How We Deal With Gravity(21)
Then one day, out of nowhere, she stopped hanging around, and I always wondered what I did wrong. It didn’t keep me up at night or anything like that, but sometimes, when I’d see her with her friends at school, I’d think about it—she’d always look away, completely uninterested in me. Guess that great mystery is solved now.
“Honey, are you listening to me?” my mom’s teary words snap me back to the present. She’s crying, but it’s that fake cry she does when she wants to get attention. I hate it. It used to work on me when I was a kid, but by the time I was in junior high, I could see right through it.
“Yeah, ma. I’m listening,” I say, leaning forward and rubbing my face. “Look, I didn’t know how long I would be here. It happened suddenly, and you were talking about letting go of the lease, remember? I didn’t want it to be a big deal.”
“But you’re my baby, Mason. You’re always a big deal.” If I had a dime for every time my mom said that to me. I know she loves me, and I know that if I really needed something from her, she’d do her damnedest to come through. But I also know she’s not the first, or even the second, person I’d turn to.
“I know, Ma. I know. And I love you. But I just wanted to figure things out. Besides, it’s a music business thing, and you know I’ve always gone to Ray for help with that,” I say, hoping that’ll be enough to let my mom off the hook.
“He’s so good to you. I owe that man, Mason. I know I do,” she’s switching to guilt mode, and I’ve got to steer her back before she starts with the tears again.
“No, you don’t, Mom. He’s a family friend. He’s my friend. That’s why I came to him, and that’s all,” I say, and she seems to be willing to let this one go…for now.
“Okay, but I’ll get the sofa bed ready for you—you can come stay with me when you’re done with Ray,” she’s insistent on this, and I let it be, just standing and giving her a hug, like a good son.
I’m not leaving Ray’s. I’m not leaving Ray’s because staying with my mother would only make me resent her, this town, and my failure even more. Barb Street is lonely—she’s always lonely when she leaves a relationship. But she’ll find a new one; she always does. I’ll visit and call now that she knows I’m in town. But I’m not moving my crap into her apartment and sleeping on the sofa bed. And I’m not leaving Ray’s house.
And damn. I’m thinking about Avery again.
I’m actually nervous. I haven’t been nervous since the first time Ray threw me up on his stage. But I’m nervous now. I keep telling myself it’s because I’m doing something different, going up on that stage without a band—just my guitar. And I’m playing some cool covers—the kind of shit I always wanted to try. I’m just nervous because I haven’t practiced them much, because I’m going in a little cold.
The place is packed. Word got out fast. I know Claire’s responsible for about half of the people in here. She overheard me talking to Ray about performing. I didn’t know she was such a fan of my music—shocked the hell out of me, actually, considering just a few hours earlier she was busy trying to suffocate me with guilt. Her mood toward me turned around really fast when she found out I was playing tonight.
“You ready, kid?” Ray says, patting my back once and squeezing my shoulder. I let out a big breath and smile. “All right then, I’ll go let everybody know.”
Nothing was ever very formal at Dusty’s. That’s what people loved about it. Even the stage was nothing to look at—a two-foot platform with a black curtain behind it. Once, a while back, Ray talked about fancying it up, but all of the bands begged him not to—it wouldn’t be the same. Playing at Dusty’s was like playing in your best friend’s garage. It’s where you try things out and see how they sit—without all the pressure. Tampering with the environment would just ruin it all.
“Hey there everyone. I’m sure you all heard, but our boy’s in town. He’s trying out some new stuff, and of course, he came home to do it,” Ray says, and I thank him internally for finding a way to spin everything for me. I make a mental note to tell him later. “I’m not gonna make y’all wait for him. I told him he could play as long as he wants tonight, so let’s make him feel real welcomed, all right? Mason…come on up.”
The whistles still get to me, and I can’t help the embarrassed smile on my face. I climb up and take the stool at the front of the stage while tonight’s crowd screams for me. It’s just the stool and a mic—that’s how I wanted it tonight. And even though it’s a crowd for Dusty’s—probably 150 people—it’s small compared to some of the places I’ve been playing.
“Hey there,” I say, my voice echoing a little, and more whistles coming back up in response. I laugh lightly, my cheeks hurting from the embarrassed smile filling my face. The people here have always been so good to me. It used to be the adoration that got me off—the girls thought I was sexy, the guys thought I was man enough to not want to kick my ass in the parking lot after the show. But coming back—playing here tonight—has my eyes wide open. These people don’t love me because I’m some hotshot musician. They don’t care that I have some stupid ounce of talent that sets me apart from them. They love me because I’m theirs—because this is home, and I’m family. The feeling that sinks into my chest is strange, but it’s good.