The summer after high school graduation, Watts joined a band.
Duncan knew a guy who knew a guy who was the front man for a local metal band that needed a drummer. At first, she'd been hesitant about doing it. She'd spent an entire afternoon unloading a truckload of excuses ranging from her "inability to conform to societal whims" to her "distaste for performing at the bequest of a room full of gawking strangers." Keith had encouraged her, though, and in the end, she'd agreed to join Razor Bleed "on a trial basis."
As it turned out, Watts actually liked being part of the group. It seemed to give her a sense of purpose, and it also folded in rather seamlessly with her job at the record store, where she'd quickly realized that being a drummer in an actual band raised her street cred with her co-workers and the customers.
So, Watts was happy, and the only problem, as far as Keith was concerned, was that the band practiced all the time. Literally, all the time. When they weren't performing, they were rehearsing. And while it was nice to see Watts wholeheartedly devote herself to something that she enjoyed, Keith couldn't overlook the fact that he missed spending time with her. He missed her a lot. When he worked late shifts at the garage, she wasn't there to keep him company anymore. There were no more extended make-out sessions in her car. She might pop by for a quick visit between work and rehearsals, but their time was usually limited to mere minutes instead of hours. When it was time to go, she'd plant a frustratingly hot kiss on him and speed off to rehearse in Jed's garage. Keith knew that he was always welcome to sleep over at her place, of course, but that inevitably involved waiting around for her until she stumbled in from rehearsals sometime after midnight. After a couple of incredibly awkward evenings spent on a threadbare couch with Watts' brothers, he'd decided that he was done waiting up for her. If she wanted him at her house, she could come over and get him after rehearsal.
She never did.
The situation sucked. Keith couldn't tell her that, though, because she seemed content and carefree in a way that he'd never known her before. He loved her too much to be the person to take away that happiness. Instead, he begrudgingly became the long-suffering boyfriend. As June trudged hopelessly toward July, Keith was nearly vibrating with pent-up hostility for Jed and his big-haired band of kettle bangers. The worst part was that he could see Watts easing further away from him, and he didn't know how to stop the slide.
Ultimately, as is so often the case with suppressed hostility, his frustrations reached a crescendo one afternoon. Like a leaky dam, a tiny thread of anger slipped through the cracks. And that, of course, was the impetus for the falling-out he had been hoping to avoid.
One afternoon, they were walking out of the movie theatre when Keith grabbed Watts' hand, reeling her into his chest. For a second, her eyes probed his in confusion. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," he said easily, adding a small, disarming smile to the mix.
"Okay, then." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Instantly, he responded, diving into the kiss with the eagerness of a drowning man clinging to a rope. If she was offering, he was definitely in the mood to accept. But then, just when he was about to suggest that they go park the car in the lot behind the mall and spend some quality time together, she pulled away and said, "I really need to get going. Do you want me to drop you off at your house?"
"Why don't you come by the garage later?" he suggested. "We can order dinner from that Thai restaurant you like."
"Mmmm," she murmured, wetting her lips and bumping her forehead against his. "You know how much I love their Pad Thai . . . . Unfortunately, I can't." She sighed. "Jed just added a new song to the second set, and he wants another rehearsal. We really need to pound it out before our gig at the club this weekend."
"Right," Keith said, backing away and dropping his arms. "Let's go, then."
"Wait. Are you mad at me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
"No, why would I be mad?" he volleyed back, turning away and walking toward the car.
"I don't know, Keith," she insisted, raising her voice. "But I can tell that you're holding something back. Don't bother trying to deny it."
"Okay, fine." He spun around to face her and threw out his hands. "I'm mad because there's always another rehearsal. Always another gig. It's always Jed this, and Jed that . . . . I'm sick of hearing about the guy."
"So, you're jealous of Jed now?" she asked, scowling at him. "Is that the issue?"
"No, I'm not jealous of Jed," he scoffed.
"Well, it sure sounds like you are."
Keith frowned. "That's not it at all, Watts. And if you think the problem is that I'm jealous of some other guy, then you really haven't been paying attention to what's going on." He put up his hands in surrender and walked away.
"Don't you want a ride home?" she called after him.
"I'll walk."
Keith couldn't believe he was standing beneath the Morrison's red Cutlass Supreme for the third time in a month. The thing was terminal, but the owners were doing their best to keep it on the road as long as they could. Some people would do anything to avoid making a regular car payment. Unfortunately for the Morrisons, their car was a leaky dam. Keith could only cross his fingers and hope that this last Bandaid would take care of their issues for a while. When the mechanic started crossing his fingers, it was never a good sign . . . .
He'd just pressed the button to bring the car down off the lift when he heard the sound of a pair of shoes shuffling on concrete.
It was Watts, of course. No one else would seek him out at work. At least, no one ever had. Only her.
Keith raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement and returned his attention to the car as it slowly settled onto the ground beside him.
Looking hesitant, Watts set down a brown bag on the card table in the corner and wiped her palms on her cutoffs. "I brought Thai food," she announced weakly.
"I see that."
"I wasn't sure if you wanted Tom Yum or Tom Kha, so I got both. I figured you could heat up the leftovers for lunch tomorrow."
"What're you doing here, Watts?" he asked. "I thought you had a rehearsal."
"I quit the band."
"What?" he demanded, eyes wide. "Why would you do that?"
"It just wasn't working out," she said. "It's no big deal. I mean, a drummer needs to be free to go wherever the wind blows, and the thing is, I was feeling kind of boxed in by all that hairspray and testosterone. It was time to detox."
Keith rolled his eyes. "Sure, that sounds believable."
"You think so?"
"No, of course not," he said. "Why did you really quit?
"I just told you I was feeling boxed—"
"Cut the crap, Watts. Tell me the real reason."
"Okay, fine," she groaned, crossing the room and hoisting herself up onto the hood of the car. "I don't get why it bothers you so much. I already told you—it's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal," he insisted. "You love the band."
"Well, yeah," she agreed with obvious reluctance, "but it's coming between us, and I love you more."
On a very infrequent basis, Watts voluntarily peeled back her leathery exterior and allowed him a clear view of everything that she stashed beneath the surface. It took a lot to get her to that point, and when it happened, it still surprised him. Fortunately, that was the version of Watts who was standing in the garage with him in that moment. No pretense, no swagger, no derisive laughter . . . . This time, it was just her.
"It's just that . . . ." she began, glancing at the ceiling as if she might find inspiration among one of the discolored ceiling tiles. "I mean . . . That's why you were upset this afternoon. I know it is, even if you won't admit it to me."
"You can't quit the band because of me," he said.
"It's not just you," she told him. "It's me, too. I miss you, Keith. I miss us. And yes, I love being in the band, but there will be other bands. I'm not willing to lose what we have for a bunch of sweaty guys with split ends."
As he walked toward her, he wiped his hands on a rag and smiled. "You won't miss being part of Razor Bleed?"
"Stop it," she chided him. "I know the band name is ridiculous. The next time I join a band, it won't be one with a stupid name."
He planted his hands on either side of her hips and leaned in. "Seriously, though . . . . I don't want you to resent me for being the reason you had to quit."
"I won't resent you, okay?" she promised. "Between the record store, the band and us, I've just got too many priorities. Something's gotta go, and it sure as hell isn't going to be you."
"Okay, then," he agreed, his eyes flickering to her mouth of their own volition.
"And anyway," she added, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "I've sort of been thinking about taking things in a different direction."
"What do you mean?"
"Okay, so I swear, if you laugh, I'll kill you." She sifted her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, an exercise that Keith found calming and arousing at the same time.
"I won't laugh," he said, forcing himself to focus on what she was saying. As Watts curled a lock of his hair around her finger, the sensation was almost too hypnotic.
"I've been thinking of doing something with kids," she explained. "Sort of a big brother-big sister thing. Maybe at a Community Center."
"A Community Center?"
"There are always kids around who, you know, maybe don't have such a good home life. And I was thinking that some of them might be interested in playing the drums. The drums have always been a good outlet for me when I'm having a hard time at home. It could be that way for a lot of other kids, too. Who doesn't like to hit something when they're frustrated?"
He tilted his head and grinned at her. "You're thinking about working with kids?"
"You promised not to laugh."
"I'm not laughing. I'm just surprised."
"I know. It's hard to believe, right?"
"No. Not really," he said, acknowledging that the idea actually sounded pretty perfect for her. "I think it makes perfect sense."
"It's just something I've been kicking around. Nothing definite. And if it sticks, I may be able to work it around my schedule next year."
"I like it," he agreed, all the while moderating an internal debate about how long he should wait to kiss her. He didn't want her to think he wasn't paying attention, but she did have her arms around his neck and she was playing with his hair. . . .
"Can I ask you something else?" she wondered aloud.
"Sure. Anything."
Her legs curled around his waist, suctioning him against her. So, the wait was over. She knew exactly what that particular move did to him. "How big is the back seat in a Cutlass Supreme?" she asked.
Keith angled his head as he slowly melted into her lips. "Big enough."