Page 20 of You Spin Me

Turning to the speed ball, I try to show Jones what chill looks like, but Sam doesn’t let up.

What I want to see is your fucking elbows up while you hit that bag another fifty times, he yells.

My head drops. My lats scream.

Jones:We have to do something.

Sam:I ain’t got all day. I got other assholes to train.

Drilling into the bag until I’m breathing so hard I taste blood—my fucking elbows high—still doesn’t chase away the fear. When I try picturing the band members I have to interview on the surface of the uppercut bag, they laugh at me or turn away in disgust. Like the teenagers did after I shut them up with my fists.

Usually, hitting things eases my rage. Rage at the unfairness of the world—a world that can take away my childhood with a single mistake. A world that would give me a job I love, only to take it away again. A world that teases me with the voice of a woman that I can’t stop thinking about, even as I know that there’s no way I’ll ever be able to meet her in person.

If I’m too chickenshit to interview the members of a band I know everything about, how will I ever summon the courage to meet the girl I’ve been talking to for a week? A girl who’s woken me up like I’m Sleeping Beauty and she’s the prince?

That’s a good one.

At least I can laugh at myself, right?

I’m still getting settledbehind the mic Monday night when Talia pops up in the window, holds up three fingers and mouths “Jessica.”

Surprised that she’s calling when it’s only just after ten, I can’t punch the button fast enough. “Hey. You’re early.”

“I forgot to tell you we don’t rehearse Mondays, so I didn’t have to make the drive.”

“Oh, good.”

“I was just calling to let you know you don’t have to worry, so you don’t… worry.” All it takes is the trill of her laughter to lighten the burdens I’ve been lugging around all day.

“I’m glad you called. Not because I’d worry. Talking to you is… getting to be one of the best parts of my day.”

“Aww, really?”

I can’t tell if she’s flattered or embarrassed. It would be easier to tell if I could see her face, but then I’d have to deal with her seeing mine. “Yeah, really. Especially today. I’m a little frustrated.”

“About what?”

“Hang on a sec, okay? I’m not quite organized here.”

“Well, actually, I just got in from teaching dance classes, and I should take a shower.”

“Okay, I get it.” I suppose I should know better than to tell a girl how much I like her so soon. A cool guy would probably say something about imagining her in the shower, but that feels kind of gross. “I’m sure you have all kinds of things you could be doing other than sitting on hold.”

“Believe me, with anybody else’s hold music, I can’t get off the phone fast enough. I like listening to your music, but I don’t want to get chilled. Should’ve thought of that before I called, I guess.”

This time her laugh is definitely embarrassed. Maybe she isn’t blowing me off. “Do you want to call back?”

“Yes. I want to call back. In, like, forty-five minutes?”

“Sounds good.”

“’K, bye.”

It takes me a few moments to come back to earth and remember what it is I’m supposed to be doing here. When I do, I feel the need to change up my plan for the evening. Rereading the list I put together an hour ago, I cross off one angsty song after another. I mean, it’s not like I’m going go all Debbie Gibson or Duran Durn here. But instead of “Under the Milky Way” and “A Forest,” I’m going to slot in U2’s “Desire.” I could maybe even get away with Bobby McFerrin and “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” on a Monday night. That’s the mood I’m in, knowing that Jess wants to be here with me.

Chapter7

This week onHawaii Five-O, Jack Ward gets his hair shellacked. OnDallas, Miss Ellie gets waxed. Or is that whacked? Whatever, all you have to do right now is stick with rock scientist Cal Alonso and his mute sock-puppet sidekick. They’ll be back right after this station identification.

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