Page 89 of Unbound
I’m just pulling off the freeway when the snow begins to fall, three hours before it’s supposed to. And look at me, I was thinking the weather man was full of shit. In theory, he was a little off on the time frame.
I blame Raven. She was in such a hurry to rush me out the door so I didn’t change my mind. I didn’t think tonight through. Not that I don’t want to be here, but I would have organized myself a little better and oh, I don’t know, dressed warmer. But no, I was hurried through packing and practically pushed out the door.
Walking up Seneca Street, I’m very aware that it’s colder than a witch’s tit and I’m pretty sure even penguins would struggle in this cold.
I try and block my frozen misery from my thoughts as I trek into Bailey’s. I’m not sure what I’m more excited about, seeing Rawley or the prospect of feeling my toes again. At this point it’s a toss-up.
Outside there’s a billboard light up with the distinct Torque logo for their band, a cross between a wrench and a guitar. While Torque began in the basement of Lincoln’s, Lyric, Rawley’s father, let them play in the shop a lot of the times after they’d close for the day. Though Rawley didn’t like working on cars, he grew up surrounded by it and in turn it formed their band in many ways.
My smile hurts, mostly because it’s so damn cold. Blowing into my hands, I draw in a deep breath, bringing in the chilly air.
Once inside, I’m bumped and pushed around from all directions. I can’t believe the crowd they’ve got considering the amount of snow falling outside, but I guess I shouldn’t be completely surprised. Torque has always drawn in the crowds and with tonight being their last concert for a while, I can understand the draw.
I can hear the band and Rawley’s distinct voice booming over the crowd, but it’s hard to see anything with all the people. I’m trying my hardest just to make it to the bar, but it’s a task that’s become more difficult than necessary. I spot Dylan and head his way, hoping he can help me get to Rawley or at least somewhere I can sit and enjoy the rest of the show. I didn’t know who Dylan Wade was until the wedding. Rawley introduced me to him after Red and Lenny left so I kinda felt like I knew him now, or I at least felt comfortable around him.
Gratefully Dylan finally sees me and guides me over to a table near the front that has a reserved sign on it. I’m not sure why because no one is sitting there and Rawley didn’t know I was coming, but I’m thankful for a place to sit.
“I’ve never seen him so nervous before a show,” Dylan admits and then nods over his shoulder to the bar. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Uh, yeah. Tequila sunrise?”
He winks at me, straightening out his posture. He’s blocking my view of the stage and I’m almost afraid to have him move. “Coming right up.”
And then he moves.
Sitting there seeing the band on stage with all the girls in the front screaming and trying to get Rawley and the rest of the guy’s attention should bother me, but it’s the least of my concerns. Because all I see is Rawley on that stage and the boy I will forever love. Seeing Rawley up on stage with Torque tonight is certainly different from every other time I’ve seen him. Even at the wedding. At the wedding, it was clear that performance was about his brother and his new wife.
This, the energetic boy I know, rocking up there on stage, this performance is about them. They’re more confident than any other time I’ve seen them, moving together and feeding off one another and the crowd in front of them.
Watching him is hypnotizing. It always has been for me. From the very beginning when he started performing on stage, I would watch him and everything else around us would fall away. The crowds, the band, everyone, all of it. I can’t help the smile I know is beaming across my face when he spots me.
Coming here without him knowing is a big step for me. I want to believe he’s happy to see me, yet there’s a part of me that’s worried he won’t want me here, inthispart of his life. A life I was no longer a part of for so long.
The look on his face chases away all of those insecurities. It’s like walking into an air-conditioned room in the sweltering heat of a summer day. The smile he gives washes away all my insecurities. He wants me here, with him.
Though his eyes are on mine, he never stops singing or performing. Instead, he turns it up a notch, his eyes on mine and then he winks, his hands moving fast on the guitar during the chorus.
The beat pulses through me, moves with me and I feel more confident than I’ve ever felt in my entire life in his presence. For so long, Rawley was intimidating and now I feel nothing but easiness. His passion for his music speaks through his art, lazy lids as he moans out the lyrics to the slow song he’s singing.
I think of the night in his truck again, imagining it’s what he’s singing about and the careful attention he showed me that night. I’m floating inside, his words silencing my thoughts, simple, spoken so softly into the mic and I know then, for sure, he’s singing about that night.
I stare through the crowd, faces unapparent when he’s the only one I want to see. My stare’s no longer hopeless like it was when I used to see him on stage. This time, his eyes are pleading, assuring me this time it’s different.
It’s when he moves onto a song I know well, one off his EP where I see the lively version of him I briefly saw at the wedding. Only now it’s taken up a notch when he rips his shirt off and tosses it aside, swaying to the heavy drum beat, the muscles in his body tensing with each movement.
Honestly, my first reaction is to think of us having sex by the way he’s moving. Flashes of our time together in his room surface, warmth spreading throughout me when he belts out the lyrics at the top of his lungs, the crowd pulsing around him, jumping to the rhythm of the fast beat song.
I stay at my place in the corner, wanting the view I have here of him in the spotlight where he belongs. I don’t know what it’s going to be like having him back in Lebanon, but I know he can’t give this up. The flush in his cheeks, the brightness in his eyes, he belongs on a stage.
AN HOUR PASSES and the show is over before I know it and my nerves take on a flight of their own. I can’t help but wonder what he’s going to think of me being here.
My gaze follows him while hugs and smiles are exchanged between the band but his eyes, they’re on me, waiting to see me.
Familiarity softens his eyes when he steps forward. His weight shifts and he leans against the wall. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a band’s name I don’t recognize across the front, one I’ve never heard of. His loose fitting jeans hang low enough when he reaches up to scratch down his jaw, I see the lines of his hips.
With him this close now, the wave of voices echoing through the bar, my thoughts crash and I don’t know what to say to him.
“You were amazing out there tonight, well, the songs I heard.”
