Killing Me Softly(A Broken Souls Series)

Sam laughs as he comes over to hug me. He thinks he’s being European if he hugs and air kisses everyone who enters the house. “You do look sick!”

“If I look that sick, I better go home then.”

“You really don’t know what that means do you? Sick as in amazing. You look amazing and I’m guessing you took her literal when she said to shut the front door. She’s trying not to say the F-word anymore. It’s all part of her plan to get on Ellen with one of her inventions.”

“Oh, okay, that makes more sense. I really was confused about the door.” We walk to the back of the house where Bethany is applying vampire-red lipstick. She’s prettier than average but it’s her humor that takes her to the next level. Bethany is hilarious with her commentary of everything that happens. Give the girl a drink and she becomes the funniest comedian since Eddie Murphy. My dad has made me watch Eddie’s comedy since I was born. When my mom was around, we watched her favorite Eddie Murphy movie, The Golden Child. I haven’t seen it since the stormy night she walked out of our lives.

“Well, if you don’t get a man tonight, they’re blind. I swear you have the best ass for a white girl. Those jeans need to be called your bootie jeans from this day forward,” Bethany exclaims.

Me catching a guy is the last thing I need right now. “Bootie jeans from now on,” I reply. “Are you ready?”

“Honey, I was born ready. Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Bethany says as she struts her way across the house. “Victoria, don’t blow anything up while we’re gone.”

***

The Raven Bookstore is on Western next to a trendy sushi bar. We find a parking space on the far end of the rear parking lot. The Raven sells books that appeal to a younger crowd. They carry Manga, Young Adult, Contemporary Fiction, Humor and Poetry. The walls are painted in black chalkboard paint and the shelves are all neon that glows under black-lights. An artist who crushed on Andy, covered the walls in Poe inspired graffiti. He would come into my store to buy vitamins and talk to me about how pretty Andy was. I haven’t seen him since she passed away.

“Oh wow, they finished the stage area, it looks insane!” Sam points towards the stage area that is now covered in drops of neon paint.

Bethany spins around in a circle, which I’ve come to realize is one of her signature moves when she’s very happy. “I can’t wait until you hear him play!”

Her energy is contagious and soon I find myself having a good time.

We pick a table close to the stage, front and center like Bethany wanted. I stop by the poetry section and pick up the book, A Thousand Mornings, by Mary Oliver. The last few times I came to buy the book, they were sold out. Sometimes, poetry speaks to me like music in a book.

Bethany and I both opted for vanilla lattes and organic oatmeal cookies. We’re totally party animals.

“You’re so lame, Beth, how can you drink coffee on a night on the town?” Sam says and sets his glass of beer down. “This is the best IPA, you should try it, Holland.”

“DD remember?”

“One beer won’t hurt you,” Sam says and sips on his beer.

“Yeah, well I’m not up to explaining to the cops that I’m underage, a lightweight, and reek of beer. I’ll stick to my free lattes. It causes the same amount of pee breaks, so everyone else will think I’m drinking too,” I pick up my coffee and hold it out for a toast. “To us!”

We clink our drinks together and laugh. It’s a good thirty minutes before the first musician takes the stage, but the bookstore filled up with at least another hundred people. Every place on Western is trendy and fills up with the twenty-somethings. The first musician walks across the stage and sits down on a stool with his acoustic guitar. All I notice about him is his pickle sized nose and his crazy curly brown hair. He starts out with a song by the Doors and everyone in the store crowds in to hear him sing. He sang several songs before he stands up and announces his name and promises to finish off the night with a couple of his own originals.

There’s a five minute break between musicians so I get up to use the restroom.

“He was cool, I like what he did with that one country song,” Bethany says as we open the bathroom door.

It’s early in the night for there to already be a line to get a stall. Girls are talking about whose singing next, a guy named Tate who is apparently the yummiest guy ever, per the girl in front of us.

The bathroom is bright compared to the bookstore. The walls are painted with a mural of a fairy tale. I find something new every time I stare at it. Bethany and I freshen up our lipstick and fluff our hair before heading back to our table. Tate had already started playing by the time we get to our table. Bethany grabs my arm and squeezes it too tight. “That’s him,” she whispers to me.

His voice, without the hint of an accent sings a haunting version of, Elvis Presley’s, Love Me Tender. Every strum of his guitar is deliberate, every note in his voice desperate. I can’t help but close my eyes and listen with my soul. The power of his words touch something in me that I’ll never be able to explain. It takes me back to a time when my mother would be at the kitchen sink and my dad would go up and wrap his arms around her and sing Elvis songs. As the song ends, I open my eyes as everyone applauds all around me.

“That was great wasn’t it?” Bethany shouts in my ear. “He’s so good, I’m surprised he hasn’t been picked up yet!”

The singer finally looks up at the crowd and my jaw drops. He’s the guy with the rash on his ass. It has to be him. No, it can’t be him. As if he can hear my inner commentary, he looks my direction. Someone yelps, and I’m praying it was Bethany, because if it wasn’t her, it was me. His face goes from solemn to a half crooked smile. Oh shit. He winks. Bethany’s fingers dig into my bicep as she squeals like a pig. “Beth, back off, you’re going to draw blood if you squeeze any harder,” I say as I pry her fingers off my arm.

“Did you see him wink? Be cool, act as if I said something funny.”

I’m certain he was winking at me. How does Sam not recognize rash-on-the-ass man? “He winked?” I say trying to play it off instead of argue the fact he’s trying to piss me off. I lick my lips nervously, a habit I do when I fib. Andy and my mom are the only ones who ever noticed, but I’m not thinking about that right now.

“He winked and if I have my way, he’s going to be doing more than winking in a little while!”

My hand goes to my mouth to cover the sound of me snorting. He stands up and fiddles with his guitar strap until the guitar is high on his chest. The familiar tune to Folsom Prison Blues is brought to life with his ease of singing. I’m zeroed in on his guitar, afraid to look at his face, afraid he’d realize he’s doing something to me. He’s breathing life into the song and into my soul. As the last words are sung and his playing stops, I’m reminded where I am by the applause coming from the crowd. I take a breath, not realizing I’d been holding it through the song.

“That was epic! Did you love it?” Bethany shouts over the applause.

It was epic and soulful. “He’s good,” is all I can say. “I could use a refill, do you want anything?” Sam knows I can’t legally buy him another beer so he scrunches his nose and nods, no.