Fifty Words for Embarrassment

I realized partway through that first time playing my music with the band that my D string was just a little bit flat, which was a pain but not impossible to work around. In any case, it gave me something to focus on other than Marcus' and Reed's expressions. Flo was positively beaming, so when I did look over at our little audience, I looked at her. She had had to hear all about my struggle with the arrangement process. I knew that she understood how exciting this was for me, to have the band playing something I'd prepared for them.

Well, not only did we play it, but we rocked it. I could tell from their expressions that they had enjoyed themselves. "Mozart, eh?" Rupert said as he shifted his guitar to the side. "I think I like Mozart." The room was silent for a long moment. I was watching Lionel, whose eyes were locked on mine. I knew that if he said no to this, all bets were off. His face gave nothing away until it broke out into a winning grin.

"Reed, I can't believe you didn't bring Rhea to us sooner. I bet we'd already be famous if you had. Do you know how much this kind of thing will set us apart? Rhea, you're brilliant."

***

I don't need to tell you the rest of what happened at that practice. I think you can figure it out. They embraced my music. Marcus figured out a way to incorporate some of his own winning lyrics. We started playing those at the occasional parties and wedding receptions that we played at thanks to my father's recommendation.

I wasn't sure at the start of this account, the telling of my story, whether I wanted to go into the details of how we got our following. Oh, yes, the band came to be well known in certain groups and our shows, though never in a very large venue, started selling out without fail. I still don't think that all of the details should be aired, but I'll tell you what I can.

Why bring this up now? Well, here's the thing: I just showed you how it began. They decided to keep me, I decided to keep them, and I brought with me my transposed, rocked up classical music that became our signature characteristic, the one thing that set us apart and made people remember us.

Well, that and Marcus' lyrics.

You only need one piece, then, to fully see how Back to Bach (Yes, Lionel insisted that we switch our band name to suit our new style. Don't laugh.) got to being popular, loved, and even recognized sometimes on the street. Heck, I've even seen my face appear on shirts, on posters, and once, memorably, drawn on someone's stomach with sharpie.

I must emphasize something before I can go on: we were not traditionally famous by any stretch of the imagination. We were too local for that. Still, I did reduce myself to being only a part-time student in college. Really, I was glad that we were successful enough for that because I hadn't the foggiest idea what I wanted to do with my life. The longer I could delay the day I had to formally declare a major, the better.

We had a regular Friday night gig and we were usually booked on Saturdays at a wide variety of places. Occasionally we even played weeknights. It got to be enough work that we were able to pay our friend Mike to help us set up and tear down, not only because it was a lot for the five of us to do all the time, but because it made us feel important. Everyone gets a kick out of feeling important sometimes.

I'm getting a little ahead of myself. You never did hear about the rest of senior year. Nothing at all that interesting happened, outside of the band taking off in popularity. There was one crazy night in New York I mentioned to you earlier Honestly, I regret bringing it up. More honestly, I'm thinking about going to that part of my story, deleting that sentence, and pretending it never existed.

I'm not going to do that.

Here's what happened: I was having out with Reed, who was being infuriating in every possible way since at that time he was acting as though he was interested in me but was being flawlessly friendly. Not that friendly was bad, but I'm talking just-friends friendly here. We spent a few nights weekly together. It was sickening. Even recalling it now, when I know full well that everything worked out, still makes me feel ill. I'm not dwelling on that part too much. Besides, if you've ever been in that position, you'll understand and you won't want to hear about it either. Too many bad memories. It's the kind of painful experience that, if really dwelled on, forevermore leaves the ghost of that horrible feeling imprinted on you. You think about about that feeling and you can so easily recall the wondering whether you'll ever be held close again, whether anyone will ever want to hold you close.

You start to feel undesirable, invisible...

I'm done. We don't need to discuss this. You understand, of that I am certain. Let's talk about something happier, shall we? I bet you've even forgotten that I was supposed to be talking about New York City and my adventure there. But I haven't forgotten, and I'll finish telling you.

I was in the middle of that sick phase where I was constantly half in love with Reed and half sick of him and his refusal to see that we could be great together, and I felt like running away. I thought that if I went far enough and embraced enough change, that if I adopted some other personality, then I wouldn't hurt so much.

I was wrong, of course, but the attempt was fun, anyway. It wasn't at all difficult to get Florence to come with me. She was always up for adventure. In fact, she was the one who figured out which clubs we would be able to get into legally, which we could probably talk our way into, and which threw paint on you while you were dancing.

We went, of course, to the ones that threw the paint. If we were going to do New York City, we were sure as anything going to do it right. In fact, my car still has splotches on the seats from our ride home. No regrets there, since people's reactions their first time seeing the splotches are usually good for a laugh. Still, it did make coming home a little harder.

One thing I haven't mentioned about this little trip that we took is that we did it the weekend of prom. I was supposed to be going stag with Florence, who was a good enough friend that, though she had been asked, didn't seem to mind at all turning down her potential dates in favor of keeping me company. I would never have let her if she'd been interested in any of the people who asked her, but she had her sights set on Marcus, who was the kind of fool to be intimidated by the fact of her being older and was therefore, at that time, shying away from her.

Silly boys.

Yes, so we were supposed to be at prom and we ran off to NYC. My mother miraculously didn't mind (though my theory explaining this is that she was glad I wasn't off losing my virginity in some hotel on prom weekend), Florence's mother had given up trying to keep track of her the day Florence had turned eighteen just a month prior, and my dad had recently given me a gas card.

There was one thing about this escapade that I did not plan, and that was Reed's decision to hunt us down. He showed up at the club we were at wearing a white collared shirt and suit pants, looking thoroughly annoyed with us and wholly relieved. Me, I was glad for the excuse to go outside for a couple of minutes, where the air was clear and you could hear something other than music and your blood racing. Florence, against my better judgement, stayed in the club while I went outside with Reed. She had been wishing for far too long that we would get together and absolutely refused to do anything she thought would hinder the process.

"I'm not sure which question to ask first, Reed," I confessed. "I think I'll let you choose. Would you rather explain why you're here or how you found us first?" I knew that the way my arms were crossed over my chest was a strong indication that I was uncomfortable. I couldn't help it. I was anxious, hopeful, surprised. Unprepared. Still, I had thought this would get a laugh out of him.

It didn't. Rather than being amused, he looked even more serious. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"No, no. It's most certainly my turn to ask the questions. If you really want, we'll take turns, but you answer me before asking anything else." I could feel the toddler in me wanting to stamp my foot for emphasis, but I thought that this would reduce the air of authority that I was somehow, incredibly, pulling off.

Reed nodded. "That's fair. I came here because you weren't at prom. I looked for you. You know, you might have mentioned this little trip of yours. Ever think I might have wanted to come along?"

"Is that your question?" I asked, shifting my feet a little and narrowly avoiding a fresh patch of gum on the pavement.

"No. Rhea, please. I need to talk to you and this isn't the way I wanted to do it. I just... I need to know first why you came here. You and Florence were going to prom together. That was the plan. Why change it? Was it her idea?"

I decided against pointing out that we had agreed on taking turns asking questions. Reed looked exhausted. Drained. I didn't want to make him feel any worse. "It wasn't Flo, it was me. I wanted to get away." Immediately, I regretted my candidacy. I knew that the next question would be-

"From what?"

I inhaled. "I just wanted to do something spontaneous."

"That's not an answer, Rhea. I'm sure it's true, but it's not an answer." Reed shifted so that he was just a little closer to me. "What is it that you were running from?"

I backed myself against the building, suddenly very aware that we were surrounded by all kinds of strangers and aware also that it didn't matter what they thought about me. Reed took another step. "I wasn't running."

"And now you're lying to me. Come on, Rhea, I know you better than that."

"I don't want to talk about it," I said.

Then I realized that talking was, for once, not the best way to communicate what needed to be communicated, anyway. Heedless of my still-wet paint and his crisp white shirt, I pressed myself against him and I kissed him.