BAND-AIDS

A SHORT-STORY FEATURE: BAND-AIDS

By Mary Elizabeth Neas

I opened the garage door and coughed.

There was a certain amount of dusting that needed to be done before I could even think about getting started on this project. The place was mostly empty, except for a few boxes, a workbench complete with mechanical tools, and a band setup that hadn’t been touched since the incident.

Nevertheless, it had been gathering dust since December, and if I was going to be giving drum lessons, it had to be cleaned.

“Any snakes in there?” Kade called. Kaden Bradly Lou was standing ten feet behind me, almost six feet tall and deathly afraid of anything that crawls. I pulled the chain to the lights and squinted. “I don’t think so,” I shouted. “There may have been a raccoon or two, but the only things left seem to be spiders.”

Kade backed up even further. “Spiders? How many? What kind? Where are they?” I turned on my heels, “I don’t know, I just see webs.” He had backed up almost to the end of the driveway and was running both of his hands through his dark hair. I laughed at him.

It was never going to not be funny to see someone so tall and confident run away from something as small as a spider.

“Kade, get over here,” I said. “NO! It’s not safe,” he called. “Yes, it is!” I was getting annoyed, “Do you want to learn drums or not?” He replied, “Can’t you just bring them out here?” I walked toward him, “Yeah, if you want the cops called.”

If he wasn’t going to help me clean out the garage, I wasn’t going to put the band back together. The early April sun was making his already obnoxious Hawaiian shirt even brighter. The way we were both dressed suggested that the band had never fallen apart in the first place. My jean shorts and off-white cardigan and his layered white tank top and Hawaiian shirt combo with black pants, almost the same outfits we were wearing the first time we got a gig. I reached the end of the driveway and looked over my shoulder, and the memories came back to me in crashing waves: the day I spent setting up the space, weekend practices, school talent shows, the time we got into a Nashville

recording studio. It should have been nostalgic, but I didn’t miss it that much. I felt the humor and optimism I’d woken up with slowly draining.

“Is this really about the spiders? Or is it about Josie?” I took the space beside him, looking at the garage.

He sighed and tugged on his shirt. “There really wasn’t anything we could do, was there?” I ran my hands through my hair. It always seemed like we had the same nervous habits. “I don’t think so, hurting you was her decision. The rest was just a mess.”

Josie Louise Patric was our old bass player. She and Kade had been dating for years, but one day we found out she was trying to move in with a singer from California. Then, she packed up and left, and we hadn’t heard anything in months. Kade, for his part, took it pretty well for the first week, but after that, he refused to find a new bassist and blew up at the rest of us until we just decided to call it and take a break. I thought we were ready to come back now, but things were definitely going to be different.

“Is five months too soon?” I asked. Kade looked at the ground. The wind picked up, and the sounds of kids playing in various yards grew louder. The sounds of faraway cars and distant birds completed the soundtrack. He looked up a little, “I don’t think so; if we don’t start now, it’ll never happen.”

“Fair,” I admitted, “and are you sure you want to play drums? I can play whatever if you still want the main vocals.”  Kade shook his head, “No, I messed up. I need to take a step back, and drums seem like a good fit.” I hated to admit that he was right; this was the first change that needed to be made. From now on LabTunes will be a group effort, not just Kade and the gang. He spoke up, “Okay, let's do this, spiders and all.” He hooked my arm, and we took a forward march to the dusty, spider-filled garage.

We both set to work moving the set outside. The mic stands and drum kit needed to be cleaned, and the amps and pedals needed to be rearranged. I put Kade to work sweeping out the garage while I polished up the kit. The weather was nice for the middle of April in Tennessee. I hummed along to the soft rock Kade had put on while I de-rusted the cymbals. The wind continued to gently wave the new green branches of the trees in the yard and the low sun in the sky made for a cool day. There really wasn’t a better day to do this.

I heard singing and looked up to find Kade was doing more singing than cleaning, using the broom as a microphone, and dancing around the garage. “And you’ll find her … sitting in the back of the bar … ba du da du da du.”  I joined in, “She’s talking to the ex-front man of her favorite band she ain’t heard yet ...”

Then the broom turned from a microphone to a guitar, and he started mimicking the way I used to dance around the stage to the guitar line. I put down the screwdriver and searched around for a rag that I had put down, continuing to half laugh half sing. Slowly but surely, the bolt came loose from the cymbal, and we were back in business. The sun dragged across the sky, moving the shadows off the driveway leaving the drums in a blinding spotlight.

I looked down at my watch, it was 2:30 pm I heard brushing from the garage Kade was actually sweeping and singing. I remembered why he was our frontman, there was something about his voice that wove into the instrumentals so perfectly that it filled in every nook and cranny.

“Can I listen,” sweep. “For the drag of the hand, towards fission,” sweep. “She’s losing battles, to tempting shadows, when she’s alone,” sweep. “For all that I know,” sweep. It was effortless, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or not. I just stood there until he was done. “Cause if you needed someone else to help you fight off your demons, you’re just a body, just a shell, just a heart that stopped beating,” sweep, “So when I, spent the night, in the gaze of strange eyes would you mind? Oh, tell me would you mind?”

He’d dropped the broom and had his head tilted towards the ceiling. I guessed he hadn’t been looking at what he was doing, judging by the number of cobwebs on his pants and the jar of bolts that was now on the floor. The song ended and the next one began, something slow and cinematic that I can never remember the name of. The song before, I remembered vividly as the one he’d blasted in the passenger seat of my car as we drove back from the airport, defeated, the night Josie left.

I gave him a second to breathe before I said anything. “Are you done?” I laughed, leaning on the frame of the garage door. Kade jumped and picked up the broom, “Good night, Rey. No, I haven’t mopped yet.”

“And the bolts?” He scratched his head, “Yeah, I bumped into the bench.” He shrugged and pushed back his hair before going to fill up the mop bucket. “Right, I’m done with the kit, so why don’t you mop that half while I pick up over here?”  I spent about five minutes picking up every single bolt and moving boxes under the bench. By the time I had finished putting the bench back together, Kade was almost done with the first half of the floor. The streaks of mop water on the floor swirled in wide circles where he had been dancing around as he went. I laughed; maybe this would turn out better than I thought. I had been worried about Kade coming back, and how everyone else would take it.

Since Josie left, I had noticed the maturity he had gained in the six years we had known each other had disappeared. The frat boy I’d found sitting on the steps of the science building pulling his hair out because he had forgotten to study for his chemistry final, was the same man that was dancing around my garage. “Hey dancing king,” I called, “want to mop this side?”

I left him to it and assessed the mess that had been moved from the garage to the driveway. Besides the clean drum kit, some amps and pedals needed to be organized, and noise-buffering cloth tarps needed to be washed and hung back up. The good thing was, the pile was more of a hill than a mountain to tackle and most of it needed to be done after the floor dried. I could do it all myself, but it would take longer than I’d like it to.

I sighed and reached around my wrist for a hair tie. I don’t know if it was the heat or the stress, but my hair had to go up. The green leaves of thick beech trees rustled as I stared off into Webster Street. The sun was settling into 3 o’clock and the light was streaming through the trees on the other side of the street. The sounds of cars passing on the main road were becoming more frequent with the rush home drawing closer.

“Okay, done.” Kade was now standing behind me, “You good?”  I scratched my head, “Yeah, just looking at what’s left. We could wash the tarps while the floor dries since we can’t exactly put electric equipment back on a wet floor.”

He gathered the tarps off the concrete. “We can take them back to my place, I think my dryer is bigger than yours.” I shrugged, “Sure.” I unplugged the speaker before picking up half of the pile, and we started the walk back to Kade’s house. It was a less than five-minute walk to his house, even while carrying almost ten yards of fabric.

When we reached his front porch, he dumped his half of the tarps on my head while he dug for his keys. “Hey, I’m not a coat rack.” I laughed. “Yeah, you’re not tall enough for that.” Keys jingled in the door and when the jingling stopped I heard the door open. “Here,” Kade laughed, taking some of the tarps off my face.

We gathered all of them and dragged them into the house. Kade’s house was darker compared to my olive and white decor, navy blue walls with gray accents and black furniture. We dumped the tarps on the living room floor to see exactly what we were working with and I said, “Let’s just split the pile into four and put in one at a time.”

Kade took the first pile back into the laundry room while I split the rest up. I heard the machine shut and start rumbling. He emerged from the back of the house and looked at his watch. “It’s almost four, why don’t I take care of the rest of this tonight, and you can organize the amps and pedals like you want?”

I yawned, “Sounds good.” I looked around at the small mountains of fabric, “Are you sure you can handle this?” He smiled and replied, “Positive.” I left him to it. Chances were, he would put the first pile in the dryer and forget about the rest, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

As I walked back to my house, cars began pulling into driveways as the regular workday was coming to a close. The wind rustled the trees above me that were providing dense shade against the sun. Since we were only a month into daylight savings time, the sun was getting ready to paint the sky in its evening pinks and oranges, and the sounds of parents calling their kids home from their after-school adventures filled the air. It didn’t seem that long ago that I was climbing over creeks with the neighborhood kids and having to leave the far-off jungles of the Amazon and come home for dinner. Now, I was a grown-up, teaching music while I saved up to build my recording studio.

“Evening, Regan,” someone shouted. I looked around to find a middle-aged, blond-haired woman leaning out of her front door. “Hello, Mrs. Charlie,” I smiled. Her son, Huge, took guitar lessons from me on Wednesdays, and they had been the first to welcome me to the

neighborhood two years ago. “Just wanted to let you know Huge broke his arm at recess this week and will be in a cast for a little bit. He was really looking forward to showing you his new guitar, but the poor guy can’t use his left hand for a little bit.”

“Aw, well, tell him I said I hope he feels better, and I can’t wait to see it.” Mrs. Charlie smiled, “Will do! He really does love music, thank you for everything you’ve done.” A light came on upstairs, and a little boy looked out of the window. Huge was upstairs, waving at me with a red cast covered in drawings trying to get my attention, “Of course, ma’am.” Mrs. Charlie looked up and saw her son in the window. She shook her head. “All right then, you have a good night, dear.”

“You too,” I waved and went to walk away, but stopped one more time to wave back at Huge. Mrs. Charlie had run inside to get him down from the window and he was still trying to get my attention as his mom pulled him down. I laughed, the kid was known for climbing on the roof from his bedroom window, something he bragged about often while I tuned his guitar.

When I made it back to my house, I looked at the mess that still needed to be cleaned off the driveway. The garage wasn’t attached to the house and would better be described as a shed since I kept the old 1975 Thunderbird parked outside. Nonetheless, the set couldn’t be left outside all night, so I checked to see that the floor was dry and began pulling the set back inside. I put the drum kit in the middle and slid it back as far as I could while still leaving room for Kade to sit behind it. Then I put the mic stands to the right of the kit temporarily and moved the amps inside. The bass and guitar amps went to the left of the kit where they could both reach the wall outlet and the pedal board which still needed dusting went in front of the guitar amp. I then looked around the stone-gray garage, and something looked off. It looked too sterile, more like a storage container than

a practice space. The string lights; I had left them outside. I went back out and began stringing them on the hooks around the walls.

As I moved around space, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the window. Not even the sunset could cover up my winter pale skin, and my light brown ponytail was beginning to fall out, leaving my shaggy bangs floating around my forehead. I was a mess but looking at myself I saw a younger version of me; 17 and smiling as I hung lights around my parents' garage, back when I hated my freckles and wore nothing but band T-shirts and jeans. The place was mine now, and the difference between 17 and 25 was astronomic. When my parents moved out of the old neighborhood and halfway across the country to Utah, they sold me the old house and called it my graduation present. Now, twenty-something and starting my life, I got to make this place my own.

When I finished hanging up the lights, I looked around. The whole place felt warmer. The yellow lights sparkled and the view of the setting sun outside was golden-like waving wheat fields, and warm and familiar like my grandmother’s house. I decided to call it quits for the night, shut off the garage lights, and head inside. My house was open with windows on almost every wall, and every window was filled with various plants. The walls were olive green with off-white trim and the stairs leading to the two small rooms upstairs were covered in the same stained oak wood that my dad had installed in the rest of the house.

As I moved around my kitchen, mindlessly looking for something to eat, I found myself doing something my mother called mourning my teenage years where I let myself get lost in the past and began to regret things. I’ve always found it strange that she calls it that because, to be quite frank, I was never really a teenager, in the media’s opinion of course. I never spent nights driving around with my friends, talking about nothing and everything as we listened to bad music or going for ice cream after dances and taking bad pictures of each other. My friends left me to myself aside from the occasional, “Can you come over and help me with this assignment?” or “I love you so much, could you please run lights in the play this year?”

As my mom describes it, I grew up when I was six and never looked back. There were moments where I felt like a real teen, like sitting on my bathroom counter painting my nails and listening to The Smiths or taking myself to the mall in Cool Springs to window shop. Other than that, I was an adult in a kid’s body, with all the responsibility with none of the freedom. I loved music though; my entire life was my guitar and my dad’s records. That’s how I got here, teaching music and trying to make this band work. Kade is a whole different story, but he waltzed into my life by accident, and it has been quite the rollercoaster since.

I finally decided on the leftover tomato soup in my fridge and a grilled cheese. I hummed as I heated everything and watched 5 o’clock turn into 6 o’clock as I ate at the kitchen island. The world was slowing down as the sky got darker, and the chorus of birds became crickets again. I looked at the corkboard hanging on the wall across from me. It was covered in pictures of the band over the past three years. Polaroids of Kade and Grey Caleb Roberts having lifting contests, Sunny Jo Preston looking majestic under the purple lights with her acoustic guitar, Josie and I standing back-to-back with our respective guitars, Kade playing piano, group pictures from gigs and trips. I wanted to get back there, back to my crazy life, not famous but fun.

I didn’t care it was only 6:30 pm, I was tired. So, I picked up The Hobbit and went to read it until I fell asleep. At 10:30 am the next morning, Kade, surprisingly, was in my driveway with the tarps. We spent about an hour pinning them on the walls and rearranging the band setup until it looked like a real practice set, mic stands in the front, drums in the back, guitar on the left, bass on the right, and computer setup on the cleared off bench. Then came the interesting part, teaching him to play drums. Though drums were more of Grey’s specialty, I was tasked with teaching Kade to play a new instrument since I was the music teacher. I wasn’t starting from scratch since Kade had some experience; in high school anyway. Though it had been over seven years since his front ensemble days, I got the feeling that he’d be less than willing to make corrections.

Kade was leaning on the workbench, attempting to toss and catch a drumstick. His body language screamed, I know that I’m better than you, his signature, at least before Josie caught his attention. He’d prided himself on being dark and mysterious, but the fact that his fraternity voted him class clown three years in a row says otherwise. I was trying not to laugh at him again, every time he dropped a stick, he frantically tried to catch it before it hit the floor.

I pulled an extra stool next to the drum set. “Okay, lesson one.” Kade kept on staring out of the garage, the sounds of birds filled the dead space. “Kaden,” I tried again, louder than I intended and he looked up sharply, “Hmm?” I gestured towards the set, “Drums? Do you want to get started?”

He sat down, looking the set over, “How hard could it be?” I snorted, “This is a bit different than tympany or bells, but let’s see what you remember anyway.” He blinked and looked at the sticks in his hands, and back at the set, “Snare, bass, and three cymbals, not sure about these two. I guess it's been a while.”

Trying not to use my teacher's voice I said, “Right, did you play quads at all in high school?” He replied, “Some, I never marched

with them, but I played a little of everything.” He played a decent roll on the snare and finished with a cymbal crash. “Not bad. Do you read sheet music?” I asked as I reached for a folder of our old music. “I’m a bit rusty but sure,” Kade remarked.

I flipped through the folder and pulled out the drum part for “Sara-tonin.” It was the first song we wrote together in college. Kade was head-over-heels in love with this girl from Bio 1 and showed up at my dorm at three in the morning wanting me to try the guitar line from the song he wrote for her. It was the most confusing thing I’d ever read, and I ended up spending the rest of the night rewriting it. Though the R.A. didn’t appreciate me having a boy in my dorm so late or that I was using my dorm as a practice room, it was one of those rare moments that I felt like a real teenager.

“Here, this one should be beginner-friendly. I think Grey had only been playing for two months when he wrote it.” I clipped the sheet into the stand and reached for my guitar. I heard Kade working through the rhythm as I dug around for an amp cord that would reach across the garage. I decided to pull out the old wood-grain Fender, my first electric guitar. I was still playing it when the band first started and even though I didn’t use it too often, it gave the song its original raw sound, not too flashy or powerful. My current blue and black modified Mustang was too powerful for our original indie-rock sound, I built it specifically for the solos that I’d found myself writing recently.

I hooked the Fender up to the main amp and tuned it while I talked to Kade about the rhythm. “You got it, or do you have questions?” He confidently tried the main rhythm stating, “No, this one runs in my blood at this point.” It wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever heard, but there were going to be weeks' worth of practice before he was band-ready. “Right, I’m going to run through the guitar part. Do your best to follow along and stop if you get too off-beat. The most important part is hitting the crash cymbals at the right time.”

He smiled, “But you don’t wanna talk about it,” crash, crash, crash, “I’ll walk you to class, you won’t say a word.”  I joined in, “I love your silence, love your glances, the way you smile.”  I was laughing again, this time at myself. “Okay, okay.” I breathed, “Let’s start from the top.”  Kade raised his drumsticks about his head and hit them together to count us in. “One. Two. Three. Four.” Suddenly I was 19 again, borrowing the music department’s practice room, smiling as we recorded LabTunes’ first song. It didn’t matter that only two parts were being played or that Kade was two counts behind me, it still sounded like the Miami sun, bright and choppy.

“Just tell me what you want. Tell me how to tell you. Tell you I want you in my life.” Crash. Kade gave one final crash, and I finished off with an echoing slide. We were both laughing, it had been a long time since we’d played that one. “Hey,” he looked at me, “that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in months.”  I shook my head, “Really? What about when we went to Puckett’s, or when Sunny took us hiking?”

“No, like really smile,” he pointed a drumstick at me. “There’s a difference between the one you make when you are trying to make everyone else happy and the genuine one.”  I put my guitar in its stand, “Right, I guess it felt good to finally get back into real music instead of “Hot Cross Buns” and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”  Kade put the drumstick down, “I bet. So, how’d I do teach?”

“Not bad, you’ve got the set pretty much figured out. You just need to work on speed and consistency.” I leaned back on the wall. Things were looking up; soon we’d be ready for a full comeback. Kade went home for the night, leaving me with my thoughts again. I went through the binders and binders of

music and pulled out every song Kade had written for Josie. I sorted them into their folder so that I wouldn’t accidentally give one to Kade for him to practice. I wasn’t sure how much he still cared about her, but I wanted to be safe anyway.

As the sun set on another day, my thoughts wandered again. My brain brought up the comment Kade had made earlier, “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in months.” Was he paying that much attention to me?

Did I care? Some part of me did, otherwise, I wouldn't be sitting in my room thinking about it. For years, he went through crush after crush, sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn’t, but he never seemed happy. I’d always been content to take my classes, write my music, and hear all the drama-filled tales of Kade’s adventures in love and failure. I’d never been able to take a hint, something he pointed out quite often. Maybe he was hinting, or maybe I was reading too far into this. I don’t know why I’m always trying to find the meaning of things; it makes life so much more complicated. Before I even began to think about dating anyone, I needed to get myself figured out. For the record, I don’t even know what I want.

Over the next two weeks, Kade came over every other day and practiced. I could tell that he was happier than usual, and I found myself returning to old moments in time. Singing and playing guitar while Kade mastered song after song made me feel like a teenager. It was like I’d lived my awkward adult years when I was a teen and was living my teenage years now, or something like that. Kade also seemed to be making excuses to come over more often.

We decided to take a hike along River Walk Park, the sun was hiding behind puffy clouds and the sound of the running river created a rhythm under the singing bugs and birds. “You know what?” he asked. “I think that lemonade is ten times better when a little kid sells it to you for 10 cents.” I took a sip

from my cup and laughed, “Yeah, it has to be. If it isn’t the best lemonade this side of the Mississippi, Billy won’t make any money.” I appreciated this; life felt so much slower now. I don’t know exactly what it was, but it was different. I was finally hanging out with people again, something that had always been hard for me.

“Hey, look a ladybug.” Kade reached for my shoulder, picked up a blood-red ladybug, and handed it to me. “Your lucky charm,” he exclaimed. The small bug crawled around my palm for a moment before taking off into the sky. “I can’t believe you remembered that,” I said. “Of course, you wore those stupid earrings every time we played at a new venue, and how can I forget all the stickers you put on your case?”  I laughed, “I’m not great at hiding things huh?” He crumpled up the paper cup and stuck it in his pocket, “Not really. Are you teaching today?”  “No,” I replied, “you should be good to come over whenever.” Kade said, “It’ll definitely be later; I’ve got some errands to run first.”

We walked back to the Square, and he drove me to my house before taking off towards the north side of town. I found myself smiling involuntarily again. I looked at myself in the mirror, “Come on Regan, you are twenty-five years old, just say something, what’s the worst that can happen?” Then the worst that could happen played in my brain, losing my best friend, losing the band, and having songs written about me. The same things played in my brain every time I thought about bringing my feelings up with him. I also didn’t want to admit that I was starting to fall in love, not even to myself. The timing was just off, or I just wasn’t ready, or I was scared. Either way, it didn’t matter, the band came first. I composed myself and went to tune my guitar.

Around 6 o’clock, as promised, Kade came over to practice. Things were playing out as usual, I picked out a song, Kade practiced the rhythm for about half an hour and then we played through it a few times, rinse, and repeat. We were singing, laughing, and talking until a car pulled into the driveway. I stopped; the car had rental plates. It wasn’t my parents, they always called before they came to visit. “Were you expecting anyone?” Kade asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, maybe they’re just turning around.” I was quickly corrected, the car stopped, and sighed as the engine turned off. Then, out stepped Josie, the last person I was expecting to see. “What is she doing here?” I asked quietly. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Kade whispered. She had the same dyed dark wine-red hair she’d left with, but there was something different about her. It could have been the California tan or the way she stepped out of the car like a model, obnoxious sunglasses, and all.

I’d stopped imagining this homecoming after she blocked all our phone numbers. But for a while I’d thought she’d come up to us, crying and apologizing and after a few arguments and time to heal, it would be like nothing happened. But she confidently strutted, visibly smacking gum, up to the edge of the garage. Arms stretched out she exclaimed, “Surprise!” Kade squeezed my shoulder and stood up. Josie stopped right in front of him, “Hi ba…”  Kade backed up, “Nope, don’t start that. You can’t just show up here.” Josie tilted her head, “But I wanted to surprise you.”

“No, you don’t get to leave me, leave us, leave the state, and go live with some star and expect to be welcomed back,” Kade commented. “But Kay,” She looked even more confused, “I needed to find myself, I needed to see the world, we …”  He countered, “Nope, there was no we in that, you left, you hurt me, there is no we.”

I bit my bottom lip. I wanted to say something, but it wasn’t my place. I don’t know what she was expecting, if she had left for better opportunities, she should have said

something instead of leaving in the middle of the night with no explanation other than a text. Kade sounded jaded as he argued, and something clicked. I’d been regarding him as an immature man-child for years. Annoying as his antics may have been, he was still my best friend. But he had matured more than I’d realized. I had been so busy worrying about my past that I couldn’t see the changes that we were going through. I was the one who refused to grow up, it didn’t matter how much he changed, I was the one who stayed the same. I couldn’t let go of the idea of living the perfect teen years, all that I’d missed out on. I was the one that needed to grow up.

I heard Josie’s grating voice, “Rey Rey? Back me up?” I reached behind me and pulled out the folder that I’d put all the songs about her in. “Absolutely not.” I stood up and handed her the folder. “He cared about you, we all cared about you. And you left. He chased you, heck we both chased you, and you left all the same. If you want proof, here. That’s how much he cared, and you want me to back you up? No, go back to California and leave us alone.” Josie blinked at me, took the folder, and left.

I went over to the workbench and sat down on the floor. “Yikes,” Kade muttered. I didn’t look up. “You did make copies of those right?” “Nope,” I replied. “Grey probably did though.” Kade sat down at the drum set and ran his hands through his hair.

I spoke up, “She shouldn’t have done that.” He sighed, “I know. She never thinks of anyone but herself, like consequences don’t apply to her.” I felt like a kid again, but this time it was different. Instead of laughing and singing, I was curled up on the edge of my bed after my childhood best friend told me I wasn’t allowed to sleep over anymore or hide under my desk during a big summer storm. I took a breath, I needed to be in the present moment.

“Anyway,” apparently Kade had continued talking, “what’s important now is moving on, right?” I agreed, “Yeah.” Kade got up from the drums and walked over to the bench, “There are better things to focus on anyway.” I looked up at him, he was smiling now. “So, what’s the moral of the story here?” Kade asked, sitting down beside me.

“Does there always need to be one? Can’t we just call it life?” I reached for his hand and as he took mine, the sunset outside, and the morning doves sang good night. If I was going to have to be a grown-up, it would be nice to have someone to do it with. I scooted closer to him, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. Suddenly, the garage floor wasn’t so cold, and the world was a little less empty.  Cars were passing on West 7th Street, crickets were singing, and a breeze whistled softly as it resulted in leaves.

“She really is gone,” I muttered. “Mmm,” Kade agreed and his tone was less far off and more intentional. I felt him brush my hair off my face as he leaned over and kissed my forehead. It didn’t matter what that meant, it never had. It was life, quiet and understanding.

MARY ELIZABETH NEAS is a senior at Columbia Central High School who plans on attending the University of Alabama in Huntsville to study physics. She is a lifelong reader and writer who loves music, dance, and exploring.