No More Secrets

The next morning, Nancy and I were sitting outside on the hill leading down to the dock and I was telling Nancy all about last night.

“I mean, it’s not fair! He was really nice, has no piercings, or tattoos (that I could see) and he dove into the river to ‘save’ me because he thought I was drowning! Mom doesn’t like him because Deidra won’t let Charlotte and Samantha near him. She doesn’t have her own opinions when she comes over here!”

Nancy gave me a look she had never given me before: A look of seriousness. “Lilly. I know it might not seem fair, but think about it. You met a random guy, who seems nice. You’ve known him for what? Twelve hours? Maybe, she does have some influence from Deidra but remember: she’s your mom. She loves and cares about you. All I’m going to say is be careful. He may not be what you think he is.”

“So, you think he could be some psycho killer with a hit list of girls he’s saved from watery graves?”

Nancy laughed. “No. I mean he may not be telling you everything. He might be married with five children. He might be involved with a Hindu cult. He might have a girlfriend. You don’t know!”

“Nancy, I’m eighteen. Can I make my own decisions?”

She sighed and looked at me. Nancy shook her head and got up from our lawn chairs. “Do what you want. But please remember, you just met him so you have to be careful what you believe. If he seems too good to be true, he probably is.”

And with that she left me to think about what she had just said. Was I naive? Why did mom and Nancy think Brendon was a bad guy? Was he hiding something I should know about before fully trusting him? I mean, he did try to save my life. All this pondering was giving me a headache. I got up and walked to the front of the house and sat on the steps. I trusted my mom, but something was telling me Brendon wasn’t what she thought he was. As I was questioning my mom’s objections, I heard the rumble of a car engine. An orange Voltz Wagon drove around the corner and sitting in the driver’s seat was Brendon.

He stopped in front of the steps and from the inside of his car I could hear Linkin Park’s "Numb" blaring from the speakers. He stopped the car, the music cutting off immediately, hopped out and walked up to the bottom most stairs and stood there for a moment. He was wearing a gray and red stripped shirt, blue jeans and dirty converse, very similar to the ones I happened to be wearing. I couldn’t tell what he was looking at; his eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses.

“Hey.” I said finally.

“Hey.” He said shyly. I doubted Brendon was one to be shy and was wondering why he looked so uncomfortable.

“I see you’re alright.” He said trying to brush off the awkwardness.

“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t in the water long enough to get sick.” I said hugging my legs. When in an uncomfortable situation, I tended to hug myself in reassurance that I was okay.

“That’s good.” Brendon said slipping his hands into his back pockets. “I…uh...well, I wanted to see if you were okay. Your butler obviously didn’t want me around for very long last night.”

I smiled. “Reg was just doing what he was told. Deidra has this thing against musicians. She thinks they’re all wild and have drug dealers on speed dial. I guess she…”

He took a step onto the first step as if proving a point meant getting closer. “You can tell your mom…”

I cut him off. “She’s not my…”

“Wait a moment.” He said putting up a hand. “Let me finish. Your mom can’t make assumptions about me. She doesn’t know me, and I’m not wild and crazy and I don’t do drugs. Judging people before you get to know them is just about one of the worst things you can do. ”

I couldn’t see, but I was willing to bet Brendon’s eyes were burning with the injustice of being pre-judged. “I’m sorry, but I really have no power over…”

“Did you at least tell her I ‘saved’ you from ‘drowning’?” he asked using air quotations.

“I really don’t talk to Deidra . And besides she’s…”

“So you just let her think I’m a wild, drug addict musician? She didn’t care you were in the river?”He asked his voice rising in frustration.

“Deidra really doesn’t care.”

“Oh, my God.” He said quietly. “What kind of mother…”

“You know.” I said jumping up from my stair. “For not wanting to be judged, you are doing a lot of it. You don’t know Deidre, who just happens to be my aunt. And who knows? Maybe she has a good reason for not liking musicians, and has chosen to not publicly share that information.”

Brendon looked like he had shrunken a few inches. Maybe it was because I was four stairs above him, or because he was ashamed of being called a hypocrite. In any case he kept his head down as I marched up to the front door.

“Thank you, by the way.” I said as I opened the door and walked inside. One thing that really got on my nerves was a hypocrite, which was what Brendon happened to be. In the few moments outside I had concluded that that mom may have been wrong about Brendon being a drug addict musician, but he was guilty of being a hypocritical idiot. I had a very low tolerance for people like him and wondered why I had defended him against mom last night. She was right, I didn’t know him and wasn’t too sure I wanted to.

I hadn’t even made it to the middle of the entrance hall when there was a soft knock at the door. I stopped in my tracks and thought of just ignoring him. In fact, I was seconds away from running up stairs when there was another knock at the door. I sighed and turned to open the door. Brendon was standing with one hand raised to knock again and the other still in his back pocket. He had taken off his aviators and stuck them into the collar of his shirt. He looked at me sheepishly and apologized to his Converse.

“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have said those things. It’s just…” he looked up and our eyes met. For a second I thought my insides had turned to liquid. Then I remembered why I was mad at him. “It’s just; my parents aren’t too thrilled that I’ve seriously taken up music. They are worried about the whole wild and crazy party scene, and were hoping I’d go to college and be a doctor or something. I hate that they’ve put this stereotype on something I love.”
He was genuinely sorry, and I could tell he was sick of putting up with the stereotype that so many people had. But that didn’t excuse how he had talked to me.

“I’m sorry.” I said looking at him. He looked at me in hope that all was forgiven and we could start over. But I closed the door and ran up the stairs before I could hear him knocking again.