Hanging from Heartstrings

Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that we’ve got such an incredible fan base despite us only being signed to a label for four years. Just a few weeks ago, we put out our second full-length album and we’ve been touring ever since – it’s a little world tour of sorts with Olli Lolli and This Sky Abundant, and we’re seeing bits and pieces of the planet that we never even thought about.

And it’s tough, touring. It’s never been really easy for any of us to just leave Chicago and travel the country, let alone fly across the world, but at the same time, nothing beats playing our music for the people who bother to listen. We’ll sweat our hearts out onto the stage and make the crowd sing along, and hearing them scream our lyrics back at us means everything.

That’s especially the case with our new album in the works. There’s always that ever-present feeling of dread when we release new music – our fans would turn against us and call us sellouts and we’d be dropped from our record label after not selling enough, and after our first two releases had only slowly caught on to the public, we were stuck with thinking of a plan to catch interest in advance. That’s why we already know we’re gonna make a music video for our strongest song on the record, “Sell Me Out,” a few months before it’ll drop. It’s not what we’re used to, but it might be worth it.

No matter how good “Sell Me Out” is, though, it’s not my favorite song on the album. No, my favorite is a song that I hardly even sing on, despite me being the secondary singer to Andy’s baritone lead parts. And it’s selfish and self-centered to favor it above all of the other songs that we all collaborated on, but I just can’t help it – my favorite song is the one that Andy wrote about me.

It’s called “Keep Around” and he wrote it in secret before playing it for me on my birthday earlier this year. Apparently he never wanted to put it on the album. Me, Mick, and Chance all told him to put it on the record anyway – we’ve had some deeply personal songs before, and it’s never stopped us from sharing it with our fans.

I have a good reason for holding that song high above any other song that we’ve ever done, though there’s no chance of me saying the true reason beyond it “making me feel good about myself,” as I tell anybody who asks us about it. It’s the most emotional thing I think I’ve ever heard Andy sing and write, and God knows I’ve been with him through his most emotional moments. I think I’ve seen him go through way more facial expressions than any normal human being on the planet – or off this planet, for that matter.

And let me preface this by saying that if you’ve never had a little crush on your best friend, then, well, you’re lying. It’s pretty much impossible to avoid that butterfly feeling at some point in your friendship with them, boy or girl or whoever’s in between or beyond, whatever your sexual preferences are. I mean, personally I like boys and girls, but the point I’m making is still the same – when you develop a close friendship with somebody, there’s always a tiny little feeling of admiration that goes beyond friendly feelings. Sometimes it dies down and blends back into the best friendship you’ll ever have. Sometimes it flourishes.

I guess it’s pretty obvious, what I’m telling you. I had a crush on Andy in college. There’s really no dancing around it.

He was a dork in high school and got on my nerves more often than not, but when we lived together all throughout college in the same dorm rooms and apartments, there was a sweetness to him that came out when we had to sleep in the same room and share the same bathroom. I saw him walk around in nothing but a towel, he saw me naked a few times when I forgot to bring my change of clothes into the bathroom with me, I saw him finish art projects weeks before their deadlines, and he witnessed me want to rip my hair out over all the programming languages and technological psychobabble I had to memorize. He talked me through two of the worst breakups of my life – I caught one guy cheating on me at a party, and the worst was when one guy broke up with me and kicked me in the gut by telling me I was boring and awkward. (Whatever.)

When we sang along to Say Anything songs in our dorm to piss off the people on our floor, when we sat under my lofted bed and watched movies, when we formed the band with Mick and Chance after a lucky encounter at the dining hall – the dude was always there for me. I never had a friend in elementary school or junior high, and after our four years of high school had passed and we came out best friends, we kept it going all the way to this day. College was a hell of a time for us as individuals, and it interlaced us even more.

Up until 2011, the band lived apart except for me and Andy, who shared an apartment in the Chicago suburbs together. The only difference between that and college was that we didn’t concern ourselves with schoolwork anymore – any work we did was related to Put’emup, Put’emup, and since our one EP wasn’t making all of us enough cash to live as the rockstars we were at heart, Andy took up a job as a pizza boy, like he’d done in college.

Through it all, Andy and I have been partners. No, seriously. It’s hard to pry us apart – we have to do it ourselves when we fight about stupid shit, and even then, within days we’re back to making stupid poop jokes with each other again. In a world where I don’t know what tomorrow’s gonna bring to the table, he’s always been there as a constant, cheering me on and helping me out.

Right out of college, we were in the music business, though, and telling him about my stupid little crush sure wasn’t going to help anything, nor would it have gone anywhere. I knew him well enough to know that he was the most romantically inept person on the planet; there was no way we could have recovered from something that monumental and it would only end in me hating myself and him wanting to stay away from me.

So I kept it quiet, squished it into nothing, and here I am, bassist for Put’emup, Put’emup, and we’re right in the middle of playing one of our fan favorites, “Sketchbooks.” Andy wrote it all about his knack for art as he grew up, and if I’m being honest, it’s one of my favorite songs of ours.

The lights are bright on all of us, and I can see Chance sweating buckets with his tongue sticking out as he effortlessly plays every riff perfectly. I’ve never heard him mess up. Mick is a blur of hair and hoodie sleeves behind his drum kit, and every so often he’ll miss a beat, but it’s nowhere near enough to deter anybody. Andy takes advantage of the fact that he doesn’t have to play guitar for this song, and so he’s bouncing around the stage and doing all sorts of stupid dance moves; the audience assumes he’s exaggerating but I know for a fact that he actually can’t dance for all the money in the world.

I sing my parts and keep the bass strings thundering under my fingers, focusing on hitting every note just the way it is on the album. I can’t afford to reach above and beyond by belting out extra notes like Andy can, his powerful voice hardly even needing a microphone. His singing still gives me goosebumps to this day, even when we’re on the same stage, even as the sweat stains my shirt.

After “Sketchbooks,” the show takes a more low-key turn as the lights dim down. It’s a sort of break time for everybody who’s not Andy, and he’s standing behind his microphone as one of our roadies hands him his acoustic guitar. He breathes heavily into the microphone as he addresses the crowd for the umpteenth time that night, beads of sweat falling down his face and trailing down the chinstrap of facial hair he’s kept ever since 2010. He pushes his hair back as it curls down over one eye, a common occurrence, especially with all of the headbanging he does.

“This one’s a slow song,” he says, his voice smooth despite all of the twists and turns it takes in our music. “It’s a new one. Sing along if you know it, get your lighters out, or your cell phones, whatever kids do these days.”

I smile to myself in remembrance of our setlist – he’s strumming out the opening chords to “Keep Around,” my favorite song, and as I stand at the side of the stage with my bass around my back, the butterflies try to return. This is the only song he ever just smiles through. He doesn’t strain his face to emphasize certain lines, and even on the belted notes, he keeps a straight face. That in itself is odd. He never just smiles. It’s always a dumb smirk or an overdone grin, and yet here he is, smiling his heart out just like he was when he first sang this song to me on my birthday.

“And I hope you know
That you are the very reason
That I’m standing on two feet today,” he sings.

Interviewers have been asking us who this song is about, since everybody just knows that he and I are the usual songwriters in the band, even if we’re all getting more collaborative. I pretend to joke around and say that he wrote it about me, and he always agrees and tries to be serious, but the interviewers never believe us. They might think we’re just being stingy. I don’t care. Our band knows the truth and that’s enough for us.

Andy hits the bridge and the crowd is lit up with tiny little cell phone screens (man, I love technology), and that’s when I grab my microphone and start to stroll over to sing my part.

“And I hope you see
Me right in front of you with open arms
And whenever you fall to pieces
I’ll be here all along,” I finish, and as the words roll off my tongue and the crowd cheers us on, Andy is staring straight at me and smiling, and God, it feels good. Even from a non-romantic standpoint, it’s great, knowing that somebody has your back and is proud of you.

The song ends, and Andy puts his guitar behind his back before leaning over and pulling me into a sweat-soaked hug, the spotlights shining heavily on us. The audience is cheering so loudly that I can’t even think. He pulls away and I see his outline shining as his back is to one of the lights, hair dripping with moisture and the smile still plastered to his youthful face. I can’t help but mirror the smile right back at him.

And before I can get a grasp on what I’m doing, I lean over to his ear that doesn’t have an earpiece and I yell, “I love you!” loud enough to cut through the deafening applause.

He puts his hand on my shoulder and puts his mouth right next to my naked ear, saying, “I love you too!”

When he backs away, he’s still smiling and red in the face, but that’s when I realize what I’ve just done. And instead of acting like any decent person, I dig myself deeper into the hole I’ve created from me being an insecure and snarky little shit.

I touch his arm and yell again to make my voice heard over the dying cheers. “No, I mean I’m in love with you!”

He cocks his head and for a moment it feels like my worst nightmares are coming true. I want to puke. I need to run offstage and hurl before things get any worse. I’m sure he can see my face fall at his silence, though the genuine smile written to his mug doesn’t change despite the funny look he’s giving me.

He leans back over to me without going to my ear and keeps eye contact as he tells me, “I know, and I’m in love with you too! Why the hell do you think I wrote that song?”

My heart stops beating for a few seconds, and the shock on my face has got to be evident to somebody other than Andy. But he laughs after a few seconds of a pregnant pause and then he rubs my arm, blushing.

“W-we need to talk,” I tell him, my heart racing. “After the show. On the bus. Like, right away.”

His face contorts into the weird little smirk I’m much more used to seeing. “Alright, we can do that.”

I smile at him again and pat his shoulder before we get ready for the next song – “Anchored.”

~~~

After the show, I throw my bass in the luggage part of the bus while our roadies take care of the rest, and I fly onto the bus. I can even feel my hands getting warmer with the elemental fire coursing through my nerves, which definitely isn’t going to help make matters better. I’ve hurt Andy twice with fire – I once accidentally shot a flame at him as I discovered my power, and I gave him a nasty burn as we got into a fistfight the night before we had to save the planet. Both of those times, I was angry beyond belief.

Now, I’m just scared.

In the heat of the moment and in the heat of the stage lights, I let slip something that I had buried so deep within myself that I hadn’t even let myself think about it for years. Andy probably kept his cool – he’s got the element of wind in his hands, for Christ’s sakes. He’s prone to panic attacks and nervous breakdowns, but when he’s on stage, he’s got the clearest mind of any of us. I guess I was just such a cluster that I just let loose something I can’t even admit to myself.

I’m pacing back and forth alone on our tour bus when the door opens and I snap my head to see who’s getting on. It’s not our bus driver, nor is it any of our crew members, nor is it anyone from This Sky Abundant – it’s Andy, his Johnny Cool t-shirt drenched in sweat, pushing his stubborn hair back with a weak smile. He climbs up the staircase and nods at me. “Hey.”

I bite my lip. “Yo.”

“You wanted to talk?” he says, his hands falling plainly at his sides like we’re just talking about the weather.

So I cross my arms and give him a look that I hope makes him feel stupid. “Um, yeah?”

Mission failed. He’s still oblivious – I can see it in the way he walks closer and still keeps eye contact with me without hesitation or awkwardness. “What’d you wanna talk about?”

“Um, gee, I don’t know,” I tell him, feeling annoyances rise. “Maybe what we said onstage?”

“The thing about you being in love with me and me being in love with you?” he asks for clarification, rubbing his neck. His face is still crimson, but I don’t know if it’s from the show or if it’s from what’s gotta be going through his mind right now. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Are you kidding me right now?” I laugh harshly. Is he honestly acting like there was nothing to it? This isn’t something that cut-and-dry. “’Cause I sure as hell wasn’t. I wasn’t just dicking around with you up there, I was telling the truth.” A truth I haven’t let myself believe in years.

His big eyebrows scrunch together. “What makes you think I wasn’t telling the truth?”

“You said it back so nonchalantly,” I tell him, trying not to glare and failing. I mean, I understand we were in the middle of a live show. But not even a little slip-up? Come on.

“Well, yeah,” he says, finally looking at the floor for a moment. “What the hell else am I gonna do when you tell me something like that, especially when I’ve been keeping it a secret since high school?”

Suddenly, it feels like I’m being stabbed right through the stomach. He’s not smiling anymore and instead he’s giving me the most intense stare he’s shown in ages. There’s a shock crawling through my veins and I feel myself going cold.

“Since high school?” I whispered. “I’ve…I’ve known how I feel since our first year of college.”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem, right?” he says. Andy is an enigma. He can go from being the most immature person in the world, making dick jokes while still being a virgin, to being some wise and weathered artist.

I’m at a loss for words and I’m still reeling. “I-I mean, I guess there shouldn’t be, but…but…” I’m probably making a mountain out of a stupid little molehill that started from my natural skepticism.

“Anthony, look,” he sighs, placing both of his hands on my shoulders. “’Keep Around’ is probably the gayest song in our whole repertoire. When I said that in that one interview with Music Sound, I was being serious. That song is ‘gay’ because it’s…well, it’s a love song. About you. For you.”

He’s biting his lip and he rubs his neck again before placing it back on my shoulder, and as he continues, he turns a deeper shade of scarlet. At this point I’m sure we’re mirroring each other – the heat is coming back to my fingertips and my face has to be bright pink by now.

I don’t know what else to say, so I just mumble, “That makes sense.”

“So…” he starts, letting his hands drop from my arms. “…Now what?”

“I dunno,” I shrug. When I look up at him, he gives me this pained expression of embarrassment like we’re caught in some awkward moment despite us never having those situations. “What do you think?”

Well, scratch that. This is pretty awkward, but not because of what we said to each other onstage. It’s only awkward because Andy is sweet twenty-five and never even held hands with another goddamn human being.

He touches my arm, this time not with a forceful pat like he did with my shoulders before. Only a half-inch of height difference from me to him, he hesitates for a second, moving like a robot as he takes my hand with his, and I just can’t hold back a laugh.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snort, honestly not trying to make fun of him.

“I don’t know, I just…erm…yeah, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he laughs along. “I’m really bad at this.”

“Well, I don’t really know what I’m doing, either,” I tell him. “The only time we ever do anything romantic is when we’re just joking around.”

He does a little shy smile that sends my heart racing again. (He has to feel the sweat in my palms.) He licks his lips and then says, “Is it weird to kiss you?”

Jesus Christ. “No, it’s not weird. Not now, anyways.”

I don’t even have time to hope that he doesn’t see my stupid blush, because before I know it, he’s got his lips on mine and the stubble on his chin is scratching my face. It’s a simple sort of kiss without any tongue or slobber, though I can feel his hand on my cheek as he runs it behind my neck, brushing my hair out of the way. I feel his breath on my lip and I breathe in deep, even though we both smell like complete ass.

I wish I could articulate how often I just kind of wanted to kiss Andy when we were in college. It probably stemmed from the fact that I was in love with him and didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I had no problem thinking he was goddamn great, even if I had to detach the thought from our friendship. We bickered like little bitches half the time, though beyond our petty arguments, I knew how I felt about him deep down in my chest.

Andy pulls back after about thirty seconds of us pretty much just breathing with our lips touching, and he touches his forehead to mine before furrowing his eyebrows. “Dude, you’re burning up. Are you coming down with something?”

“No, you dipshit,” I say. Really. Isn’t it obvious? “In case you forgot, I can control fire.”

“Yeah, and?”

I avoid the obvious joke about him making me hot. “Never mind.”

“Whatever, weirdo.” He rolls his eyes as he runs a calloused thumb over my cheek again, sending shivers up my spine. I find my arms wrapped around his waist to bring him closer. “You really are warm, though.”

I look up – only slightly, since he’s barely a hair taller than me – and just quickly and quietly peck him on the lips again. I guess I know what he’s talking about with the whole warmth thing; even I feel it in the way the heat is getting trapped between us, and even though our sweat is starting to get a little chilly in the late November air of Australia, something about him makes the flames in my body want to go wild.