Those Beautiful Things (JeanMarco)

Chapter 2: Caught

Day by day I got more afraid. Marco, of all people, would understand my fears. Hell, I think Connie would if I told him. But no, I told no one, and now I'm here, biting my nails at Marco's front door.

I knock on the door a few more times, hoping for an answer. Marco told me that no one would be home, and I should've known by the absence of cars in the driveway. I just sit down on his porch, and I wait for a while.

It doesn't take long before that familiar rusty car is heard in the distance. I look in the driveway to see Marco's car pull up, with him driving it.

I walk over to wait for him to get out. He looks out his window and smiles at me before turning his car off. My curiosity is piqued when I see him drag a small black case from the passenger seat.

"What's that?" I ask, waiting and watching from the side.

"Oh, I guess I didn't tell you that I was in band. Speaking of, practice went a bit later than usual, I wasn't allowed to tell you that I'd be a bit late." Marco states with a happy smile. He carries his case to the door and sets it on the ground so he can grab his key to open the door.

I pick up the case for him, he tries to take it back. "Nah, I got it," I insist. I want to know what it is.

Marco does that thing that he always does. I've known him for a few weeks, and that's long enough to know that he has a habit of brushing his nose with his index finger.

An odd habit, but not really gross or weird. It's actually kind of cute, in a way, when he does it.

"So what instrument is in here?"

"It's a clarinet, I've played that same clarinet since I first joined in middle school." Marco says, plopping on to his living room sofa comfortably.

I follow suit and begin to open his case. "What do you call all of this?" I ask, looking at the separate parts of the instrument.

"For starters, the whole thing is a horn." Marco states with a smile, then he points to the part that goes into your mouth, "That's the mouthpiece, and that is the ligature, it holds the reed in place." Marco says, pointing to a small silver object.

He shows so much happiness as explains what the hell the bell is, and the tone hole rings, which sounds pretty weird to me, but it makes him happy. He likes this stuff.

Before a I realize it, he's done talking. What do I do then, I attempt to put it together. That part went well, then I stuck the mouthpiece in my mouth, and tried to blow. Marco seemed pretty giggly over this.

"What?" I ask, raising my eyebrow in a confused scowl.

"You're gonna need one of these!" Marco laughs. He holds out a thin piece of wood and I remember what he called it: a reed.

I carefully grab the reed and insert it in its spot, then I tighten the ligature around it. Moment of truth: I grab the instrument, I lick my lips, then I stick the mouthpiece in my mouth and I blow. God forsake the noise that comes out; a high-pitched squeal that can make your ears bleed pours from the clarinet.

Marco only laughs as I fail to play. "Well, we already know that I can't play, but you can. Play for me, Marco." I demand, shoving the clarinet towards him.

"Okay." Marco says with a quick smirk and a wink. He puts the mouthpiece in his mouth, not bothering to wipe away the extra saliva, then he blows into the instrument.

A crisp, somber sound fills the air like a soft hum. He plays by moving his fingers in a calculated rythm, patting his feet on the ground to count the seconds that go by. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. The notes that he plays are as warm as the sun. So, what else would I do in a moment like this.