— FRANKIE —
8. #SHOWMEYOURWOOKIE
There are a lot of stories hidden in the scratched and battered surface of a kitchen table. A table, more than any other piece of furniture in a house, has seen the full gamut when it comes to the ordinary and extraordinary events of a family and the people in their lives. Especially the table in Nana’s kitchen.
Dinners, arguments, celebrations, big decisions, late night discussions—our table had always been the heart of our family, the place where we came together whether the reasons were good or bad. There had been a lot of meals shared at the DiGorgio house, and I treasured every one. Sometimes that meal resulted in raised voices and slammed doors, but in the end, love always won out no matter how heated things got. The dining room was for special occasions, but my favorite gatherings were the ones at the kitchen table.
I could still remember the time when we were gathered around the table after school, eating fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies with tall glasses of milk. My brothers, as usual, were rough housing and pushing each other around, yelling and arguing as they always did. I remember Nana releasing an annoyed breath as she stood at the counter cutting vegetables for soup, telling them that she was going to “cancel their birth certificates” if they didn’t settle down and behave like they “got some raisin’.”
Of course my brothers didn’t listen, and the moment that Pauly sent a cookie flying across the table nailing Tommy in the forehead, all common sense was forgotten. Tommy launched out of his chair, knocking it to the floor as he tried to wrestle with Pauly across the old wooden top.
Without a word, Nana calmly strode across the kitchen and drove her fancy chef’s knife into the middle of the table like an assassin, barely missing my brothers. She’d plunged that blade so deep in the wood that when she let go, it remained upright, vibrating with the force of her anger. My brothers immediately went still, staring in shock at the knife wedged into the wood.
“I’ve seen tree stumps in a Louisiana swamp with higher IQ’s,” Nana snapped, glaring at them. “Get out of here before I knock you three into next week looking both ways for Sunday!”
With her angry expression and the knife still embedded in the table, my brothers had scattered like roaches, knowing better than to stick around. Once the boys had run out the back door, Nana turned and smiled at me, shaking her head.
“Those three are about as useful as a steering wheel on a mule sometimes. But with a few good ass whoopings, we’ll get them into shape.” She winked at me and then asked, “Want another cookie?”
My brothers didn’t dare show their faces again until dinner was ready, and by then, the argument was forgotten, and peace had settled over the worn wood once more.
But it wasn’t just that deep gouge marring the table that gave it its character. There were circular ring marks forged into the wood from icy lemonades in the summer and hot cocoas in the winter. There were marker and glue stains from the many school projects the table had birthed, not to mention the scratches from the old sewing machine Nana had sometimes used. It was mind boggling how many memories—happy, sad, angry, and comforting—that one table had seen. Every dent and mark was a badge of honor, a moment in the life of our family.
I ran my hand along the rough top thinking about how I had just as many scars as that old table top did, even though the effects of my past weren’t as evident. Unlike the table, I’d buried my scars a long time ago.
Lifting the steaming cup of tea to my lips, I glanced at the clock. It was almost noon, and I was still in my pajamas. After the events of last night that led to an early morning return home, I hadn’t planned to do much work today. It was Saturday, so I indulged in a late morning.
I was grateful that Drew had come to my rescue last night. He showed up at the station and bailed me out about ten minutes after Austin was released. I tried not to be hurt that Austin had walked away without a backward glance or concern that I was still handcuffed to the chair, but I knew I honestly couldn’t blame him. Not only was our past and friendship in tatters, but I had stolen all of his underwear and shoes just hours before. He had every right to walk away and leave me rotting on that old desk chair. At least for the night.
A knock rattled the back door, and I looked up in surprise as Drew let himself in. He had a Dunkin Donuts box propped against his side, and I had to resist the urge to jump up and hug him. I was desperately hoping he’d brought it to share.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.” I gestured at one of the empty seats, and he sat down, pushing the box across the table to me as he took a sip from a Styrofoam coffee cup. The smell of sugar was strong as I used my finger to lift the top of the box. Inside, was a mix of donuts, but my eyes zoned in on the six chocolate iced ones… the kind that were filled with something delicious. My favorite.
“You are an angel,” I said in complete adoration as I grabbed the nearest cream-filled donut.
I took a huge bite and was a good half dozen chews in when the taste finally hit me. My shoulders collapsed inward as I gagged and did my best not to vomit all over myself. I dropped the half-eaten donut back into the box and stood up quickly, the force of my disgust knocking my chair backward. The loud crack of the chair hitting the floor was like a gunshot. But I didn’t care about the noise or that my carelessness had probably damaged the hardwood because my body was in the midst of a massive revolt.
I rushed to the sink and spat out the half-chewed food, retching while I did so. The water blasted into the sink when I raised the lever, and I cupped my hand under the stream to frantically wash out my mouth. My body was heaving and gagging over the taste I couldn’t seem to wash away.
Once I’d scrubbed my tongue clean, I turned off the water with an irritated slap of my hand and turned around to fix Drew with an icy glare. He was looking at me with his coffee poised midway to his mouth, an incredulous expression on his face as if I’d gone absolutely mad.
“What the hell, Weatherby? Are you trying to poison me?” I snapped. I wasn’t sure if I was angrier about the disgusting taste or that I might never be able to eat a donut again thanks to the last several minutes. And not being able to eat a donut again? That was a fucking crime in my opinion.
Drew’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked at me and then the box on the table. He picked up the discarded donut and inspected it carefully. Gingerly, he brought it to his nose to sniff and then he recoiled in disgust.
“Ugh. It smells like mayonnaise.” With the defiled pastry pinched between his fingers, he tilted it from side to side as he scrunched up his face in distaste, his mouth pulled into a grimace like he was holding a dead animal.
“Mayonnaise?” My shoulders jerked up, and I blanched, my stomach clenching in response. “What kind of moron accidentally mistakes mayonnaise for icing? Wherever you got these, you should take them back. Someone needs firing. Or maiming.”
“Take them back?” Drew’s expression suddenly smoothed out, and he closed his eyes as he chuckled.
“You think this is funny?” I asked. Drew was a big guy, but if he’d ruined my ability to ever eat a donut again, I would still attempt to kick his ass. Nobody messed with me and my fried dough. “You don’t fuck with someone’s baked goods,” I warned.
He leaned back in his chair, laughter shaking his burly frame. “It wasn’t me,” he said, holding his hands up in defense. “I didn’t even buy them.”
I crossed my arms, still a little stick to my stomach. “What do you mean you didn’t buy them? Where’d they come from?” If he’d fished them out of a dumpster or something, it was going to be like Pulp Fiction up in this kitchen. Like that scene where Samuel L. Jackson went all biblical on those idiots in the apartment. I felt like I might need to strike down upon someone with some furious vengeance.
Drew arched an eyebrow at me. “I found two duffle bags full of boxers and shoes shoved under my seat this morning. I put two and two together and figured they belonged to Austin since he was bitching about it last night. I had planned to check on you this morning anyway, so I decided to drop his stuff off first.” He lifted his cup of coffee and extended one finger to point next door. “Austin was on his way over here with the donuts and saw me. Asked me to save him a trip.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course. Austin knew those icing filled donuts were my weakness. He knew I would dive face first into one without a thought. Jesus, I’m stupid. And I still felt like I was going to barf all over the place.
I walked over to the table and tore apart the other filled donuts just to be sure. Yup. There were six, and every one was filled with mayonnaise.
“So wrong,” I muttered. “If I wasn’t so disgusted, I’d be impressed. This is pretty evil.”
I flung the remnants of the defiled donuts back in the box. The time he must have spent removing the icing and filling the donuts with mayonnaise? That was some seriously messed up premeditated revenge. Especially after he’d spent most of the night in jail with me. Knowing perfect Austin, he’d probably even gotten up early and went for a run before putting his plan into action.
“Wait.” Realization dawned on Drew’s face, and his expression suddenly went from amused to offended as he pointed at the box. “How did he know I wasn’t going to eat one of those fucking things?”
I laughed. “Because he knows me well. I would have scarfed down half the box before you even took one bite. And if I hadn’t… Well, every good prank has collateral damage.” Shrugging, I gave him a wry smile.
Drew huffed and stood up. “You two need to work this shit out before someone else gets caught in the line of fire.” He yawned as he lifted his arm and examined his watch. “Well, I’m out of here. I have to go to a birthday party for my niece, and if I don’t leave now I’m going to be late.”
“Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Before you go. I need to pay you back for last night.”
“For what?” He fished his keys out of his pocket and twirled them around a finger once before catching them in his fist.
“Bailing me out…?” I said slowly, the question heavy in my voice. “Hold on and let me get my checkbook.” I only hoped I had enough in my checking account to cover whatever he’d had to pay.
He chuckled. “No need. I didn’t bail you out. I just came to the station to give you a ride home. In fact, when I got there, your friend Cat was going head-to-head with Jared Bennett Senior. If you want to thank anyone, you should thank her. Apparently, he was there to press charges, and she was having none of it.”
Crossing my arms, I bristled at the name of the man who had put my father in jail more times than I could count. “Jared attacked me first. If anyone should be pressing charges, it’s me.” I pointed to the marks on my neck.
Drew shrugged. “You could. You probably should.”
He didn’t try to talk me out of it even though we both knew that pressing charges would just be an opportunity for my family name to be hauled through the mud again.
I came home to sell a house, not create town gossip. There was a part of me that argued that letting Jared get away with attacking me would give him permission to do it again to some other girl. But there was also a part of me that believed going through a trial would be far more invasive. And it wasn’t only my shame that I had to worry about anymore. Jared Bennett, Sr. would unbury every horrible truth and manufacture whatever lies he needed to protect his son. And right now? Pressing charges wasn’t worth it. Jared wasn’t worth it. I had more important things to protect.
“Nah. I think Jared learned an important lesson.” I twisted my lips into a wicked sneer. “I’ve got a strong knee to the balls with his name on it if he ever thinks about touching me again.”
Drew flinched. “You kneed him in the balls so fucking hard last night I think you knocked him back to puberty.”
I chuckled, not even a little sorry. “Let’s just hope he remembers it.”
“I don’t think anyone will let him forget it.” Drew gave me a conspiratorial look and took a sip of his coffee. “Especially Austin.”
“Austin?” I asked, incredulous. “Austin will be lucky if Bennett doesn’t press charges against him. I defended myself, but Austin….”
I reached up and rubbed the side of my neck as I thought back to the night before. I had just stood there, stunned and a little turned on, as Austin turned into a raging lunatic. He tackled Jared to the ground and then beat the ever-loving shit out of him. If his cousin hadn’t pulled him off…I didn’t want to think what could have happened. I’d never seen Austin lose control like that. Couldn’t even imagine why he would bother or risk it.
Draining the last of his coffee, Drew crossed the kitchen and tossed his empty cup into the trash can. “Austin will be fine. He told Bennett that if Jared so much as even breathed wrong around you, he’d make sure it was a hearse that took him away next time and not an ambulance.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Austin said that? Bennett will roast him alive for making a threat like that.” And why would Austin defend me anyway? He hates me.
Drew leaned against the counter and jangled his keys in his fist. “Austin promised to get the media involved if Jared didn’t toe the line. Austin’s cousin Trace is a famous snowboarder, and as a winner of Rising Stars, Austin’s a celebrity too. Both of them have clean records, and Jared is still trying to avoid that situation at Penn State. If the media got a hold of the facts about last night, Jared will end up behind bars.”
“True,” I agreed. I bit my bottom lip considering everything Drew had said. If I pressed charges, I could probably make that a reality. At least for the short term. “But I still don’t understand why Austin would even get involved to begin with. He’s got too much to lose.”
“That’s exactly why,” Drew said with raised eyebrows. When I continued to look at him in confusion, he said, “Damn. For a smart girl, you can be super clueless sometimes.” He pushed off the counter and headed for the door, looking at his watch again to check the time. “I gotta go, or I’m going to miss my niece’s party. And if there’s one thing you don’t want to do, it’s piss off a six-year-old who’s got a birthday party at a martial arts studio. I’ll see you Monday morning?”
I was still trying to figure out what he meant about Austin, and I shook my head to clear away the thoughts. “Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks again for the ride home last night.”
Drew gave me a salute and let himself out.
As I pondered the events of the night before, I once again wondered what Austin was doing back in our home town. He should be in Vegas doing his show. Or at least with Dallas trying to work out whatever was wrong between them. He had a promising future and had no business wasting his time alone in that old house trading pranks with a girl he couldn’t stand anymore.
I picked up the box of donuts and lifted the lid of the trashcan, watching them tumble in one by one.
Trading pranks.
Maybe I needed to remind him that he had more to look forward to. More than this town and the petty past that couldn’t seem to stay in the past. I smiled to myself as I stared down at the pile of mayonnaise and glazed dough. Defiling my donuts deserved a response.
And I knew the perfect one.
I ran upstairs and pulled out my laptop, firing it up. The damn thing had barely started before I was opening Word and typing out a flyer.
CHEWBACCA RAWR CONTEST
$100 BEST IMPERSONATION
Call 555-885-2236
Winner will be chosen tonight!
#ShowMeYourWookie
Leave contact info
I quickly searched online and found a Chewbacca image to paste into the file. Then I made it into a jpg and shared that shit on every social media site I could think of.
This might be my very best prank ever. The giggle that rattled around in my chest brought back so many memories…flashes of Austin and I doing our best to irritate my older brothers with stupid practical jokes.
But a Chewbacca Roar Contest? It might very well be my most brilliant yet, and I was almost tempted to have the calls sent to my phone so I could listen too.
I hit “publish” on the last post, and then leaned back against my headboard, staring out my window toward the house next door, the window that looked back at mine.
I could almost hear Austin’s phone ringing now.
***
I brushed back a wayward clump of hair with my wet hand and set the now clean roller aside to dry. I’d managed to paint one room and patch up the walls of another. As soon as I cleaned out Nana’s room, I’d have the awful task of getting the ancient flowered wallpaper off her walls.
Maybe that was the real reason I was saving her room for last. I’d done a little research on removing wallpaper and discovered it was going to be a total pain in the ass. I honestly thought I’d rather peel my nails off instead. Thanks, Nana.
But that was a project for another day. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week.
Opening the fridge, I noticed that there wasn’t a whole lot to choose from for dinner, so I quickly put together a sandwich from the leftover chicken salad and filled one of Nana’s old lemonade glasses with water and ice. I’d just taken my first bite as I leaned against the counter when the back door swung open with force. I nearly choked on my dinner in surprise, but managed to get myself under control when I realized it wasn’t an intruder. Not really.
Just a very annoyed Austin wearing disheveled clothes, his hair looking like it had gone ten rounds in a hurricane. Even his fuck-me glasses couldn’t seem to tame his wild look.
“Show me your Wookie?” he asked in a deathly calm voice. He held up a piece of paper with a printout of my online flyer.
I put my hand over my mouth trying not to spit food all over the kitchen as laughter worked its way out of me. That hashtag was as funny now as it was this morning.
“Calling it a Wookie,” I said, gesturing below my waist, “isn’t very complimentary.” I tore off a piece of my sandwich and popped it into my mouth, sucking off the chicken salad that was on my finger, never breaking my gaze from his. “And you shouldn’t demand that I show you my Wookie. Is that how you speak to a lady?” I asked, innocently, once I’d finally swallowed.
Austin crumpled up the flyer and tossed it on the table as he stalked forward. “We both know you’re no lady.”
His expression, which was always so calm and self-assured, so even keeled, was wild. It was like someone had slashed the bonds—the ones that kept him the dutiful son, acquiescent brother, and supportive friend—and set him free. He took two more slow steps toward me, but I refused to budge or drop my eyes as I continued to eat my dinner delicately.
“To be fair, we both know it also looks nothing like a Wookie,” I retaliated.
His eyes flashed, a mixture of irritation and playfulness warring in his gaze. He stopped right in front of me so that I had to look up to meet his eye.
“What is this?” he asked. His frustration fanned over my face, the sweet smell of alcohol warm on his breath. There was no anger in his words, only a vulnerability that was reflected in the way he looked at me, his eyes glazed and defenseless.
He’d been drinking. And from the smell of it…he’d gone deep into a bottle of whiskey. That was so unlike Austin. He never drank. At least, he hadn’t before…before Vegas.
At that moment, I could see my Austin in that gaze. He wasn’t the same on the outside. The years had turned a shy boy into a confident man. But I knew deep down, somewhere on the inside, he was the same boy I fell in love with all those years ago. The same boy I still loved.
“What is this?” he repeated. “This thing between us?”
I wasn’t prepared for this version of Austin, and I had no answer for him. Usually, I armed myself with witty comebacks or snark, but I couldn’t do that to him this time. Not when he was being so open. His question was so heartfelt and serious that I couldn’t throw it back in his face as a joke. I owed him the truth.
The problem was, I didn’t know what the truth was in this instance. I had no idea what was between us anymore. Friendship? Love? Betrayal? A second chance? There was no way to know what he expected me to say or what I should do.
I knew what I wanted the truth to be, what I hoped it could be, but I’d never been the one to make the best choices. I always tried to do the right thing, but what I thought was right usually turned out to be just another version of wrong. So how could I tell him what I wanted this to be knowing that I could ruin it? That I probably would ruin it.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, truthfully, shaking my head.
What could be between us now after everything that had happened? Where did we even start to make things right? I chewed on my bottom lip, wanting to tell Austin all my secrets, to finally get them off my chest and lay myself bare to him. But just the thought of it made me feel sick—like I’d eaten an entire box of mayonnaise-filled donuts. If I admitted what I’d done and why, he would hate me, not just now, but forever. And if I didn’t tell him, I’d hate myself.
It was easier, so much easier, to hate myself.
“I wish things were different,” was all I said. All the playfulness, all the fire was gone. Maybe I should just tell him. It would break this thing between us once and for all. Maybe then we’d both have a chance to finally heal.
Austin reached up, his fingertips grazing the side of my jaw. His thumb ran along my bottom lip which still stung from the way I’d been chewing on it. “Can we make it different?” he asked, quietly. “Can we change the past?”
The intensity of his gaze was begging me to tell him that we could. That erasing the pain of the past was possible and that we could start over. I knew it was impossible to change the past, but having him this close, all the memories of our childhood swirling up inside me, I wanted to believe the impossible.
“Austin, I—”
He must have known I was about to confess something awful, that I was about to destroy us both, because he bent his head down and caught my top lip gently between his—a touch as light as the breath of a summer breeze. I tilted my head up to capture his kiss, but he moved to ghost his mouth across mine, our lips brushing gently across each other. Searching. Wanting. Wary. Barely there.
I leaned forward as my lips chased his, open and begging. He stayed just out of my reach. Taunting me with something that never came. The phantom touch of lips, the tip of his tongue grazing before I was left with nothing but the smell of his whiskey-scented breath—it was like warm caramel.
He ran the backs of his fingers across my cheek, and my head fell to the side. His mouth slid down my skin dragging a purr out of me as my body leaned into his. Austin bent into me, the hardness of his chest pressing my back into the counter. The light touch of his fingers tickled down my shoulders and arms to lightly trace my fingers as if remembering every curve of my body.
Yes, I was here, they seemed to say. This is mine.
And then those large warm palms were on my waist, sliding down my hips, and gripping my ass, lifting me up onto the counter, leaving me breathless and off balance. I clutched his arms, my body drawn to his. He held me in his strong hands, and when he pulled me to him, my legs opened wide making room for him to move closer.
My hands plunged into his hair just like they used to, nails dragging across his scalp and making his chin tilt up until his mouth was an offering to me. Finally.
When I kissed him, he didn’t pull away. He dragged me flush against him. And my body remembered. I knew what he wanted, how he liked the sweet anticipation of almost kisses before I fused my mouth to his. He liked to be teased. He liked when I took control. And so I did. Lips and tongues and sweet caramel scented moans mixed with teasing touches that turned into imploring strokes.
His arms wrapped around me, one hand guiding my hips against him, his other hand reaching up to press against the base of my neck.
He was fumbling and frantic all of a sudden, whether from the alcohol or some feral need, I couldn’t be sure. And there was a part of me that worried whether he would still be here, doing this, if he were sober. But I was so desperate for him, so starved for anything he’d give me, that I didn’t stop him.
He held me tightly against him until I felt the hardness of his body between my legs and I moaned, arching into him to feel more. I was unable to keep from wrapping my ankles around the backs of his thighs to hold him close. He broke the kiss and murmured something into my neck. When he pulled back, I followed him like my body was on strings, and he was my puppet master.
“Frankie.” My name was a groan—desire and heartbreak all rolled into one. His arms embraced me like he was determined to keep me and I held on just as tightly, my lips parting and lifting to find his again. “Frankie,” he repeated, the word a sound of desperation as his mouth closed over mine and he lifted me off the counter, spun around, and pressed my back up against the nearby wall.
He kissed me with the fervor from four years of separation. Four years of longing. Four years of heartbreak.
Suddenly, the sound of our frantic kissing and heavy breaths was silenced by the ring of my phone. The sound of Darth Vader’s march broke the drunken spell that had fallen over both of us.
“Don’t,” was all he said. He knew as well as I did that if I turned away from him and answered the phone, this moment between us would be over.
I loosened my legs from around his waist. “I have to.” And I did. Because this was my nightly call. A call I couldn’t miss. One I didn’t want to. “I’m…I’m sorry.”
He let me go, and I slid down the wall as he backed away, the look on his face one of rejection and betrayal.
What had it taken for him to come over tonight? Obviously, since he was drunk, it wasn’t a decision he would have made otherwise. Which was exactly why the call was so opportune. Now that I was free from the lure of his mouth and hands, I could admit that I didn’t want him to have to drink himself to the point of bad decisions. I missed and wanted him, and I loved him…but I didn’t want him to regret anything.
To save us both, I grabbed my phone off the counter and headed for the stairs. I looked back over my shoulder to see him with a broken expression, his hands hanging limply at his sides. “I have to take this. I’ll…I’ll see you later.” And then I ran up the stairs to my room and closed the door behind me. Like a coward.
***
I went to sleep that night with my window open since the night was cool and I missed the fresh air. I was awakened in the middle of the night to the rich, mahogany sounds of music filtering in through my window. Sitting up, I yawned but forced myself to stay awake, the music becoming familiar as I sat there in the dark.
Hurt. By Johnny Cash. One of Austin’s favorites.
As the lyrics spooled through my memory, speaking of him hurting himself only to see if he could still feel, I felt regret burn in the back of my throat. Was that what Austin was doing now? Focusing on the pain because that was the only thing between us that was still real for him?
I crept to the window and kneeled on the floor so I could peer through the darkness at his window. Austin was sitting in his chair, a bottle of golden liquid on the desk beside him, his face a mask of pain. I didn’t know if it was from the bruising his hand took in the fight the other night…the beauty of the song…my rejection… or something else entirely, but the song and his expression were tortured.
The spell of his emotion held me captive as his bow tore across the strings, the music wondering what he had become once everyone he knew, including his sweetest friend, had gone away.
What had he become? What had my disappearance done to him?
The silent lyrics of the song cried out through the dark, demanding answers I couldn’t give.
The safe thing to do, the smart thing, would be to close the window and go back to bed. But I didn’t. Even though his playing was painful, even though it hurt to listen, I couldn’t let him suffer alone. And I could tell that he was suffering. Knowing that I was probably the cause only made me more determined to sit and endure it with him.
With every stroke, I wondered with him if the feelings had disappeared over time even though we were still here, together again.
I could barely breathe past the lump in my throat. We were both someone else. Neither of us was the same and we could never go back to the way things were. Maybe we could build something else, but there was no guarantee that if we tore away all the broken parts that we would even have a foundation that was worth building on.
The mournful melody of the song tumbled through the night, the words I remembered so clearly crawled unspoken through my open window and into my heart as Austin played. The lyrics lamented that if he could start over, he would. And he’d never give himself away again.
Is that how he truly felt?
When the last notes faded, Austin let the bow slide across the strings with a screech that sounded like a wail of grief. I cringed, bitter tears stinging past my lids. He reached behind him to grab the bottle and poured the alcohol into a shot glass. He took a drink, his lips pulling back across his teeth after the long sip.
His gaze darted up to my window, and even though I knew he couldn’t see me in the dark, I folded myself back into the shadows. After staring for a few moments as if he could sense me, Austin picked up his bow and put it to the strings. When his body finally moved, so did the music. It was the theme song from Gladiator, “Now We Are Free.”
And as he sat there pouring out his grief and despair and heartbreak, I sat there with him. Just as I had so many times before. The difference was that now there was darkness and years between us and neither of us quite knew how to navigate that distance. Technically, there was just a night-soaked yard, but it felt like a yawning chasm with no safe way to cross.
Neither of us knew how to bridge the gap between us. So I sat as he played, bleeding his heart into his music. And I listened, letting my heart wish for things it no longer deserved.