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Callum
Five years ago
Iread the email again.For no reason other than it curbed my boredom. I didn’t know why, couldn’t explain it to myself, but I was tempted to respond. I’d been tempted since it landed in The Seasons Change’s inbox a few weeks ago with my name at the top.
We’d been on the road since the summer, playing in every venue that would pay us. And by pay, I meant a couple quarters and a chewed-up piece of gum scraped from the bottom of a table. But we were hungry enough—literally, sometimes—we’d take those two quarters and rancid gum and treasure them like gold doubloons.
We were traveling in our junker of a van, across the middle of America, where everything was flat for miles and miles and miles. A lot of the same. But this email, it was different. It perked up my tired brain, and I took an interest.
I read it again.
Dear Callum Rose,
Hi!
I know you’ll never see this email, so I’m going to be completely honest and forthright. I wonder how many other emails to your band’s fan account have started the same way? Do other girls use this address as a journal entry?
Well, not to be cliché, but I’m not like other girls. I don’t plan to pour out my sob story in a stream of consciousness. I have questions! Like I said, I know you’ll never see this email, so the answers I seek will probably forever be floating around in the ether, but that’s okay. I’ve accepted my fate.
I saw The Seasons Change play the Swerve Festival last weekend. I had never heard your band before then, but I have become obsessed. Of course, I love Iris’s voice, but I adore the style and sound of your music as a whole. I have done a deep dive on the internet to find out everything I can about the four of you. Specifically you, though.
Did you know they call you Stone Cold on the forums? They say you never show any expression on stage, or…I guess, off either. People were speculating all manners of things that made you that way, but I won’t repeat their armchair psychology in polite company.
I didn’t tell them, but I think they’re wrong. I don’t think you’re cold, and I saw plenty of expression while you played. You bit your lip when you were really concentrating. You tracked Iris around the stage, and when she stood in front of you to sing, you responded with your eyes. Your emotions might be micro, but they’re there. I saw them easily, even while being shoved around by sweaty boys in the pit.
Callum, are you shy? I think we might be kind of alike. My mind is a busy bee and my thoughts are all over the place (as you might have noticed in this email), but in person, I’m shy and I...I guess I shrink. Do you do that too? It’s hard to be this way. Is it hard for you? Or do you like being alone in your own world?
I could be way off base. I’m probably projecting my own personality onto you like a complete weirdo. But if I’m right...well, it’s nice to know I’m not alone. I’m happy you’re able to get on stage and make magic, even though it probably feels like physical pain to have all those eyes on you.
Well, I guess I’ll never hear from you. I promise not to make this a thing by constantly emailing. This was a one off I’m sure I’ll regret as soon as I hit send.
Here I go anyway!
Your faithful fan,
Birdie
Yeah, I was going to reply. I was curious, and it wasn’t often I felt that way. I wasn’t looking for a pen pal. I didn’t know that I was looking for anything. But I guess that was the thing. I couldn’t predict what was going to happen, but I wanted to find out.
Adam peered over my shoulder. “What’s that?”
There were three rows in the van and four of us, but he somehow always ended up beside me unless he was doing the driving. Adam played lead guitar and did what he needed to on stage. Off it, though, he was all golden retriever energy.
I slid my phone in my pocket. “It’s nothing.”
For someone like me, who didn’t easily make friends or form connections, Adam was a shock to the system. I’d gotten used to him over the couple years I’d known him, but he hadn’t gotten used to me. If he had, he’d understand I needed time to myself to feel sane.
“Sure. Keep being boring, Callie.”
“Don’t call me Callie,” I shot back.
“Iris calls you that,” he protested.
From the driver’s seat, Iris, our lead singer and peacekeeper, held up her middle finger. “Some things aren’t for you, Adam. Just accept it.”
Rodrigo, our drummer, bobbed his head and tapped his hands on the dashboard to a beat only he could hear. Adam climbed over the seats to invade his space instead. Roddy was a lot more receptive to the intrusion.
I took my phone back out and tapped out a reply.
