Page 87 of Resonance
“Call on Ru’s phone, because I don’t have mine,” he reminded me.
“I will.” A headache had formed at my temples, and I had to focus in order to relax my fingers from the fist they’d tightened into. My blood pressure was through the roof, but I tried to make my voice gentle when I told him, “Do everything the doctor says, and take it easy. I’m gonna try to see about getting a flight in next week to check on things.” I didn’t sayyousince he seemed touchy about it at the moment, but that was really what I meant.
I ended the call and stared at my phone for a minute, then tossed it on the bed beside me and ground the heels of my hands against my eyes.
“Is it gonna be all right?” Ryder squeezed around my knees in the aisle to drop down on the bunk across from me.
“Yeah, think so. Shop got broken into. Owen fucking… I don’t even know what he was doing there so goddamn late and without the alarm…” That was just anger talking, though. I knew damn well it wasn’t Owen’s fault. I let my hands fall to my lap.
“Are you still good to do the show tonight? Because—”
“Yeah, I’m fucking good to do the show,” I snapped, then sucked in a breath and muttered, “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, you’re upset. I get it.” He leaned forward on his knees, voice husky with concern and sincerity. “I’m willing to help you however I can.”
I glanced up, meeting Ryder’s eyes. They weren’t the same eyes I’d recalled over the years. They were older, time-worn, foreign, the lines around them unfamiliar, and not shaped by laughter we shared, or common worry. The landmarks on his body were evidence of a life that moved on without me, and studying him at that moment did a funny thing to me, because instantly Owen’s eyes drifted to the front of my mind. The lively, liquid green of them, the sparkle that danced behind. With effort, I barricaded my mind against visions of what had gone down at the shop, and how, because it twisted and twisted and twisted inside me, and the thought of those eyes dim or dulled or wide with fear? It fucking wrecked me.
* * *
I playedthe show that night on autopilot and called Ru afterward, who told me Owen was sleeping. I’d talked to him briefly earlier in the afternoon, and he’d sounded tired then, too, forced cheer apparent in his voice.
Afterward, he sent me a photo using Ru’s phone with the message,Proof of life. See? Still as devastatingly handsome as ever.
He’d taken it at a three-quarter angle and used a photo filter from some app to give himself a unicorn horn. His mouth was open wide, and there was what I guess was supposed to be rainbow vomit coming out. But just over the bridge of his nose on the side of his face he had turned away were mottled smears of purple bruising. And his eyes had looked dull and exhausted.
That picture joined the ones Ru had sent me of the shop. Display cases upended and broken. Records everywhere. Papers strewn. The glass in the posters I’d framed smashed, like the Merry Pranksters themselves had torn through. I studied each with a forced sense of detachment, but it was Owen’s picture I couldn’t get off my mind. I wanted to be with him so badly, the bone-deep ache of it was almost unbearable.
That night, I lay in a hotel bed that smelled like nothing. Not home, not familiar, not comfortable. Just emptiness. Just transience. And as I lay there, I thought about shit I hadn’t thought about much for going on fifteen years—love, sacrifice, loyalty, and faith—while my heart hammered wild and restless in my chest.
Aural Addiction, Episode #24 transcript:
Dan:What’re the odds that you could quit fidgeting for five minutes?
Owen:Slim to none. That’s like asking a dog not to bark. Dandelion seeds not to scatter in a breeze. Ru not to bitch about having to cover “Freebird” every time he plays downtown.
Dan:Very poetic.
Owen:That’s why I write. What’re the odds you could go five minutes without scowling at an inanimate object like it exists solely to offend you?
Dan:I don’t do that. Do I?
Owen:You did it three seconds ago when you leaned closer to the mic. That’s why you’re always having trouble with it, I bet. You need to nurture it more, be gentle, and reap the rewards of tenderness.
Dan:Are we still talking about the mic?
Chapter 30
When I was twelve, I’d been in a convenience store as it got robbed. It was in a shitty, run-down part of Westhaven, where I lived at the time, but they still carried Jolt Cola, so every now and then when I had enough change, I’d trek the two miles from my aunt’s to get one.
There’d been another lady nearby studying the shelves behind me while I opened the beverage case and pulled out the soda. I’d been in my own world, I guess, because I’d closed the door and was starting back down the aisle toward the register when the lady yanked me back and put her fingers against her lips when I yelped in surprise.
We crouched in the aisle together face-to-face. In the convex mirror at the back the store, I could see the guy at the register, the gun he aimed at the attendant. And I remember thinking that meant he could see us, too, if he cared to look.
The lady clasped her hands over the tops of my knees as we crouched. I wrapped mine around her wrists, and we stared at each other. I had weird thoughts, disjointed thoughts, like I wondered what she’d been looking for on that aisle, because the display behind her had an assortment of odds and ends from single-serve pain tablets to overpriced cartons of motor oil. I wondered where the tiny sickle scar on the bridge of her nose had come from. I wondered if she usually came to this store and where she was on her way to. Those thoughts got tangled up in panic and helplessness.
She kept her hands on my knees the entire time, thumbs moving over my skin in slow, calming circles. Every time I tried to steal a peek at the mirror, she’d gently redirect my chin with a shake of her head. Finally, she cut a look up at that mirror, exhaled a soft sigh, and I knew it was okay.
It took me a minute to assemble the jumble of sound into letters, then words as she spoke soothingly. “Usually they’re just in and out. Don’t want to harm anyone else, just want the cash.” Her eyes creased with worry and weariness. Her dark hair was curled close to her skull, and her quavery smile was infinitely kind and made me feel shaky inside. I wondered later how many times she’d been involved in a robbery to be so matter-of-fact about it.