Page 21 of The Heartstrings of Harry
I smiled at my reflection. “Edgy,” I said approvingly, before admitting to myself—oh, what the fuck would I know?
I backed quickly away from the mirror and did not return to it.
I tucked my T-shirt into my jeans.
Untucked it.
Half -tucked it, belt buckle showing. “Groovy,” I grinned, before telling myself—oh my God! Never ever EVER use the word “groovy” again!
I grabbed a six-pack of beer from the fridge and stepped out the front door. I took a deep breath and told myself, “You can do this, Harry. Just act casual, you’re not about to ask Dean out on a date. Hell, you’llneverask Dean out on a date. Just be yourself, the same old Harry you’ve always been. You’ve got this. You da man!” After which I told myself—never say “you da man” again. Seriously?
* * *
Ever since Dean moved away, I had triednotto follow his career.
I was concerned it might alter my impression of my best friend’s son.
I was worried it might taint that perfect, unexpected, heart-swelling perception of him that had formed like an out-of-control tornado in those few months between the time he turned eighteen and the time he was whisked away to LA.
I was terrified I might fall out of love with the boy who had suddenly stolen my heart.
So I stayed away from the entertainment news and the social media platforms. I tracked his fame by learning to play his songs on YouTube. He’d had more than one hit in the year he’d been gone. After “Hammer of my Heart” went to the top of the charts, guitar lessons appeared online for songs titled “Knock On My Door,” then “When You Weren’t Looking,” and a particularly moving ballad called “One Soul, One Town,” whichhadto be written about Mulligan’s Mill… not that anyone in town would know.
The songs were—according to the amateur guitar players teaching me lessons on YouTube—one hit after another.
In the quiet of my house, I learned them all.
And I promised myself, if and when I saw him again, I would never let him know.
* * *
I never knocked when I arrived at Andy’s. When Andy was home the door was always unlocked, and after showing up on his doorstep for over thirty years, I would just let myself in and call out, “Harry’s here!”
I hesitated at the door that day.
Dean was a big star now.
Should I knock now?
Had things changed?
Had Dean changed?
Would I change when I saw him?
I raised my hand to knock.
I hesitated a moment longer.
I took three short sharp breaths and whispered, “You can do this Harry,” and suddenly—
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” Andy had yanked the door open and was looking at me with complete bewilderment. “Did you forget how to open a door? You okay? Harry?”
“Oh, I… um… you saw me out here, huh?”
Andy nodded. “Through the window. Although I wasn’t sure it was you at first. What have you done with your hair? Did you try to…?” He didn’t have the words for “style it,” because styling it wasn’t something either of us had ever done.
I tried to shrug it off. “I know, I need a haircut, right? It’s got a mind of its own when it gets this scruffy.”
