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“Ethan. Sorry man, I just thought I’d accompany you…”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’re just a fucking bad teacher.”
Ouch. That was unnecessary. I think.
“Dude. What’s going on with you?”
“It’s fine. Whatever. I’m just going to the fucking bathroom,” he snaps without glancing back.
“Alrighty then…” I say, setting my own guitar on the table next to me.
While waiting for Ethan to return, I start going through my case. I haven’t actually looked at the contents in a long time, even though it goes practically everywhere I do. The guitar itself is the one I learned on years ago. It’s not fancy, but I always treat it like it is. It’s gotten me through some hard times. I’ve been keeping it here since I’m here so much, and I don’t use it while writing.
The first thing I find in one of the pockets is a picture of me and my brother Tim, flanking my mother at the entrance to Six Flags from one of our few family vacations. It looks like I’m around ten years old, and Tim is about fourteen or so. The stupid grins on our faces make us look so innocent. Or maybe naïve would be a better word. Dumb is more like it. Back then, we didn’t know how evil the world was and how easy it would be to walk along that side of the ethical and moral street. We certainly didn’t know what that evil would do to us or how it would shape us as people. Now our mom is somewhere in Indiana, we think, and Tim’s been in and out of rehab about a dozen times now.
That slippery slope took us straight to the bottom.
Murderous Crows saved me from a lot of shit I’d probably be into right now. However, it didn’t save all of us.
I find an early picture of us playing at the Raven in Vegas for one of our first shows. We were barely legal to drink, but boy, did we. The photo is typical everything. Andy going nuts on the drums, his hair wild. Jake is on the mic, leaning into the crowd with his hand out to connect with people. Logan smiling like a wolf after dinner. Remy focused intently on the fretboard of his guitar. And me, foot raised on an amp, showing off a run of some kind, I’m sure.
We absolutely thought we were the shit.
“What are you smiling about?” Ethan asks from next to me. I didn’t hear him come back into the room. He seems to have recovered from his outburst. It’s hard to keep up with his emotions sometimes. He can be a bit all over the place.
“Oh, just some pictures I found,” I say, holding up the Murderous Crows one for him to see. “It feels like this was a lifetime ago.”
He takes it from me and studies it intensely, his own smile taking shape. “Holy shit, this is awesome. Any chance I could have this?”
His request surprises me. Why would he want it? The thought of somebody else holding onto this memory bothers the shit out of me. This moment in time is my memory, not his. And I’m not inclined to share it with anyone yet.
I reach over and take the picture from him carefully, and for a second, he almost doesn’t let go of it. “Nah, man. This one is personal. I’m going to keep it. At least for now.”
A few minutes later, when we’re deep into our lesson, he surprises me again by asking, “So, are you and Ms. Castle a thing now?”
I can’t help my shocked reaction to the question. “What? Why would you ask that?”
He studies me as if looking for a weakness in my defenses or a hint of a lie in my reaction. “Aren’t you, though? It’s all over the news.”
“Are you being serious right now? Why would they say something like that?” I hadn’t taken the time to check the internet before coming to the Foundation. I didn’t go out last night, so there shouldn’t be any stories about me. I completely forgot about Sloane’s impromptu press conference on my behalf.
He reaches for his phone, and I go for mine. He’s quicker and holds his up for me to see the screen. Sure enough, there’s a picture of Sloane and me holding hands as we walked back into the building yesterday.
“Shit,” I say, burying my face in my hands.
“So, that’s a yes then?” He’s being awfully persistent with this line of questioning.
“What? No. It’s nothing like that. But that’s what the press does and why you shouldn’t believe everything you see online. The media takes an innocent truth and turns it into something scandalous. God damn it.”
“Oh, okay. Cool.” He seems relieved we’re not a ‘thing,’ as he called it. Why would that be? I mean, I get that he’s got a crush on Sloane. Every teenage guy most likely does. But there’s something behind Ethan’s eyes that makes me uneasy for some reason. Maybe I could rationalize it if I could put my finger on it.
fourteen
Talk to a Friend
Sloane
We make it through the next week without running into each other, somehow timing our coming and going to avoid the other person. Where it’s impossible, we do our best to ignore the other person. Well, that’s what I’ve been doing, anyway. Who knows if he’s ignoring me or not. I’m not looking, so I can’t tell.
