Page 13 of Between Brothers

I pulled my hands which were resting on the edge of the table self-consciously back into my lap. I usually hid the scars on my wrists with sweat bands that matched my uniform at work, but today, I had my mother’s silver and turquoise bangle bracelets stacked on my left wrist and a fashionable leather cuff with an owl on it around the other today, while I was out here in the world.

“You don’t strike me as the type that gets out much,” Cell said, taking a long drawl off his cigarette.

“I’m not, usually,” I confessed. Blue dropped onto the bench next to me, straddling it to listen to what I was going to say. Duracell propped his elbows on the table and leaned in, his cigarette clasped between his index and middle finger, the hand that held it casually holding the other, loosely clasped fist. It was rugged, handsome, the way he held himself. I think the real appealing thing about it was how his deep brown eyes, lightened with hints of caramel, wandered over my face; his own expression passive but interested… he was really listening.

I shifted a bit on my own seat and felt compelled to continue, so I did, saying, “My mom and dad would bring me to this fair yearly. Some of the best memories I have of my mom were made here… well, not here, the Harvest Festival has moved a few times, but, um… yeah.”

“Where is your mom now?” Cell asked taking a drag.

“She died when I was fifteen… breast cancer…”

“Shit, I’m sorry to hear that.”

I nodded and didn’t say anything. While Cell’s words sounded sincere, there was no change to his expression. His face remaining thoughtful, and listening; only in such a way that I would kill to know just what it was he had going on in there. Something told me that I really didn’t want to know.

It was Blue’s hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze that made me jump. When I looked into his clear gray eyes I saw everything that was missing from Duracell’s. Sympathy and empathy both radiated from his expression. He took back his hand quickly from my bare skin and I immediately missed its reassurance… keenly.

“Anyways,” I murmured after the pregnant pause, “I come every year. I can’t help it, it makes me happy.”

“You should always do what makes you happy,” Cell said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure? It ain’t exactly living if you don’t.” He winked at me and got up, stepping out from the picnic table’s bench and giving a stretch.

Blue placed his hand on my lower back and smiled saying, “Let’s grab a beer and find a good spot.”

I smiled and leaned back into the stolen touch saying, “That sounds like a fine idea.”

Blue got up and untangled himself from the picnic table and I followed suit, putting my unicorn beneath my arm and accepting his hand to balance better as I stepped over the bench. He let it go, shyly, before I could tighten my grip to let him know I liked it and that it was nice.

“Find a spot, I’ll grab the beer,” Cell said and left Blue and I to find a table around the edge of the dance floor that’d been laid down. The tables were overturned whiskey barrels with roughhewn barstools. All of them made out of good, old fashioned and in some cases, reclaimed wood.

We found one of the last tables available that had three stools and took our seats, the band just beginning to warm up, the fiddle player drawing his bow across the strings, fingers dancing along its neck, pausing here and there to adjust tension. A hum of excitement reverberated through my spine as the banjo player joined the fiddler. There were no microphones save for the ones for the singers. There were no electric guitars or amplifiers… this was down home country blue grass about to happen and I loved it.

It was generally the only time I listened to it, having always preferred the real thing to a recording. Just something about a recording, even with how clear they were now, didn’t do the music any justice. It needed to be raw, be live, with the light autumn breeze and the scent of wood and grass and yes, even beer.

Cell found us, three bottles between his large, scarred and work rough hands. He set them down around the silly rainbow maned unicorn which I had sat on the center of our barrel top. He parsed them out around the unicorn’s butt between the three of us, one to me, one to Blue and one to himself.

“Cheers,” he declared and held his bottle up. I raised mine and Blue did likewise and we clinked the necks together.

“To new beginnings,” Blue murmured and I kind of like that.

He was right, things had turned some kind of invisible corner for the three of us. It wasn’t I was just their waitress anymore… I wasn’t their girlfriend or lover by any stretch of the imagination, but I definitely felt comfortable with the label of ‘friend’ and who knew about the rest?

“To new beginnings,” I murmured in echo and I drank from the neck of the Budweiser bottle. The crisp, sharp taste of barley and hops flooded my mouth, and I felt myself loosen up just a little without even the benefit of the alcohol hitting my system. Not that I planned on having more than the one.

“Alright, alright!” The singer of the band said into his microphone. “Can y’all hear me?”

A cry went up from the crowd around the floor with some applause, a few sharp whistles split the air and those I could live without. Something about the sharp, high pitched sound made me tense and grated along my nerves like nails across a blackboard got to most people.

The singer introduced his band and without much further ado, launched into a lively first song. We laughed, dancers took the floor and we drank our beers and clapped along. Duracell stood, and someone asked if they could take and use his stool. He nodded and said sure and tapped his foot along to the music.

Blue sat back on his stool, one foot planted firmly on the ground, one on the bottom rung between the spindle legs. He tapped an accompanying rhythm against the edge of the seat with his hands and his smile was both perfect and infectious. He turned to look at me and when he saw me smiling too, his grew even wider.

He held out his hand and I took it, letting him pull me to my feet and then we were dancing. Blue spun me around the dance floor and it was as if we were the only two people in the world. The feeling was amazing, and I let the good in. He kept his hands respectful, the weight of his palm against my lower back and just above my hip sending a tingling sensation through my body.

He applied the barest amount of pressure, drawing me closer as we stepped. His other hand, holding mine, was warm, the palm calloused, his grip light and careful. We were a scant few inches apart and I wondered what it would feel like to tuck myself against his chest and to take shelter in the front of his body. I missed closeness. I missed that feeling of being safe and cuddled and cherished.

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