The Balcony Scene

The ceiling of the basement really needs to be cleaned, thinks Vic as he stares up at it. He hasn’t been down here for an extended period of time since the summer when he was writing the show, so it feels good to return. This is like his home now; the birthing place of his masterpiece. Being here feels right.

His soft brown hair is spread out messily around his head on the pillow, which went flat years ago, and his skinny legs are dangling over the arm of the loveseat. He dressed in an old gray sweatshirt for comfort reasons, but even putting on his coziest clothes and secluding himself in the basement isn’t enough to keep the dizzying emotions within him from threatening to overwhelm his brain.

Vic completed his homework numbly as soon as he got home from rehearsal, refusing to let thoughts of pale skin and dark hair and dazzling blue eyes enter his brain. After that he wordlessly grabbed a notepad and pen and headed downstairs. He’s been there ever since, trying to think rational thoughts but only feeling confusion. Writing songs is one of his best methods for sorting through the mess in his head, but when he puts his pen to the paper the only thing he can think to write is a name. Soon “Kellin Quinn” is scrawled half a dozen times, on one line after the other, and Vic groans and throws his arms over his face.

This is the way Mike finds him when he comes to check on his brother, who hasn’t emerged from the basement for three hours. The younger Fuentes stops at the foot of the stairs, and when Vic doesn’t look up he says, “Hey. You look lively.”

Vic just groans, not really wanting to talk but at the same time soothed by Mike’s presence. It’s like a ghost of the summer, both of them down here, a notepad on Vic’s lap. Déjà vu. Except Vic was never this upset while he was writing Yeah Boy and Doll Face; sure, writer’s block occasionally frustrated him, but even then he was so pumped just to have the opportunity to make his own show that nothing could faze him for long.

He hears Mike come closer and flop down on the carpet by the couch. There is an unspoken communication between the brothers at all times. It isn’t really something that can be put into words, but at the moment Mike can sense that there is something deeply troubling his older sibling. Neither of them speaks right away. Vic continues to observe the cobwebs adorning the ceiling, and Mike’s thumbs are busily pounding away on his cell phone.

Then the younger Fuentes stops, flips his phone shut, and asks, “So what’s up with you, man? You haven’t been down here since you finished Yeah Boy.”

“I know.” Vic chews his lip contemplatively for a second, and then sits up suddenly. When Mike looks up at his brother, Vic is fixing him with an intense stare. “Mike, do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Oh, this is about a boy,” Mike smiles, relieved. “No, dude, of course not. You can’t love someone until you get to know them.”

Vic knows this is going to sound stupid, but he presses on. “What about love at first sound?”

“Huh?”

"What if, I don’t know, you can fall in love with someone just by the sound of their voice?”

Mike raises one eyebrow. “I think the stress of the musical might be getting to you, dude. Just to clarify, you’re talking about a real person, right?”

Vic holds up the pad of paper.

“Kellin Quinn, Kellin Quinn, Kellin Quinn, Kellin Quinn, Kellin Quinn, Kellin Quinn,” reads Mike. He frowns, and then his eyes light up in realization. “Hey, I know that guy! He’s in my class.” He frowns deeper, his brow furrowing, and looks at his brother. “I didn’t know you had a thing for him, dude.”

“I didn’t either, really,” sighs Vic, putting the paper down and folding his legs under him. Now that Vic isn’t sprawled across the entire piece of furniture, Mike pushes himself up off the ground and onto the couch next to Vic. Hopefully he’s not planning on spewing some sort of garbage speech to Vic over how ridiculous he’s being and how he can’t date a freshman and how falling in love at first sound is a dumb idea, because Vic has already tried telling himself all of that and it has accomplished absolutely nothing.

“He is gay, you know,” Mike points out.

Vic nods. He knew that. He doesn’t know how he knew; no one told him. But somehow he did. His gaydar does tend to be accurate to an eerie degree.

“So, what are you gonna do about it, Vic?” asks Mike.

“If only I knew,” groans Vic, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly. He really couldn’t have picked a more inconvenient time to develop such a deep crush one someone he barely knows. Like he doesn’t already have enough on his plate as it is.

Mike watches him as Vic’s hand moves slowly toward the paper and begins to write. The older Fuentes doesn’t really register what he’s doing; he doesn’t think as he writes, doesn’t even look down at the paper, just lets the words crawl out of the pen and arrange themselves into a verse on the whiteness. He allows himself to think of Kellin, of what he felt when he heard the freshman sing his song ‘Bulletproof Love’. Vic didn’t even look Kellin once while he was singing, and it was still one of the most beautiful things he’s ever experienced.

Soon there are a few lines scrawled out on the paper, and Vic’s mind feels pleasantly empty, like he’s released the swarm of hornets that have been trapped within his skull for the past five hours.

Bury me in the bedroom where
I can sing you to sleep all night.
Put me next to the open window
Promise me a second time.
'Cause I don't want to leave without you buried by my side
I'd rather kill the one responsible for falling stars at night
‘Cause they fall all around me.
The night can be deadly

Vic doesn’t know what any of it means, not really. He doesn’t care. He finds that he’s smiling a little, and feels good for the first time that day.

“You know,” says Mike, leaning against the back of the couch and stretching his legs out. “I’m not gay, but even I can see why Kellin Quinn makes you so crazy. He’s really pretty.”

Vic looks sharply at his brother, who shrugs. Vic can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.

“Well, I gotta take a shower,” says Mike, standing up and making for the stairs. Vic listens to the sound of his footsteps fade upwards, and then faintly hears them crossing the floor above him. The older Fuentes sibling stares at the ceiling for another few moments. Then he reads over the verse he wrote, tears out the page, pockets it, and heads upstairs.