The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

Why do we create art?

Why do we create art?

When I opened the door, I was glad to see that the show hadn't quite started yet. The drum set was set up and Spencer was waiting to play, but Brendon was nowhere in sight. I made my way through the bar and towards the stage, where I approached Spencer. "Hey Ryan," Spencer said as he fumbled with his drumsticks. "We've been waiting for you. Where were you?"

"I got caught up at a party in my dorm," I explained. "Where's Brendon?"

"Ryan!" Brendon shouted as he emerged from the far back of the room. "There you are! I need some help with something."

"What do you need help with?" I asked.

Brendon pulled me aside, grinned, and said, "I was thinking about wearing eyeliner, and I figured that you were really good with that sort of thing..."

"Thanks Brendon," I said as I gave him a small smile and tried not to let my heart explode out of my chest.

"Could you help me with my eyeliner?" Brendon asked. He sat down and handed me an eyeliner pen.

"I think I can do that," I said. I crouched down to get a better look at Brendon's face and frankly, I had no idea how I could make it even more beautiful than it already was. Despite my worries that I would screw up somehow, I carefully outlined Brendon's gorgeous brown eyes. I decided to go for a relatively simple look with a few red accents and by the time I was done, I thought it looked nice. It wasn't my best work, but it didn't hurt that Brendon's face looked sublime before I even began.

"Are you done yet?" Brendon asked me several times while he tried his best not to move around. He wasn't exactly doing a great job of that, but what could I expect? He was naturally hyper.

I looked at his face one last time just to make sure that everything was in place, and as it turned out, Pete was right. Makeup did make a guy look beautiful.

Brendon scrambled into the restroom to take a look, and I followed him. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he couldn't resist a smile. "Ryan, this looks amazing," he said. "How did you get so good at this?"

I shrugged. "I just practiced a lot," I said. "Also, Pete Wentz gave me a few good tips."

"Yeah, but Pete's guyliner doesn't look as good as yours," Brendon said.

"I don't think so," I said, blushing.

"I think so," Brendon said. "Anyways, let's go out there and play. It's way past nine in the afternoon."

Brendon and I returned to the stage, and while I quietly snuck over to the piano bench, Brendon took a long sip of his peach and lime daiquiri, grabbed the microphone, and started to sing. He sounded just as beautiful as he always did, and I tried not to let that distract me as I played. I was getting better at the various songs that Brendon had me play, although I almost always got distracted while I was playing. How was Spencer able to ignore Brendon and just play? For me, Brendon was a presence that demanded my attention, no matter how much I wanted to focus on the music.

During that particular show, I had the misfortune of messing up the very last chord of the last song. I don't think anyone else in the bar noticed, but I couldn't help but feel as if it was another example of my awful luck. Why did Brendon have to be such a hindrance to my playing? I couldn't decide whether he was the best or worst thing that had happened to me so far that year.

Once all of the applause had died down, Brendon wandered over to me. "Ryan, are you okay?" he said. "You look like you have a fever you can't sweat out."

"I'm okay, Brendon," I insisted, although even I wasn't quite sure of how I felt. My mind was turning in circles, and thinking about Brendon too much only made it worse.