Maybe Someday(71)

laughed. I told him it sounded like a punk

band, that we needed a title with more of

an acoustic sound. He got upset and said I

shouldn’t really be allowed to comment on

how music or titles sound, since, well, yay

for lame deaf jokes from sixteen-year-old

little brothers.

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Anyway, Warren didn’t like how cocky

Brennan was back then, so he said I

should choose the name and everyone

had to agree on it. Brennan got pissed

and walked off, said he didn’t want to be

in the band anyway. I knew he was just

having a Brennan tantrum. He didn’t have

them often, but when he did have them, I

understood. I mean, the kid had virtually

no parents, and he was raising himself, so

I thought he was pretty damn mature

despite the sporadic tantrums. I told the

guys I wanted to think on it for a while. I

tried to come up with names that I

thought would mean something to every-

one, but mostly to Brennan. I thought

back on what got me into listening to mu-

sic in the first place.

Brennan was around two years old, and I

was five. I’ve already shared to you all the

qualities my parents possessed, so I won’t

go back into that. But in addition to all

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their addictions, they also liked to party.

They would send us to our rooms at night

once all their friends began to arrive. I no-

ticed that Brennan was always wearing

the same diapers when he woke up that

he wore to bed. They never checked on

him. Never fed him at night or changed

him or even checked to see if he was

breathing. This is probably something that

had been occurring since he was an in-

fant, but I didn’t really notice until I star-

ted school, because I think I was just too

young. We weren’t allowed to leave our

rooms at night. I don’t remember why I

was too scared to leave my room, but I’m

sure I’d been punished for it before, or it

wouldn’t have bothered me. I would wait

until the parties were over and my par-

ents went to bed before I could leave my

room and go check on Brennan. The prob-

lem with this was that I couldn’t hear, so I

never knew when the music would stop,

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and I never knew if they had gone to their

bedroom, because I wasn’t allowed to

open my door. Instead of risking being

caught, I would just press my ear to the

floor and feel the vibrations of the music.

Every night, I would lie there for no telling

how long, just waiting for the music to

stop. I began to recognize the songs

based on how they felt through the floor,

and I learned how to predict which songs

were coming next, since they played the

same albums night after night. I even

began to learn how to tap along with the

rhythm. After the music would finally

stop, I would keep my ear pressed to the

floor and wait for my parents’ footsteps to

indicate that they had gone to their bed-

room. Once I knew the coast was clear, I

would go to Brennan’s room and bring

him back to bed with me. That way, when

he woke up crying, I could help him.

Which brings me back to the point of this

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story, how I came up with the band name.

I learned how to differentiate chords and

sounds through all the nights my body

and my ears were pressed against the ce-

dar floor. Hence Sounds of Cedar.

Inhale, exhale.

Beat, beat, pause.

Contract, expand.

I don’t even realize how on edge I am until I

see the white in my knuckles as I grip my phone.

We both remain still for several moments while I

attempt to get the image of the five-year-old

Ridge out of my head.

It’s gut-wrenching.

Me: I guess that explains how you can dif-

ferentiate vibrations so well. And I guess

Brennan agreed once you told him the

name, because how could he not appreci-

ate that?

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Ridge: Brennan doesn’t know that story.

Once again, you’re the first person I’ve

ever shared it with.

I lift my eyes back to his and inhale, but for the

life of me, I can’t remember how to exhale. He’s

a good three feet away, but I feel as if every

single part of me that his eyes fall on is being dir-

ectly touched by him. For the first time in a

while, the fear etches its way back into my heart.

Fear that one of these moments will be one

neither of us can resist.

He sets his laptop on the counter and folds his

arms across his chest. Before his eyes meet mine,

his gaze falls on my legs, and then he slowly

works his eyes up the entire length of my body.

His eyes are narrow and focused. The way he’s