Chapter Two
I’d like to take this opportunity to back the hell up and explain some things. My name is Colin Montgomery. At twenty-three, I was living on the east coast, working in a music store, and trying not to lie awake at night thinking about how I’d thrown away my future. I had told my parents in a rush, then spent the next eleven months hiding from their inevitable disappointment. Their son, the virtuoso on his way to stardom in the classical world, had given up his studies. It wasn’t a leave of absence, or a sabbatical, or a hiatus. I had just plain dropped out. And for what? Not much, really.
It is truly amazing how the human brain can recall the worst moments in life with such clarity. I remember that phone call with my mom like it was yesterday. After I said the dreaded words, there was that moment of stunned quiet that would become all too regular as the news of my failure began to spread. She took a deep breath in. “Why, Colin?”
And all I could think was, Good question, Mom. I still thought that. I was thinking that, more or less, on the day I ran into Noah as I sat in front of the piano I used to play at school. My mother never got a real explanation out of me, and I guess I felt guilty about that. It solidified the fact that I was a fraud in the worst way—not in my ability, but in my constitution. Yes, I could play the piano. All my teachers and classmates and friends surrounded me with positive reinforcement. Not only could I play the piano, I could play it well enough to succeed professionally.
But I didn’t believe it. Not deep down, where it mattered. The seed of doubt that sleeps in the heart of all young people with a dream had grown into a full grown tree for me. By the time graduation was just around the corner, I was unable to bear the impending pressure. So I did the only thing I could. I cut myself loose, and I fell as far as I’d risen. You could say I managed to land on my feet, but just barely. I shut off my thoughts and emotions. I tried to pretend I was a different person.
The weirdest part is, it was almost working. The music store in which I found refuge wasn’t a terrible gig. I sold sheet music to soccer moms with their little Mozart in tow. “It’s for her recital,” the mom would say, beaming with pride. “Her teacher says she’s far above the other students her age.”
I’d smile back. “Oh, really? That’s amazing.” Ten minutes later, another parent appeared, and the scene would play over again. I never told them who I really was, the worst version of their child’s young adulthood. The face of squandered potential. Still, I knew. And I went home every day to an apartment that just reeked of everything I could have been. All my music, my practice books, my awards were still there. I may have been treading the black waters of depression, but even I knew getting rid of that stuff would be like ripping off at least one limb.
Maybe that’s why I decided to tell Noah the truth. Or rather, I trapped myself in a situation where telling the truth was really my only option. I suppose I should’ve been relieved to realize I was beyond the age where spinning a convoluted web of lies seems like a good idea, but mostly it just made me nauseous. I left my place at quarter to six, my stomach doing circus flips. Don’t worry, soothed my inner voice. He forgot. He’s too hot for you, anyway.
Not helpful. And wrong, as it turned out. I spotted him leaning on one of the pillars by the library stairs, hand in his pocket like a denim model, scrolling casually through his phone. He looked oblivious to the rest of the world, but he somehow noticed me before I had the chance to lose my gumption and run away. The phone went into his pocket as the distance closed between us. Noah grinned.
“Hey, man! I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure you were gonna show up. Glad you did.”
“Of course I did.” I made my best effort to grin back, though I’m sure it didn’t look half as easy and carefree.
“Wanna grab something to eat?” he said. “There’s a killer burger joint that just opened around here.”
“Yeah, sure.” I wasn’t saying much, but I was thankful to Noah for asking questions with easy answers. He pointed down along the walkway, and we set out for burgers, walking side by side. He had a casual, confident stride that was only accentuated by his flat-bottomed skate shoes and well-fitting jeans. I resisted the urge to run my hand through my hair. Had I even combed it since that morning?
Noah interrupted my thoughts. “Listen, about earlier…I didn’t mean to make it sound like you have to tell me what happened. It does sound like a story, and I would totally listen to it, but I should have been more careful. I’m sorry.”
It took me a second to process his words, not only because the apology felt so genuine, but because I’d sort of leaned on him as a reason to be honest about the whole thing. Now he was giving me an out, and a significant piece of me begged to take it. The ghost of my own voice spoke a potential reply in my head. Ha, ha, don’t worry about it. It’s boring anyway. I even got ready to say it out loud.
But for the second time, I found I just couldn’t lie to Noah. I justified this feeling by telling myself his display of integrity merited some kind of reward. And he had said twice that he wanted to hear the story. So really, I was doing him a favor by telling it. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll tell you over dinner.” He seemed relieved, and I was glad for that. My stomach, however, resumed its circus flipping. My day of reckoning felt near.