Cyanide Sun

Ville shifted in the narrow space, struggling to fit the black acoustic guitar comfortably in the bathtub. Despite having a functional studio in the floor above him, he felt that the acoustics of the room created the perfect setting to compose songs. The pure echo allowed each note to reverberate, and his critical ear could discern what needed to be changed.

The cold touch of porcelain grounded him, letting him fuel his internal thoughts and energy into the music without being inundated by stimuli. A soft strumming of some unfamiliar notes started the session. His mood could so easily be communicated by the notes, and he couldn't quite articulate why the melody captured exactly what he felt better than words ever could. Music just came naturally to him. And playing any song from his sonic diary transported him to the exact moment, the exact feeling as when he composed it. With his eyes closed, Ville focused on the melody that sprung from his fingertips.

He was just settling in, finding the cozy crevice of a song to soothe his soul, when the doorbell rang. Repeatedly. His eyelids shot open, and he waited. But again the shrill tone rang out, longer than before, as if the person at the door could tell that Ville was trying to ignore it. He slouched at first before he clambered out, his sweatpants grazing the side of the tub. With his guitar in one hand, he grabbed his shirt off the bathroom counter and pulled it over his head as he sauntered down the stairs.

His curly hair hung over his eyes, but he couldn’t find a hairtie or beanie by the time he reached the door, cursing, “Oi! Coming!” He opened the door to find familiar green eyes peering eagerly back at him, and Ville glared. “Where’s the fire, Jesse?”

“Sorry there, Mr. Young.” he smirked as he squeezed past Ville to enter the tower. “Guessing I interrupted something.”

“Some notice would have been nice, is all.”

“Oh, brother mine!” Jesse clutched his chest dramatically, amused by Ville’s pessimism, which in turn quickly dissipated and was replaced by a crooked smile. He shrugged. “I rang the bell, didn’t I?”

Turning to lean the guitar against the wall gave Ville the chance to roll his eyes without falling victim to another bout of teasing between the brothers.

“Tea?” Jesse asked as he started down the hallway to the kitchen, and Ville followed closely behind.

“Sure … if you’re already at it, I guess.” From his seat at the bar, he watched his brother fumble through the cabinets before he finally directed, “To the right, third shelf.”

Jesse pulled down the box of teabags and started the kettle. “So, did you find a new drummer?”

“Nah. The wound is still fresh, and I … I haven’t really been looking. I don’t know about the rest of the guys, you know, I’ve just been preoccupied with this and that.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I don't know, it's only been a few weeks so...” he trailed off. His hand gravitated toward the wedding band that hung from his neck, and he absentmindedly stroked it back and forth. “It’s weird because he’s been with us for so long, it’s like losing a limb. I can’t just… I don’t know. I’m torn. The band is all I know so I can’t let it go, but at the same time, Gas is the drummer. I don’t know if we can continue without him.”

“Was it expected?”

“Sure, in retrospect, and for the few weeks before he told us, I did--” He looked up to see Jesse bouncing on his toes. “Would you stop squirming and spit it out?”

“What?”

Ville shot him a deadpan look. “As exciting as the life of my broken band may be, I doubt it’s entertaining enough to warrant wriggling in here on a Tuesday morning to catch the latest update. What brought you here, ‘brother mine?’” he mocked with his staggering laugh.

“Uh, well. I, um. I came to tell you that…” He grabbed the counter behind him to steady himself and beamed. “Aina and I are engaged.”

“That's fantastic!” His face immediately lit up, and he stood to give Jesse a hug. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“When was this? You didn’t even tell me you were thinking about it!”

Dismissing him with a shrug, Jesse handed him a mug of tea. “I was nervous about how it was gonna go.”

“Have you told ma and dad?”

“Yeah, of course. We're having a small function at our place next weekend, just close family and friends.”

“Next weekend?” He squinted his eyes as he took a seat at the dining table. “Am I the last to know?”

“I did say it was a little thing, didn’t I?” Jesse laughed. “You’re not the last to know. I told ma and dad, then I came to see you. It's just a couple people next weekend. Informal.”

“Well, you know I think she's wonderful, and I'm happy to welcome her to the family.” Jesse smiled, but Ville could see his brother was still mulling something over. “What’s got you so nervous?”

He looked up, worry coated his brow. “Proposing was the easy part. I mean, it was torture to keep it a secret until it happened, nevermind worrying about what she was going to say; we had spoken about it, sure, but she could have changed her mind.” The words were flying out of his mouth a mile a minute, and he propped himself on the table and covered his face with his hands. “Now I’m just--I’m engaged? To be married? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m going to fuck this up.”

“Oh, Jesse. You love her, and that's what's important. That's going to get you most of the way.”

Jesse looked at him in disbelief. “I don’t know. I know I want to be with her for the rest of my life, of course. But thinking about that--all those years means all those mistakes I could make.”

“You're a good person. You'll do the best you can. You know, Ave-” He swallowed hard. It had been weeks since he’d said her name aloud; though it slipped from his mouth so easily, the syllable still carried the weight of the relationship and of her death. Jesse waited patiently for him to continue, and Ville took a sip of tea before he started again. “Avery and I had our issues, but no matter what, we did what we thought was best for the other person. We had fights, sure; you and Aina will, too. It's normal. But you'll also fight for each other when things get difficult.”

“I guess it’s just scary because it’s so new, so foreign.” His eyes widened. “So beyond my control.”

Ville scoffed. “Yeah, sure is.”

“How are you doing?” His voice was hardly above a whisper, afraid of the answer. Jesse cupped the tea in his hands, forgetting it was there, as he watched Ville’s body shift to put one leg over the other and bring his arms closer.

He chewed his lip and stared at the floor. “I still think about her. Some days are tough. I’ll see something that reminds me of her--the worst is when I dream of her, and it feels so real that I forget what happened.” His eyes flickered up to meet Jesse’s concerned look, and Ville quickly assured, “They’re memories; I’ll always have them, and it will always be like this. I wouldn’t have it any other way, I don’t want to forget her… Don’t you worry about me, Jesse, I’m well.”

“It’s hard not to worry. I see you so little--you don’t come out much anymore.”

“I’ve always been a bit of a recluse.”

“A bit dramatic, I’d say.” Jesse corrected lightheartedly.

Ville laughed, “But you love me for it.” He took his mug to the sink and muttered. “Besides, what is life without some rough waters?”

“I’d say it was more than just rough waters.” Jesse whispered back.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s all water under the bridge.” He quipped.