Psyche

Jamie’s anxiety is so high strung he has to hide his phone from himself so he won’t be tempted to call Jean and tell him he can’t go. He feels he should make himself throw up before he goes, but he hasn’t eaten anything all day, and the thought of puking on an empty stomach makes him queasier.

Zack isn’t at the house. Jamie doesn’t care where he is, just that he’s not there to see Jean or question why Jamie is standing by the door, looking out the window in agitation. Jamie stands there until he sees a blue car pull up in the driveway and out of it comes Jean.

His jacket’s unzipped and underneath it is a purple plaid shirt that looks awfully similar to the one Jamie tried on yesterday. Jean looks better in it.

The anxiety still doesn’t go away, especially since Jean is in his house talking to Girlie. He plays his part of the charming boy well, and Jamie is sure Jean is stressing out his faint accent on purpose. Girlie keeps her hands clasped in front of her, her pink face letting on she’s smitten with him.

When it’s all done and they say goodbye, Jamie ushers him out. “Your aunt is pretty,” Jean tells him coolly as they walk to his car. Jean looks so much older and handsomer tonight; his hair is curlier than usual and he even smells clean. Or maybe Jamie’s over thinking it.

Jamie carries himself awkwardly, with his hair in his eyes and hands deep in his pockets. He feels silly in his dark jeans and simple, orange baseball tee. He should’ve picked a better outfit.

. . . Now’s a good time to stop thinking.

“She’s too old for you,” Jamie says after awhile, and Jean snorts.

“I can handle it,” he replies, adding to Jamie’s flushed frown. “I’m kidding. Wouldn’t I be your uncle or something if I married her?”

“Oh my God.”

“Interesting thought though. Zay’s sitting in the front, so you’ll have to be in the back.”

It’s not until Jamie gets in the car and sees Zay that he remembers who she is.

Zay’s a pretty, black girl who wears too many bracelets on her right wrist and has a lot of stories to tell. She talks to Jamie all the way to the show. She was a grade above him in middle school, and he remembers her from when he attended art club then. She always got marker stains on her hands.

“You still draw?” she asks, arm hanging out the window. “I still have that sketch of me you drew.”

“Sometimes.” He hasn’t paint or drawn anything worthwhile in months. Those silly comics he draws don’t really count, since he can’t bother to color them or make them look decent. The last major painting he did was a self-portrait. He almost finished it till he decided he hated drawing himself. It’s in the attic now, in a corner covered by a coffee stained sheet.

“You think you could draw a logo for my band?” Jean smiles at him from the rearview mirror, at ease like it’s normal for all three of them to be hanging out.

“Yeah, sure,” Jamie answers, and relaxes into the cushions of the backseat just as they pull into the parking lot of the venue.

Everything’s going to be fine.

It’s T.H.I.E.V.E.S., Ida Maria, and then Glasvegas. Apparently, Jean and Zay are the biggest fans there, because they clap and sing the loudest. Zay tries dancing with Jamie, and he can only sway clumsily. But he’s having fun.

Jamie’s breathing is shallow and his hearting is hopping with each intake. He’s forgotten how great it feels to go to a concert, to hold his hand out toward the band, have his brain numbed, and feel so fine afterwards.

They leave the venue with their minds high and their chest full of delight. Jamie’s glad he came. He’s glad his doubts momentarily left. He can’t believe how content he feels, and without thinking about it, prays this isn’t a onetime thing. He wants to feel like this all the time.