That’s actually kind of funny, when I think about it today. All I wanted as a kid was to be with other people. But then, after everything that had happened with the Scar Boys, I found myself craving space.
“How was the annual haul at Casa de Jones?” he asked. It was a well-known fact that my parents—strike that, it was a well-known fact that my mother liked to spoil me rotten, and Christmas was her Super Bowl. Nineteen eighty-six was no different. Aside from the plethora of guitar gear—strings, patch cords, this reverb pedal I’d had my eye on—she got me a whole bunch of stuff meant for a college dorm room. I’d only told my parents about my plans to apply a couple of weeks before Christmas, but already under the tree were two comforters (why I needed two, I couldn’t figure out) with sheets and pillowcases, a desk blotter, a bulletin board, and, get this, an actual desktop computer.
I’d used computers in the lab at school and once at Johnny’s house (his dad’s), but we’d never had one at home. I’d already set it up, planning to play with it that night when I got home from my grandmother’s.
But rather than tell Johnny about all the loot, I just gave a vague answer. “You know, the usual embarrassment of riches. You?”
“The same,” he said. “So listen.” It was his serious-Johnny voice. “I’m worried.” I expected him to say he was worried about me, about how distant I’d been. “I’m worried about Chey.”
“Chey? What about Chey?” My brain was trying to catch up.
He was quiet.
“John, if this is about that night at the Bitter End, you need to let it go. It was a one-time thing.”
“It’s more than that. She’s been really distant lately, like she’s pushing me away.” I’d been so busy pushing the two of them away that I hadn’t noticed. Or maybe I had but was deliberately not paying attention. “Has she talked to you?” Johnny’s voice cracked on the last you. “I mean, you and Chey seem pretty close. She seemed to really connect with ‘Pleasant Sounds.’”
And there we were, to the heart of the matter. Johnny McKenna, the once great and mighty Johnny McKenna, was actually jealous of me, and not just jealous of me, but jealous of me and Chey. I would be a big fat liar to suggest that some small and thoroughly unlikable part of me didn’t smile on the inside.
“No, Johnny,” I said softly, but as firmly as I could. “I haven’t seen Chey outside of the band since that day I first played ‘Pleasant Sounds’ at your house.” Then I thought for a second and added, “I’ve been taking a breather from everything.”
He let out a big breath of air. “Okay, Harry, thanks,” he said, ignoring the opening I was giving him to really talk. I think by that point, Johnny was starting to check out of reality.
“Dude, why don’t you just call her and talk to her?”
“I tried to invite her for Christmas dinner, but she made up some story about having to go to her aunt’s house.”
“Did you stop to think that maybe she really did have to go to her aunt’s house?”
Silence.
“Call her, John. Remember what happened last time you shut her out?”
“Yeah,” he said after a minute. “I guess you’re right.”
“If you would just start with that presumption, the world would be a better place.”
“Huh?”
“Start with the presumption that I’m right. That if I’m right, the world would be a better place. It’s a joke.”
Finally, I heard a chuckle. “Asshole.” That was the old Johnny. “Tell your parents I said Merry Christmas, too,” he said, meaning to end the call. “Wait,” I said.
Silence.
There was something stopping me from hanging up. Like a feather tickling my brain, and not in a good way.
“Listen,” I started, but I didn’t know how to finish. At this point in the conversation Johnny would normally jump in and seize control, but not today. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit, I don’t know, distant. Like you said at rehearsal, maybe I haven’t been all here.”
“Is everything okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned. Like he really wanted to help me. Like he felt bad for not asking. That’s the kind of friend he was.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve just been taking some time to clear my head. It’s been a crazy year.” There was a pause, and then I realized it had been a much worse year for him. “I mean not as crazy as your year, but still kind of crazy.”
“It’s okay, Harry. I understand.”
“Anyway, I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. I couldn’t read between the lines of that sigh. Was Johnny exasperated with me? Was he as tired of my bullshit as I was of his? Or was he just tired, and sad?
“Anyway, like I said,” he started again, “tell your folks I say Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, man, I know they’d wish you the same.”
CHEYENNE BELLE