Revenge Of A Band Geek Gone Bad (7 page)

###

Once I got inside, I checked in and made my way down to his room, 312, pulling my sweater around me as tightly as possible.  The walls of the home are always decorated with colorful notices and photographs, I guess so that the place looks more inviting, but it never seems to work because there's still that heavy stench of death hanging in the air.

The home also likes to hire music therapists to perform for the patients.  I think it's supposed to stimulate them.  So when I got to his room, a young-looking guy with curly dark hair was playing the accordion and singing, "She'll Be Coming 'Round The Mountain" at what seemed like the top of his lungs.  Usually that song's cheerful, but the way he sang it, like he was desperate
,  made
it sound more mournful than anything.  I like the idea that music can help people get well, but my grandfather didn't seem to even notice that the man was there.

Thankfully, the man stopped playing when I came in.  He gave me a little smile and nod,
then
left me alone with my grandfather and one of the nurses.  I placed my painting on the windowsill.  I didn't care what my mother said, back when my grandfather was in better shape, he'd always liked my artwork.  Just in case, I asked, "This isn't going to make him worse or
anything,
is it?"

The nurse eyed my "melted room" picture and smiled.  "No, I don't think so,"
she told me.  "I think it's pretty."

After that, I just sat with my grandfather for a little while.  I'm not entirely sure if he knew I was there, but I swear, I think I saw him crack a little smile at one point.  I was glad that I brought the painting after all.

###

Later, I told my mom that I needed to go to Josh's to study.  He offered to pick me up, but I knew my parents would wonder where I was all day.  I couldn't lie that I was at Lana's because they could just go across the street to check up on me.  So I figured that being honest —- well, sort of honest, anyway —- was the best thing to do.

"This boy, is he the same one from band who called the other night?"  Mom asked as we headed toward his house.  Josh lived on the other side of the lake, past the pizzeria and trailer homes.  My mom made a face as we drove by.  "Are you sure it's safe for you to be in this part of town?"

"Mom, he lives only 10 minutes away," I said.  I rolled my eyes.  Leave it to her to think that you need to live in a big house in order to be safe.

"Well, what kind of homework are you doing?" 
she
went on.  "And is it just going to be you and him?  Why couldn't you meet up at the library? 
Or our house?"
  When she caught me gritting my teeth she said, "Honestly, Melinda, I have a right to know these things!"  She sighed and shoved a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"We're doing chemistry homework," I fibbed, "and yes, his mom will be home.  Don't worry."  I didn't know for sure that she would be home or even if he lived with his mother for that matter, but the less said about it, the better.

"But why do you need to be in his house?"  Mom repeated.  Her expression suddenly changed as she got a gleam in her eye.  "Unless," she said, "this boy likes you."  I groaned.  "Oh, come on, in my day, when a boy liked a girl, he'd invite her over for homework."  She smiled.  "You know, some of the best times I had with your dad were when we were doing 'homework.'
" She
put air quotes around the last word.

I clenched my hands into fists.  I just loved how one moment she was all concerned about my safety because Josh lives in a poorer part of town, but the next she was ready to marry me off to the first boy who spoke to me.  "In your day, you were still doing your homework on stone tablets!"  I snapped.

She frowned.  "I just want you to be happy, Mel.  And it's not normal for someone your age to not have gone out on some dates yet.  This is why I think you should lose a few pounds.  That would definitely help.  Look at Lana," she said. 
"She even dated that cute football player ... what's his name?"

"Dick-wad," I thought.  Or maybe "Jerk-off," depending on what kind of mood Lana was in.

I didn't answer my mom.  Instead, I nodded toward Josh's street, Azalea Lane.  "This is it, you have to make a right," I told her.  As we pulled into his driveway, a grin formed on my face.  "Wow," I announced as I hopped out of the car.  "This looks exactly like the home that serial killer lived in, you know, the one who was featured on
America’s Most Wanted
?"

My mother's mouth fell open and she tightened her grip around the steering wheel.  I ran up to Josh's door before she had a chance to stop me.

###

Josh lived in a small, one-story home with blue shingles and a large bay window.  In the past, a lot of people would spend their summers out by Lake Sequoia so many of the homes in the area are converted bungalows.  I guessed that this is what Josh's house was.  But while many of the other homes around the lake looked as if they were going to fall apart, Josh's was in good shape.  A row of trimmed bushes lined the stone pathway and a set of wind chimes hung by his front stoop.  There was even a stone bird bath on the lawn.

When I rang the doorbell, Beethoven's "Fur Elise" played.  A moment later, an attractive blonde woman answered.  Turns out that Josh's mom was home; then again, this lady looked so young she could've been his sister.  "Call me Lily," she announced as she beckoned me into the living room.  "You must be Mel, right?"

"Yes," I said, suddenly feeling shy.  I stood right by the door, not knowing what to do next.

"Josh has told me so much about you," Lily went on, her blue eyes twinkling.  She motioned for me to take a seat on the floral-patterned couch.  "He says that you play flute and that you're a really good musician."

Lily's long, blonde hair was tied back in an elaborate braid and her floor-length skirt was covered in embroidery.  When I got closer, I saw that she had chunky rings on almost every finger.  There was something about her that immediately made me feel welcome; I think it was the way she gave me the same lopsided smile as Josh.

"I've been playing the flute since I was a kid," I said, "so I guess I am pretty good."  I wanted to ask her what else Josh had said about me, but didn't want to seem too pushy.

"Did he tell you that I play guitar?"  Lily asked.  She nodded to the guitar case that was propped up in the corner.  It was covered with stickers, each which had the name of a city.

"No, actually he didn't."

"Well, I teach it.  And I play in a band.  I was even in a rock band for a few years and went on the road. 
Had some wild times."
  She got a dreamy look in her eyes as she said this, as if she wanted to go back to those "wild times" right then.

"That's really cool," I said, impressed.  "I want to be a professional musician, too."

"
It's
hard work, but you'll do it," she said, looking right at me.  "I can tell just by being around you that you like to chase your dreams.  I can also tell that you're very introspective
;  you're
the type of person who sees hidden truths in the world and strives to expose them."  At my surprised expression, she shrugged.  "I'm good at sensing things about people; it's a gift," she explained.  "Sitting here with you just now, your aura spoke to me."

I found it kind of funny that my aura was a better conversationalist than I was.

###

After a few minutes of talking to my aura, Lily got up and peeked into the hallway that was adjacent to the living room.  "Josh!" she called.  "Your friend is here. Get out of the shower."  When there was no answer, she yelled even louder, "JOSHY!  Come out right now."

Okay, this confirmed it —- Lily was indeed his mother.

A red-faced Josh emerged a minute later.  "Mom, I got it from here," he said, toweling off his damp hair.  When Lily went to tussle it, he ducked away.  “Mom, come on!"

I giggled.  Even Mr. Cool sometimes got embarrassed by his mommy.

###

Once we entered his room, I paused and took a good look around.  This was my first time in a boy's room —- not counting my cousins' or anything like that —- and I needed to take it all in.  I was now in alien territory.

Only Josh's room was anything but alien.  It was actually neater than I imagined a boy's room would be, though there was a lingering scent of sweat and old
socks.  Still, everything was in place.  His wooden-framed bed was covered with a brown and white plaid quilt and his worn carpet was tan.  Across from his bed was a desk with his computer and in the corner was a small TV.  His walls were completely covered with rock posters, almost all featuring old bands and musicians.  There were ones of The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, The Ramones, The Beatles, Cream, Steely Dan, Metallica and Kansas.  Right above the bed was a framed photograph of the legendary trumpet player Dizzy Gillespie.

"Sorry about leaving you with her like that," he said plopping down on his bed.  "She has this thing about treating all of my friends as if they're
her
best friend or something."

I took a seat in his computer desk chair.  "It's okay, she was nice.  She seems so laid-back, so different from my mom."

"She's pretty cool for a mom," he agreed, playing with his bedspread.  "And she works really hard, has two jobs.  Somehow with all of that, she manages to keep me from starving."

"What about your dad?"  I asked, but as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I regretted it.  Not everybody has both parents at home.

"He split when my mom was pregnant with me," Josh explained in an even tone.  "I don't know much about him.  Kowalski's not even his last name, it's my mother's."

"Oh."  I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say.  Was I supposed to now hug him or something since he'd shared this sad personal story with me?

Josh eyed me.  "Don't feel sorry for me," he said sharply.  "We're not rich or anything like you
are
, but I'm glad that I don't have some loser for a father ruining my life, you know?"

I nodded.  "I guess.  And I'm not rich," I insisted.  "My mom always makes me shop when there are sales in the stores.  She's always reminding me that we have to save up for college."

This is true.  Even though my parents do pretty well for themselves when it comes to money, my mom hates spending it.  My dad's always buying new "toys" for himself like a huge flat-screen TV or an
iPad
, but I don't think my mom's purchased a new outfit for
herself
in at least five years.  I’m lucky I have a new phone, but that’s mainly so they can keep tabs on me.

"Yeah, well, for the first four years of my life, I lived in a van while my mother and her friends were busy touring with their band," Josh shot back.  "If it was a good
day, we had a decent meal.  But there were plenty of times when we made soup for dinner by dumping ketchup packets into water."

"Wow."  Shopping in the bargain bin hardly compared to that.

"But anyway," he said, obviously eager to change the subject.
  "Why don't we put some music
on.
"  I gaped as he pulled out a box of vinyl records from his closet.  "How about this?" he asked, holding one up.  "You like
Jethro
Tull
?"

"Who?"
  I'd never heard of them before.  I couldn't get over the fact that Josh had a record player.

"Seriously, you don't know
Tull
?" 
he
said, shaking his head in amazement.  "I would've thought you'd have been all over them."  He placed the record on his player.  "I think you'll like them.  They've got this kick-ass flutist in the band.  Trust
me,
you've never heard anything like it."

"Okay," I said, eyeing the record player.  I know my grandparents had them growing up, but the only other times I'd seen them were in museums or antique shops.

"It's pretty cool, huh?" he said, grinning.  "It used to be my mom's.  She saved all of her albums."

"But she's so young!"  I blurted out.  "Surely she grew up with CDs."

"She did, but albums are historical, you know?  A lot of these are original recordings that she got online or in vintage music stores." He put his finger to his lips.  "Now listen," he said quietly.  "Here comes that flute I was telling you about."

I closed my eyes as the rock tune suddenly launched into a lilting flute melody. Josh was right; this really wasn't like anything I'd heard before.  The flute sailed high above the bass line, twisting and contorting the notes until they were almost unrecognizable.  I drummed my fingers in time to the beat.  When I opened my eyes, Josh was lying back in his bed, a glazed expression on his face.  I recognized that look because I'd gotten it many times while I was practicing.  He was melding into the music, dissecting every note and beat and nuance.  He let it take him into another world.

###

Once the album was over, Josh hopped off of his bed and carefully placed the record back into its case.  "That was awesome," I said.  "First thing I'm doing when I get home is downloading them."