The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

Do people have free will?

Do people have free will?

Another month went by in a flurry, and before long, I forgot about all of my worries. There was no reason to dwell on such insignificant things, so I didn't. I chose to focus on the happier parts of life. Why would I even think about vice when there was so much virtue in the world?

One day at the Aubergine, Brendon managed to remind me why I still had to keep vice and tragedy in the back of my mind.

It was a relatively normal day in early April, and I walked into the Aubergine shortly after dinner. At first, everything seemed ordinary. All of the regulars were there, crowding around each other and gossiping incessantly. Gerard was at the center of it all, telling the others about his senior project, which had managed to turn into two projects. "I couldn't decide whether I should do a series of paintings of the members of the Guyliner Club or a graphic novel, so I did both," Gerard said with a terrifying grin etched across his face. "It was a lot of work, but I think I created two works of true art."

When I first heard that, I couldn't resist the opportunity to consider what "true art" was, but I had to find my boyfriend first. I walked past Gerard in an attempt to find Brendon, but I quickly realized that he was nowhere to be found. At first, I wasn't worried. Brendon occasionally disappeared like this, but he always managed to stand out in a crowd. I walked past Laura and a few other Kale students plotting to throw bricks through a Starbucks window, and I found Pete asking Spencer about the arcade machine that he supposedly kept in his dorm room. However, I couldn't find Brendon.

As it turned out, he was hiding behind the piano, gulping down a can of beer. "Brendon, what are you doing back here?" I asked him.

"Ryan," he slurred. "I'm so glad you're here! Heidi is so mean. She told the bartender that I couldn't have anything stronger than this goddamn beer." All of a sudden, he poured the beer all over himself. I gave him a confused look as I sat next to him.

"How many of those have you had?" I asked.

"I don't know," Brendon said. "I lost track a while ago." He looked away for a second and said, "Ryro, have you ever heard Patrick sing? He has a soul voice. Yo, watch this, I might be able to imitate him. It's like YeAaAaAaAaAahhh!"

"I've never heard Patrick sing," I said, trying to suppress a laugh. I had also never seen Brendon this drunk before. In fact, sometimes it seemed like no matter how much he drank, he could never get drunk. I knew that wasn't true, and this only proved it. At least he was somewhat funny when drunk.

Brendon looked around again, and suddenly exclaimed, "Ryan, you took my beer away!"

"No, you poured it all over yourself," I said.

"Stop lying to me!" Brendon shouted. "You took my beer away! Why the hell would you do that?!"

"I didn't take your beer away," I said. Both lying and stealing were immoral, and Brendon knew that I would never do anything like that. He would know that if he was sober, I corrected myself.

All of a sudden, Brendon started to sob. "You're just like Dallon," he whined. "You're just pretending to love me just so that you can betray me by taking my beer away!"

I wrapped my arms around Brendon and said softly, "I would never do that. As I said, you poured it on yourself."

"Whatever," Brendon said as he tried to wipe away his tears. "It's just not fair. Everyone else is so mean to me, but not you, Ryan. You're my favorite."

"Thanks, but how is everyone else mean to you?" I asked.

Brendon suddenly began to cry again. "It started with Dallon," he said. "He and I were together during our freshman year, and I thought that he loved me, but when I started coming here, he broke up with me. He said that I drank too much, and that I needed help, but I don't! It's not my fault that I can never seem to stop once I start."