Page 9 of Our Final Encore

I can’t even imagine. His brotherandhis mom are gone? I’ve always felt like my family’s situation was…weird. Not bad, just different. But I’ve never met my sperm donor, so I can’t really miss what I’ve never had.

“That’s awful,” I say, even though it’s a lame excuse of a response.

He shakes his head. “I don’t really blame her. I mean, I wish she would’ve taken me with her.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, still staring at the ripples in the water from the last stone that was tossed. “Dad changed after Ezra died. He started drinking more, became more of a dick. I guess Mom couldn’t take all of it at once, so she just left.”

Suddenly I understand why the guys picking on him at lunch didn’t seem to faze him. He’s dealt with much harder stuff than most people our age have.

Even if he doesn’t blame her, I can’t help but feel angry at his mom. How could she leave behind her only son? I hardly know the guy and my heart is breaking for him. Maybe it’s partially due to my own situation, but I have zero sympathy for parents that abandon their kids. But I don’t say any of that, because what good would that do?

“Guess neither of our families are perfect, huh?” He smiles, but I can tell it’s in vain.

I nod. “Guess not.”

SIX

Opal

Ilie in bed and stare at my ceiling. The little glow in the dark stars that Mamaw put there when I was six have faded now, their light just barely visible.

This has become my normal. Every night it seems even harder to fall asleep than the one before. I’ve never been a great sleeper, according to mom. I refused to take naps and wanted to stay up late even as a toddler. At night all the thoughts I’ve pushed out of my head during the day come rushing back, flooding my mind with anxiety and panic that makes sleep impossible.

Their voices ring in my ears, and the memory of their laughter makes my throat constrict.

“Ugly.”

“Weird girl.”

“Nobody likes you.”

I close my eyes and try to imagine something good. Sometimes I just lay here and pretend to dream, hoping that I’ll trick my mind into believing I’m asleep.

I picture the spring. The rays of light dancing off the water. Alex’s bright smile and the freckles on his tan skin. I imagine us skipping rocks again. I picture him taking his shirt off and throwing it on the ground before jumping in.

Ugh.I need to stop thinking about him. Ever since that day I feel like every other thought I have involves him. I roll over onto my left side and stare out my window. Streaks of light from the streetlamp at the end of our driveway pour into my room. No wonder I can never sleep, I really need some curtains.

Faint music floats through the air. Just for a few seconds at a time, a melody will come and then disappear again. Where the heck is that coming from? I know Mom and Mamaw are both sound asleep. They both went to bed hours ago.

I crawl out of bed and quietly walk over to my window. It’s a big window, almost as tall as me. I unlock it and slowly slide it open just a little bit. The sound of the music becomes a little bit louder.

Who would be playing music this late? I look over at the green digital numbers on my alarm clock that tells me it’s 12:35 AM.

The music stops, and I put my ear up against the screen to see if I can still hear it. After a minute or so it starts again. It sounds almost like…a guitar?

I don’t know what possesses me in that moment, but without even thinking about it I slide my feet into my slip-on sandals. My window opens up onto our front porch. I don’t know why, but I’ve never even thought about climbing out of it before now.

Peeking my head out of my room to make sure I’m really the only one awake, I see that the rest of the house is silent and dark. The only sound is my grandma’s light snores from across the hall. I softly shut my bedroom door and lock it, then I take a deep breath before slowly shoving my window open all the way.

I pop the wire screen off and quietly lay it flat on my carpet, then tiptoe down my porch steps and walk to the end of my driveway, where the music is even louder. In the dim light I can see the outline of someone sitting in the grass in the empty lot across the street from my house. I think someone was going to build a house there, but they never did so now it’s basically just a small grassy field that’s full of wildflowers every spring.

I walk over, quietly. This could be really stupid, what if it isn’t him? What if it’s some stranger that’s hoping to lure a young girl into his clutches by playing guitar at midnight? Probably not likely, but it could happen.

As I inch closer, I can tell that it’s definitely him by the curve of his jaw and the wavy blonde locks on his head.

“What are you doing?” I whisper shout.

He looks up at me with a terrified expression, his hands slipping from the neck of his guitar, and it makes a funny sound similar to a record scratching. “Fuck. You scared me, bluebird.” He slides the guitar strap off his neck and sets it on the ground.

The stupid nickname makes me grin, and so does the fact that he brazenly uses the F-word. “What are you doing out here so late?”

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