Finding the Pure Note

Those Three Simple Words. That Perfect Lie

Once. Twice. There's the third. Shit. Okay, I'll get up!

Who the hell's calling me at six in the morning? I snake my arm out from my sheets until I'm grasping at my desk. When my hand finds the source of the music, I drag my phone towards me, groaning when I see it's midday and not six, and squint my eyes at the caller ID. Unknown. Am I really feeling up for this right now...?

"Fuck it," I say aloud, answering the call. "Hello?"

"Hey mate, this is Graham." Graham? It takes a few seconds before it clicks. It's been so long I thought I'd never get the call.

"Oh, hey."

"What's the matter? You sound half-dead."

I press my fingers into my eyes, wiping away sleep. "Yeah," I grunt. "You could say that."

"Look, place is pretty empty lately. My usual entertainment... Well, they've buggered off and I'm pretty tired of seeing cacklin' Charlie being all miserable in the corner."

"Wouldn't cacklin' Charlie—"

"Yeah yeah, he's not like he used to be. No joy in that one no more. Look, point is, you brought a serious crowd in that night and I've seen nothin' like it. I won't mince words, there's a spot here tonight if you'd fancy some quick cash."

I divert my squinting to the window, facing the sun's assault. Smacking my lips together a few times, I roll over and run my hand through my hair.

"Yeah sure. Sounds like a plan."

"Splendid, mate. How's six-thirty sound?"

"Sure." I really didn't feel like going anywhere. Saturday was supposed to be a lazy day, ripe for self-loathing and doing nothing. I'm good at that. "How long do I have?"

"As long as you want. You also get a meal and drink—on the house."

"Cool. I'll be there around six to set up."

Hanging up with a curt goodbye, I yawn, chucking my phone on the bed and just lay back, staring at the ceiling. It was two days, forty-eight hours since I travelled the length of the country to see Fletcher. I can't help but feel it was a wasted trip. So I managed as I usually do. By faking it. I didn't really need to avoid Chelsea. She stayed well clear of me, and everything kind of drifted back into normal everyday life.

Music, as usual, was the only time of the day I actually felt productive. Recess and lunch, I kind of moped about, found a quiet spot and had a smoke. Didn't bother trying to call Fletch when I couldn't see him at his locker. He clearly needs his space, despite what everyone else says. So, what? Give it a week. He'll come crawling back. This is all on him, not me. I tried, man.

Sometimes I stared at my notepad of lyrics and wondered if I should just throw it all away. Was music really my thing?  Is everything I'm trying to do just pointless? Utter shit. Why am I—Clay Hudson, breaker of hearts and good-for-nothing layabout—even trying?

Maybe that's why I said yes to Graham. Not to get out of the house—although I did need an excuse for that—but because he offered me a stepping stone into the world I so long denied myself. Maybe I was shit, wasting my time and everyone else's, but I had to try anyway. 

After a good fifteen-minute contemplative shower, I face my mirror and go through the motions: eyebrow checks, gel, teeth. I'm offering a foamy grin to my reflection when my phone vibrates. Holding my brush steady in my mouth, I glance down at the shining notification, expecting the worst. Surprisingly, I don't wince this time.

'Hey, Mirage 2nite? Miss hanging with u. Mate of mine can get us cheap drinks. Meet at 11? U down?'

Grinning, I respond with a simple yes and decide that yeah, I don't mind dipping my toes back into that life again. If only because it makes the edges blur, and life is easy in that blur.