Page 23 of A Wistful Symphony

Bittersweet Ballad

T he morning following our date feels strange, to say the least. Though ecstatic butterflies flounder in my stomach, there’s also dread.

A crippling fear that at any second Benson or someone else might turn our lovely night into a matter of ridicule.

If the episode with the photos taught me anything, it’s that most of my classmates are utter cunts, so I enter the school courtyard expecting the worst: mocking laughs, finger-pointing, a choir of slurs.

The full post-apocalyptic show of teenage homophobia.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Not a second glance disrupts my way through the corridors, and class starts as usual.

Two boring periods of English literature are followed by maths.

Aside from a few inevitable whispers, nothing happens.

No flogging, no scarlet letter on the chest, no burning at the stake.

Just a regular Thursday. One random girl even dared to stop me on morning break to say we made a cute couple, and she was rooting for us.

Why she would choose this particular interaction to be our first is beyond me, but I thanked her, nonetheless. What else could I do?

The ultimate test comes at lunch hour when I finally cross paths with Benson and his mutts.

He never approaches but can’t resist making wanking gestures when he’s sure I’m looking.

All things considered, it’s a win. I push the jerk out of my mind and resume telling Ollie about our date in excruciating detail—he would not settle for less.

My phone buzzes with a text and your name on the notification screen brings a sudden smile to my face.

can I meet you after your piano class?

Sure

I cannot concentrate on anything else for the rest of the afternoon.

You stand a few meters from the main gates, hands stuffed in your hoodie pockets, kicking a chunk of turf that grew between the pavement stones. I collect my bicycle, withholding a laugh at your miserable attempt to look inconspicuous.

I dare a bit of sass. “Missed me already?”

You shrug and throw me a lopsided grin. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Of course not.” I smile widely and we go on our way.

Our pace is slow, since I need to roll the bicycle by my side.

Not a practical way to go two and a half miles, but I would gladly endure a bit of discomfort to spend some time together.

You talk about your day and how you scolded your friend Astro for last night’s mischief.

I update you on how my programme for the audition is going, venting about the parts I’m struggling with.

You listen carefully and make a few suggestions on how I could tackle them.

It doesn’t bother me as much as before. Now I know you genuinely want to help, not show off your skills.

When did that thought shift within me? I cannot tell.

Soon we discover our schedules are a poor match, since I have class mornings and afternoons, and you work at the club at night.

That little evening gap is all we have. We walk along the country road, purposely taking the longest route so we can spend more time enjoying the sunset.

As we reach the front of the cottage, you kiss me goodbye and leave with a single “see you tomorrow.” When I get out of class the following afternoon, there you are again.

This goes on for the rest of the week, and though we have a date—and time for proper make-out—on the weekend, by Monday afternoon my chest is all bubbly thinking you’ll be outside the school’s ornamented iron gates, the setting sun glinting through your golden hair and lighting up your gorgeously broad smile.

The one you always have when you see me walking towards you.

I wait every day for that single sight.

Later that week you text me saying you’re busy with errands and won’t make it to our daily meet.

Class drags out, entirely deprived of colour, until it’s time to head home.

Outside the school gates, however, a figure stands out like a neon billboard in the sea of navy uniforms. Spiked hair, ripped jeans, arms covered in tattoos, and face glinting with the most bewildering collection of piercings.

I count seven, two on his lower lip alone.

I grab onto my satchel, trying to blend with the other students, but his keen eyes follow my steps.

“Hey you,” he shouts.

Fuck. I hurry for my bike, cursing the damn person who put the rack so far from the exit doors. He sprints in my direction, his long legs quick to catch up with my nervous steps.

That’s it. I’m going to die.

“Eric, right?” he says, as he reaches my side.

“I have no money, but you can take the bike,” I blurt out before noticing my name. “Wait, how do you know me?”

“You think I’m going to mug you? That’s so rude, mate.” He puts an outraged hand to his chest, though his belly trembles with a silent giggle. “I’m Luke McQueen, by the way, but everyone calls me Astro. I’m Andrew’s friend.”

He holds out his hand and I stare, not reaching for it.

“Okay …,” he singsongs, retrieving his arm.

“Sorry, I have a problem touching people’s hands.”

“Fair, I guess.” He shakes his head. “Look, I came here to apologise.”

“For the date? You sure need to.”

“Yeah, that.” He crosses his arms and looks sideways. “I wasn’t taking the piss out of you or anything. I just wanted Andrew to go out and have some fun, and he seems to like you, that’s all.”

“So your brilliant idea was to play matchmaker and see what happened?” I raise an eyebrow. “I have clinical anxiety. Do you have any clue how your little misunderstanding felt?”

“Fuck’s sake, Andy sure knows how to pick them,” Astro mutters. “Fine, not my best move. Andrew already gave me hell, and I guess I deserve it. Can you forgive me?”

“I suppose.” The night went great in the end, but I’m sure not going to tell him that.

“Super!” His friendly grin grows wider but withers immediately. “Because I need to have a chat with you, and it would be awkward if you were still mad at me.”

“Is this about Andrew?”

“Pretty much.”

“I need to be home for dinner, but I can be late, I guess.”

“It won’t take long. I can walk as we talk.”

We stroll along the stone-paved sidewalk with the lowering sun peeping through the blooming treetops.

My palms sweat at being stuck in uncomfortable silence with a total stranger, but I sense whatever this guy has to say must be important if he took the trouble to come all the way to my school.

From what I’ve learned about you on our date, I can only assume this won’t be a happy conversation.

After a few minutes—and a couple of applications of sanitiser on my sticky hands—, I build up the courage to say something.

“How do you and Andrew know each other?”

“You mean how is the reverend’s son friends with a punk like me?”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, I get that a lot.” He chuckles. “My mum is a useless junkie, and I have two little siblings who pretty much depend on me. When things get rough, I go to the parish for donations. That’s how Andy and I met.”

The answer catches me by surprise, and I look down, ashamed for being too quick to judge. “I’m sorry.”

“Chill, mate, it’s not like I’m ashamed of it or anything.” Astro is still smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world, which makes me admire him. After a few moments, however, his shoulders tense and his carefree grin gives way to a concerned frown. “Did Andrew tell you what happened to him?”

“Yeah, he mentioned he left his house.”

“It was a bit more complicated than that.” Astro clenches his jaw. “Andrew had a boyfriend. Some guy from out of town who used to attend his dad’s services.”

“I didn’t know that.” I keep my tone nonchalant, though the information makes my guts burn.

“One day they were snogging in the vestry and the reverend walked in on them. He went crazy. Told the boyfriend not to show his face at the congregation again and dragged Andrew with him. Once they got home, things went south. Andy showed up at my door with a bust lip, telling me his dad had thrown him out.”

I swallow hard, not knowing what to say. A lot of things make sense now. The distant looks, the vague responses, the emptiness in your eyes whenever your father was mentioned. To be cast out from your own family …. No one should have to go through that kind of hell. It’s so goddamn unfair.

“Gosh,” I mutter. “Didn’t his mother do anything?”

Astro scoffs. “Have you met Claire Westcott? The woman doesn’t take a breath without her husband saying amen. She sneaks Andrew a few pounds so he won’t live in the gutter, but that’s pretty much it. The reverend even forbade her to meet with him. Andrew hasn’t seen his mum in months.”

“Jesus.” My chest stings deep. I can’t imagine how you must feel. Even through my darkest shit, I’ve always had my mother to lean on. “What about the boyfriend?”

“Vanished into thin air; deleted his social media and everything.”

“Bastard.”

“Damn right. I’ve been trying to help Andrew ever since, but he’s in a pretty bad place right now,” Astro continues. “He’s shutting me out and getting wasted way too often. Except when he’s with you. Then he talks and laughs like I haven’t seen in a while.”

I smile fondly before the realisation hits me. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“Don’t be mad, but I kind of spied on you two to see if things went okay.”

“You did what ? Do I need to tell you how creepy that is?”

“Yeah, sorry again.” Astro throws me a crooked grin.

“But I’m running out of options. I’m worried about Andy and thought maybe you could give me a hand.

I know it’s a lot to ask. The boy comes with huge baggage and all, but it would be great if you didn’t bail on him.

Though if you can’t handle it, better leave now before it does greater damage. ”

Despite the seriousness of this choice, making my decision takes less than a second. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”