the couch, watching her descend the porch steps and crossing the sand back to the bonfire. It should say something about me, when my mom is more up for partying and booze than I am.
But it’s nothing new. Bonfires happen every weekend. So do the parties. There’s nothing out there for me.
Nothing except that damned Jonah.
Who only seems to get more interesting every time I talk to him.
Maybe I shouldn’t have left so hastily.
I set my guitar aside, quite suddenly done with all the sad chords, and head to the door with a mission in mind.
The moment I open it, I’m met by two faces.
Skipper and Jonah.
“Oh, hi,” says Jonah, immediately stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t mean to startle you or whatever. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Skipper here kinda pointed me in this direction.”
Skip gives me a nod, silent, then slips past me heading into the house. I come outside and shut the door after him, then lean against it, facing Jonah. “Cool.”
“Yeah, cool.” Jonah glances back over his shoulder at the bonfire. “There’s no one else I really know here. Rico took off with your brother to, uh … Alma Mater, I think? Didn’t quite catch the name. A gay club down the road.”
Whatever mood I was in breaks instantly as I suppress a sudden laugh. “Alma Mater …? Really?”
Jonah’s face reddens. “I didn’t hear them clearly.”
“It’s ‘El Amado’. Spanish for ‘gay blowjob’.”
He squints at me. “Really?”
“No, not really.” His face reddens further, which makes me chuckle harder. “I’m messing with you. But yes, it’s called El Amado. Means ‘the beloved’, I think. Which, to be fair, could mean a blowjob for some people.”
Jonah seems to search for a place to put his arms. He settles on crossing them. “So I guess you and your brother really don’t get along, huh?”
So we’re diving right in. I come up to the railing of the porch and lean against it with a sigh. “Goes a little deeper than just his latest transgression.”
“Latest transgression?”
“He kinda … went after a guy I was into. It happened a few months ago.”
Jonah gawks. “What an asshole.”
“His purpose was to prove all tourists are the same. That they’re just here for a good time. That I shouldn’t waste my time on one. I broke the cardinal rule.”
Jonah scoots closer to me. “Cardinal rule?”
“Don’t get involved with tourists.”
“Oh.” He scratches his arm. “So your brother thought he was protecting you?”
