Blue Sky // Josh Kiszka

The music is you

Star told me she'd never seen my face so often before. I blame Jake.

He has become a constant presence inside my house and, as time went by and I started to get more used to the idea of him and Venus together, I began to interact more. Being used to the idea doesn't mean it had stopped hurting, though; it just means he's here all the time and I can either stay locked in my room or spend some time with him like I've always wanted to. I've chosen the latter.

The four of us usually hang out on the living room until my parents get home. I pretend to watch whatever is on the TV as I study every detail of Jake's body and wonder what it would be like if it was me sharing the couch with him, resting my head on his lap as his fingers gently caress my hair.

He always tries to make conversation. As Venus and Star watch TV, we talk about movies and music - especially music - until one of them tell us to shut up. I love it when his music is the topic, the way he talks about it, the way his eyes sparkle, the way he starts moving his body and hands like his lips aren't enough. It's beautiful, magical.

I can say Jake and I had developed a bond, nevertheless, it's a surprise when I open the door to find him standing with a bunch of records under his armpit and a toothy grin on his face.

"Hey, Jake," I greet him, confused. "Venus is not home, she went shopping or something."

"Oh, I know. I came to see you, actually." I can feel my heart jumping inside my throat and I can't help but smiling. "You got a record player, right?" He asks when I move to the side, so he can get in. "I brought music, good music."

I'm incapable of saying anything, so I just nod and start making my way upstairs, praying I won't fall down as my body keeps shaking. I guide him to my room and open the door, motioning him to get inside.

"It's right there." I point to the brown record player on the corner of my room and watch in awe as he moves on its direction.

"So, remember when we were talking the other day and you said you'd never listened to Stephen Stills?" He asks, going through the records he brought until he find an specific one. "That made me very upset. So, I brought my favorite album, Stephen Stills 1. Now, my younger brother, Sam, would try and argue saying the Stephen Stills 2 is better, but he's wrong." He has an eyebrow quirked up and a serious face, which breaks into a smile to mirror mine.

"And what's so good about this album?" I ask him, sitting on my bed, trying to steady my breath.

"Love The One You're With is on it," he says, sitting by my side, and the beginning of the song fills my room.

I'm not looking at Jake, I'm not looking at anything specifically, I'm just trying to feel the music. But even though I can't see his face, when the lyrics start dripping from the music and falling right onto us, I know he's smiling.

Halfway through the song, Jake lets his body fall, lying on his back as the melody keeps dancing around the air. I do the same, feeling my arm glued to his, enable to control the emotions inside of me. His hand slowly drags itself to top mine, starting with his pinky until it's all covered. I don't turn my hand up, I don't lace our fingers, I just enjoy the warmth of his palm and the sick feeling on the tip of my stomach, until the song is over.

There's a moment of complete silence, it's just a second or two, just enough for another song to start, but it's heavy. I'm lying on my bed, the boy I've been in love with for two years - and who happens to be my sister's boyfriend at the moment - is lying by my side, holding my hand in his, smiling at the ceiling as a song called "Love the One You're With" graces our ears. I don't know how to process all of this, but I know there's a sea of tears in my eyes that I'm trying really hard to keep from falling and I can't even explain why they're there.