Page 23 of Sorry, We're Closed

Eleven

Sawyer

I try my hardest to shut the front door with minimal noise. I don’t want to be seen, I don’t want to be heard, I don’t want her to acknowledge me.

I want to go upstairs, hide away and stare at this note and poster forever. I don’t want this high that I’m feeling, solely from Avory goddamn Bright, to fly away and leave me muted from anything outside from this house.

This house and this so-called family are all that echo between my ears, day and night, and having this glimmer of something different, something that could change things, for better or worse I don’t know, but I know that it scares me.

The idea of possibly getting to know someone like Avory ignites something within me, the lingering thoughts of his hand on mine, his hand on my knee fuels something inside me which craves more, but it also terrifies me. It terrifies me because what if she finds out about Avory?

The picture is becoming clearer about how Avory could feel about men, especially with this note, and I know I should just ignore him because nothing can happen – I can’t ruin mother’s dream since I destroyed the first one.

I mean, could we just be friends? My mind is an intense game of tug of war, an incredibly attractive guitarist who is completely messing with my head on one side, and everything else that I have ever known on the other. The latter is brought to my sudden attention as her gravely vocals groan from the living room. I gaze at the stairs, wondering if she noticed my arrival home.

“Thomas? That you? Come to the sofa, babe!”

Ha, clearly not for me then.

I peer through the gap between the hinges, watching my breathing as I do not want to be caught. Bottles are stacked across the table, rolling across the floor, slowly falling out of her grasp.

The TV echoes with the news, a stocky and older presenter talking about the LGBT parades and the positive impacts it has for the community, showing clips of joyful faces and couples holding each other, kissing each other, supporting each other. It’s rare to see such a positive presentation on the media of our community, my heart swells at the thought.

“Get this crap off my TV! I’ve got enough of this shit living in that room upstairs.”

I’m taken back by her words as I stifle back the tears, the room falling silent.So now I’m just something? I’m just shit?My feet can’t take me up the stairs quick enough. I’m surprised that I even touched every step on the way.

I throw my bag against the wall; my jumper and shirt are ripped over my shoulders while my shorts drop to my ankles. I kick the outfit to the side as I pull my baggy comforts of an oversized tee and cotton shorts over my frame before throwing myself into the piles and piles of duvet, the poster and note in hand, as I continuously trace Avory’s handwriting.

Hey, thanks for the help with the guitar today.

Care to see me play it sometime? Arrives tomorrow!

Text me.

Avory :)

His phone number lays on the napkin, and I can’t stop myself. I drag my phone under the duvet with me, I load up my contacts and copy the number across.

I go to type a name for his contact before realising what this means. I can’t possibly lead him on. I can’t do anything with him, but we could still be friends, right?

I mean, friends send each other texts, I send Gwen texts, so friends could still be an option. Surely, she can’t exclude me from friendships with men as well. Avory and I are friends and nothing more.

I save him asAvory Bright (JUST A FRIEND!).I have never had to consider how to say hello more in my life. I mutter at myself to shut up over and over as I tap the keys, I need to do this.

Sawyer:Hey Avory, it’s Sawyer :)

My shift finished roughly seven minutes ago. I’m locking the front door to the café and pulling the shutters down, extending my arms up and having a sudden waft of how nervous I am. Luckily, I bring a can of deodorant everywhere with me which I submerge my entire body in. Suddenly, I’m the walking epitome of cinnamon and deep floral undertones.

My mind continues to fumble over itself, it’s trying to run as fast as it can with untied shoelaces and a blindfold on down a slippery street, all at the thought of what Avory will think about – anything and everything to do with me.

My breath quickens, I’ve never gone anywhere other than home after work, what if she ever finds out where I’m going?

In, hold, out. In, hold, out. In – I just need to move my feet toward Pick and Strings and do this – out.

The front door has a bell on it similar to mine, the silence of the evening streets drifting away as the soulful guitar music grows in volume.

Oak, musk and warmth fills my nostrils as my eyes take in the entire aesthetic of these vast displays of musical instruments which I’d never seen past videos online.

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