Page 22 of Tracing Holland

“What?She just looked you in the face and said, ‘nope, not a chance’?”

I shrug.“Sorry to disappoint you, but yeah.Pretty much exactly that, actually.Complete with all the awkwardness and uncomfortable silence you’d expect.Although it was actually kind of sweet in a way.Still, trying to figure that one out.”

Her eyes widen.“Holy crap.You’re serious!”

I shrug again and nod.“Yep.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?Unbelievable.”She actually curses this time and grips her fork in a violent fist.

“I’m sure she just doesn’t want distractions in her life.I don’t blame her.”

Callie rolls her eyes and shakes her head.“Yeah, but still.To come out and actually say it?I will never understand you musicians,” she mutters.“Seriously!You create so much drama trying to avoid drama!”

I laugh and pity her lasagna as she stabs it in frustration.

“It’s fine, really.I’m not looking for a relationship, you know that.”

She meets my eyes, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

“I know you’re not.And it’s ok not to look, as long as you’re not closing yourself off from one finding you.”

“You mean like a wall painting?”I ask just to test her reaction.She looks appropriately confused, and I find some comfort in that.So Holland had been telling the truth.The whole painting metaphor was original Holland Drake intuition.

“Huh?”

I shake my head.“Never mind.Someone told me once that I’m like a painting.People like to look but no one dares to come near it.That I wouldn’t let them even if they wanted to.”

Callie’s expression changes.I shouldn’t have said that.I’ve just invited a conversation I don’t want to have anywhere, let alone at a folding table in catering with crewmembers a few feet away.

“Who said that to you?”

I stare at my plate.“It doesn’t matter.Do you think it’s true?”I ask, daring to meet her gaze again.It’s too late to go back now.

Her eyes search me, the compassion I so admire filling my soul with that strange warmth that’s been creeping in lately.

“Yeah, actually, I do think it’s true.It’s a great metaphor for you, but it’s their loss, Luke.It is, for sure, but it’s also not fair of you to keep denying the rest of the world the beauty inside you.You’re just as much to blame.”

My stomach drops.There should be a defensive quip rising to my tongue right about now, but instead I’m locked in stunned silence.I don’t know how to respond.Nothing seems to fit.

“Luke, I’m serious.You’re ready.I know you’re ready.”

I suck in my breath.“I am?Ready for what?”

She smiles as she shrugs.“I don’t know.For whatever’s next.”

“Hello.Hello.Greetings from the inside.Hello.Hello.Framed in all your lies…”

The crowd is screamingalong with me, twenty-thousand backup singers belting out the now famous chorus as I lean into the mic, emptying my lungs of the music exploding in my chest.I can’t actually hear their cries as the click track and mix pour into my ears from my IEMs, but it doesn’t matter.It doesn’t stop the adrenaline, the rush of being on stage.Of being transported to that one place where everything makes sense.The only place I don’t feel like a stranger.

My muscles tense with each lyric, each strain toward the mic, each violent assault on my guitar.

“Hello!Hello!How you love to see me cry, always so…”

Sweeny kills his riff on the outro and I jump back to give him the spotlight, letting my body take complete control from my head.It’s just raw instinct now.A visceral heat driving me as I dominate the stage, my tiny kingdom.Lights flashing, haze swirling around us.I’m exhausted after the long set, but I don’t want it to end.No matter how many times I do this, no matter how many shows, songs, hours of pouring out my soul, I never want to say goodbye.This is my home, my giant family I will never know.

Sweeny nods after a couple progressions, signaling the end of his solo, and I pass it along to Casey who leads us out with a huge fill.Sweeny, Eli, and I join in, hammering the last chord for a full seven seconds as we let our bodies match the intensity of our sound.

It’s finally time, the end, and I let go of my guitar to hop back on the mic, grabbing it with both hands.