Page 4 of Bone Dust

His wide grin greets me. He then gestures to the man sitting beside him with a sweeping wave of his hand. “I got a surprise for ya; Miss Savannah Grace, this here’s Ian Stanton.”

My body responds on its own by way of quickened breaths and a tripping heart. I don’t allow my smile to waver but quickly take control of my mindset and lock down my emotions.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stanton.” My tone is pleasant, belying my shock. Other than exchanging pleasantries, I don’t feel equipped to hold meaningful conversation. I need an escape to calm my scattered thoughts, so I focus my attention on the Ladies’ Room door and issue an apologetic look between the two men. “If y’all will excuse me.” I make a quick escape. Oh, how I wish I could sprint away, but that would be much too obvious. After what seems like an eternity, I reach my destination and vanish behind the heavy door.

Jezus. Why is he here?

I snatch a breath to steady my jumbled nerves and close my eyes as I lean my back against the door’s faded green paint. Why now? It’s been four years since I’ve seen his face and, in a few seconds, my thoughts run amuck. Chastising myself for the uneasiness I feel, I snatch images from my younger years. That time in my life threatens to corrupt my composure and I can’t let that happen while I’m singing.

My hands shake. My knees do the same. And to think I was once completely in love with Ian—or so I imagined. He was my rockstar infatuation. My wild dream husband. Though it seems like a lifetime, it wasn’t so long ago. Back when my life was still silly and free.

I scrape my nails against the peeling paint as I push away from the door. Slipping inside a vacant stall, I throw the toggle latch and drop down to the seat. A rush of panic hit me like a wet blanket when I realized who he was. With measured breaths, the weight drifts away and I settle back into my skin from what can only be described as an out-of-body experience.

My blurred vision clears and I blankly stare at messages scratched into the stall door and my eyes catch a message that reads “I love Ian.” A crystal-clear memory of a Boundless Hearts concert surfaces. A night of birthday craziness with my best friend, Candace, and an unforgettable twenty-four hours later that traded a happy memory for a tragic one.

My breath hitches as I remember the intricate patterns from the blood of my parents forged in our dining room carpet. Sometime, in the hours I was gone celebrating, my childhood home turned into a crime scene. When I returned home from the concert, I found them. News of their murder at the hands of an unknown assailant shared top billing on our local news with a report of Ian’s near-fatal overdose. It’s a time I hate to remember but am destined to never forget. A shudder ripples through me and my blood chills. If not for Candace booking us a hotel room as a birthday gift, the police might have discovered three bodies instead of two. Stop!

I have a few minutes left and need to steady myself before going back out there to sing. Seeing Ian was a sucker punch, but I can’t let it affect the rest of my night. Though his presence stirred my memories of a night filled with hopes and dreams, I remind myself that I’m not that innocent lamb from long ago. I’ve grown in every facet of my life and am a much different person than I was then. I have a show to finish and have no time for indulging old stories.

Taking a moment for nature’s call, I rearrange my clothes and unlatch the lock. The cold water keeps me present as I wash my hands and compartmentalize. I imagine my concerns swirling down the drain with the soapy water, then snap off a paper towel as I catch my reflection, and, with a deep breath and tipped-up chin I take my inner frazzle from mountain to molehill. A quick fluff of my hair and a slip of gloss across my lips and I’m almost ready. Checking a near-perfect smile I remind myself again of who I am: a confident woman. You’ve got this, girl!

A deep, smug breath swells my chest as I curl my fingers around the door handle and bid farewell to my reflection. As I pull, the frame and door stick from the humidity before budging open, a reminder that I still never mentioned a word to Sam about the heat.

The scent of beer blends with chattering voices. I zip through the crowd wearing invisible blinders and reach the stage. A surge of pride wells up inside with the knowledge I successfully fought the urge to look in Sam and Ian’s direction.

“Did you get a fresh round of drinks?” I ask, pulling the microphone to my lips. I glance over at the barmaid. “Hey Jeri, can you send me over a bottle of water?”

I detect her silhouette and a bob of her head in the dim light, then sit back, adjusting myself in the seat.

“Y’all should be feeling pretty good about now.”

They respond with a roar to my softly spoken observation, and I lift my guitar onto my lap. Despite my best efforts to shake off the short-lived panic attack, my fingers still tremble a little bit. I look up, ready to start the next song and see Sam directly in my line of sight in the back of the room. Tall and imposing, he’s in a wide-legged stance with his arms folded across his chest. I know that posture and I will not let him make me feel bad or give me a guilt trip because I didn’t linger when he wanted me to stay.

A small seed of defiance springs to life inside of me. If he’s pissed off that I didn’t stick around to chat, so what? I’ll be sure to remind him that I was pleasant. I was polite. Nothing more was required.

Meeting his stare with one of my own, I move forward and play the chords of the song’s intro.

Screw him.

An hour wears on as I successfully pivot from one song to the next. I play with the idea of sticking to the set list, then decide to sing a song from long ago. One that will resonate with Sam’s special guest. I look over at Ian, catching his eyes with mine as best I can.

“Did you know I write many of my songs?” It’s a rhetorical question. “I do. I also like to cover songs from famous bands. I hope you enjoy them all.”

I boldly pull the pick across the strings, strumming back and forth to set an easy rhythm. The tempo is different than what the crowd will recognize but my pride insists I’m doing this. I open my mouth, take a breath, and close my eyes. This one’s for you, Mr. Rockstar!

They say makin’ mistakes is a part of life

And I say that’s good livin’

Sin will stain your mortal soul

And some things ain’t forgiven’

How much penance does a person need

Before the whitewash will cover the bleed

How many tears do you cry before you go crazy

---