After a few songs, I am ready for another drink. I go with Jase to the bar to get another round for the three of us. When we walk back, I see Mark talking to some guy who has his back to me. When we approach, the guy he is talking to turns around, and I nearly choke on the beer that I just took a sip of.
He looks shocked to see me as he stares at me with his clear-blue eyes. He doesn’t say anything to me, so I decide to speak up. “You again.”
“You two know each other?” Mark asks.
“Not really,” he responds as he blinks his gaze away from me.
I look at Mark and add, “He’s come into Common Grounds a couple times to get coffee. How do you guys know each other?”
“He owns Blur, where the band has been playing lately,” Mark says.
“And the guy who gave me the tickets,” Jase says to me before turning his attention to the guy, whose name I still don’t know, and adds, “Thanks, man.”
“No problem at all.”
I stand there awkwardly as the guys continue to talk, so I turn my back to them and focus in on the band as they begin to play ‘Missing.’ I haven’t heard this song in months, and it begins to affect me. What I used to consider a desperate love song now breathes new meaning when I hear the words about how the heart beats. Sadness creeps through me, and my body tenses up as I try desperately not to cry.
“Hey, let’s go sit down,” Jase whispers in my ear, and I am snapped out of my tormenting thoughts.
Looking at him over my shoulder, I nod, not sure if I am able to speak just yet. He lowers his head and looks me in the eyes. I know he sees it—the hurt—so I quickly shake my head and give him a reassuring grin that I’ve got this under control. He takes my hand and leads me to a table where Mark and his friend are already sitting.
Taking a seat and setting my beer down, I say, “I’m sorry, but I never caught your name.”
Giving me a half smirk, he says, “Ryan. Ryan Campbell.”
I give him a slight nod and introduce myself. “I’m Candace.” Eying his cup of coffee, I add, “Ever drink anything besides coffee?”
“I work a lot of late nights,” is his vague response to my question.
“So, Ryan,” Jase says, “Candace will be graduating this year as well. She’s a dance major.”
What the hell is Jase doing? I look over at him and give him a snide look, but he just grins at me.
“Dance. What kind?” Ryan asks.
“Ballet,” I say and then take another sip of my beer.
“Can’t say I know anything about that,” he responds with an honest chuckle.
“It’s okay. Nobody ever does.”
“So, I take it you’re the best friend who loves this band,” he says as he nods his head towards the stage.
Feeling odd about this interaction, I reply with a simple, “Yeah.” I start to feel the need to close myself off. It feels weird talking to someone new. My life is very secluded, and I like it that way. It’s safe. So being here, out, listening to music, talking to a new person, suddenly makes me want to run back home.
I know I can do this. I have to do this. I reach under the table and rest my hand on top of Jase’s leg, in a way, using him as my anchor while I try to pull my thoughts together. He looks over at me as he lays his hand over mine and gives me a reassuring squeeze. I keep repeating in my head: Get it together, Candace. Just function. I say it over and over in a desperate attempt to will it to happen. I tell myself to act normal, but I’m not even sure I know what that is. I push the uncomfortable feeling aside, knowing that nothing will happen because Jase and Mark are both here with me. Everything is fine.
I’m peeling the label off my beer bottle, when Ryan starts to talk. “So, Candace, what do you plan on doing when you finish school?”
I look up at him and take a deep breath before answering. “I hope to dance professionally while time allows. Not sure where that will happen. New York was always the plan, but I’m not so sure now.” Why did I just tell him that? Please don’t ask why.
Looking over at Jase, he and Mark are lost in their own conversation, not paying any attention to Ryan and me.
“I love New York. You ever been?” Ryan asks.
“Yeah, several times. It’s a great city. I actually lived there the summer before my senior year of high school. I had a scholarship to one of the conservatories in the city.”
“So, your parents just let you live there alone for the summer?” he asks with a hint of concern in his eyes.
“Umm, yeah. My parents are . . . well, not your typical involved parents,” I say.
“Sorry.”
I shrug it off, and we continue to talk about our love of New York City. I’m surprised with how easy it is to talk to this new person. He’s laidback and makes me feel comfortable.
Time continues to pass pretty effortlessly as we talk. Mark and Jase are engrossed in their own private conversation about who knows what.
“What are you two talking about?” Mark asks, when his conversation with Jase has died down.