Head Down (phanfiction)

13 * Queen Elizabeth Controls The Weather

Band had a concert coming up. I told Dan he didn't have to go, but I'm glad he insisted on coming with me.

He even came with me to the hour long rehearsal beforehand.

Sir was shooting me dirty looks from across the band room, but it didn't matter. It's not like Dan being there was hurting anyone. I mean, it was a little distracting for me but at least I wasn't still trying to conduct the band for him. Sir had learned to pick his battles, and it didn't look like this was one he was going to fight me on. And I could deal with his frowns and crinkled nose and eyebrows, because Dan wasn't going anywhere. Not tonight.

In case you've never been to a high school concert band's performance before let me break it down for you.

They suck.

Well, not all of it sucks. (I don't suck.) But fifty pounds says more than half of the musicians in any high school concert band give absolutely zero shits about band. (Again -- I am a rare exception to this rule.)

Four rows of chairs were set up on the stage all gravitating toward the podium at the front where Sir would be conducting. I took my spot in the second row with the rest of the clarinets.

My band mates were all talking. (Even though they weren't supposed to.) I stayed quiet and ran through my music two more times. (Even though I already had it memorized.)

We were performing the full show for the first time tonight -- all three movements -- which was no problem for me, but the rest of the band completely ruins the third movement and I'd rather not end the night with that embarrassment.

*

"You did so good!"

I wasn't going to say "I know" even though I did know.

"Thank you," were the words I chose instead.

"So what now?" Dan asked, he made a gesture like he was going to reach for my hand but I was carrying my clarinet case in one hand and a music stand in the other.

I shrugged (as much as I could being weighed down on either side). "I'm fine just hanging out with you."

This widened Dan's smile.

"Hey," I kept going, "Maybe we should go to your house to shake things up a little."

This had quite the opposite effect.

Dan's smile was gone, but he didn't say no.

"Is that not okay?" I asked. "I was just thinking because we're always at my house... and I don't even I've ever actually seen the inside of your house...." I was trying to justify myself. "But if that's not okay...."

"No," Dan shook is head. "It's fine. My room's just a mess."

This was a lie.

Well, his room probably was a mess but I wasn't near stupid enough to believe that that's the reason he didn't want me over.

We didn't say more than seven words to each other on the drive home.

I met his mum and dad. He introduced me to them as his "good friend."

Dan's parents did not smile.

Mr. and Mrs. Howell we're older than any friend's parents I'd met before. (Or at least they looked much older.) I wouldn't have guessed they were any younger than their late fifties.

Mrs. Howell's hair was long and messily braided. It was a dull color somewhere in between brown and gray. I couldn't tell whether it was a bad dye job or just more evidence that Time was not going to let her age gracefully.
Her nails were long, but not in the delicate, manicured way. No, her nails were untrimmed and unkept in a way that suggested the woman had never paid much attention to them in her life.

There's not much to say about Mr. Howell. Tall, skinny, and balding. He looked less like a man and more like a skeleton wearing someone else's skin.

Dan got me out of there, down the hall and into his room (which gave the first impression of tidiness but once you realized he had just shoved all the junk up against the walls instead of properly putting it away, it really was a mess) as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry," he said, "about... that."

I told him not to worry about it.

The air was starting to feel tenser by the second so, in a desperate attempt to save the situation, I pulled a random DVD off of Dan's little wooden bookshelf and set it down on the bed next to where Dan was sat.

His mouth twitches like he wanted to smile as he traced the outline of the DVD's cover art with his fingertips.

I didn't recognize the title of the movie, but there was a big, scary, sci-fi-ish lizard thing on the cover so I already knew I wouldn't enjoy it.

"Okay," Dan said, and I liked that we understood each other without words now. "But not this movie."

I over exaggerated a sigh of relief and this time Dan let himself smile.

"Let's watch something more festive."

Christmas was just around the corner, but nobody seemed to have told The Queen or whoever controls the weather because it still felt like the middle of summer. (Which sucked.)

Dan picked out a movie with a frowning teddy bear on the cover. The Tangerine Bear.

"It was my favorite Christmas movie as a kid." His face was pink. "Still kinda is." Dan was so cute when he wasn't hiding.

"I'm sure I'll love it."

The movie wasn't as special to me, like it obviously was to Dan, but it was a cute little cartoon.

The bear from the cover (whose name was Tangie because of his orange color) had apparently been made with his smile sewn on upside down, so no one wanted him. Eventually he found a family of sorts with some other misfit toys but it all made me wonder if the reason Dan loved this movie was because he also felt unwanted. It hurt to think about.

Although we hadn't started out this way, by the time the end credits rolled around both of my arms were wrapped tightly around Dan, who at this point was now sitting now on me than next to me.

Dan and I were together and happy.

At least for the next few minutes.

Imagine if you could go back to a moment in your life you wish you could rewrite, but instead of being about to fix anything you're stuck. Watching. Helplessly. Well, that's what this is going to be like, me telling this part of the story. I wish I could go back in time and just scream at myself to not reach under the bed to see what I'd just kicked.

To not pick up that box.

To not open that fucking box.

"What's all this?" My voice was hoarse.

Dan was an only child. He didn't have a sister and his mother was so dull I was sure she would never buy any of this for herself.

Dan covered his face with his hands.

The box of dresses, skirts, scarves, makeup and everything that screams Girl! sat between us like a brick wall.

I listened to Dan's panicked breathing, his hands still masking his face, waiting for an answer.

Then, after fifty years, he spoke through his mask.

I wish I didn't hear him.

I wish I never fucking heard him.

"It's my girlfriend's stuff."

(A/N) wowie