Chapter 12

Aspen

It was late when he left. I think around midnight. I'd thought about asking him to stay, but I didn't want to push things. I didn't really know what we were yet. We hadn't defined it, and I was ok with that. I mean, I didn't know how this would work. His goal right now was to join a band full time. I was here, slinging drinks. He'd be traveling while I didn't. Would anything be sustainable under those circumstances?

I yawned and stretched as I sat on the edge of my bed. I'd promised Bryson that we could hang out before my shift today. I didn't go in until the dinner rush, and I figured we could walk around the shops downtown. There were always buskers, and Bryson loved to watch them.

I sent him a quick text before jumping into the shower. I quickly washed my hair and scrubbed the daily grime off my body. When I stepped out, there was a response waiting. See you in 20. I laughed. It would be more like fifteen. He was never late, and so I jumped into action quickly. I combed my hair out and then twisted it into a knot on top of my head, slipped into a tee and shorts, and went in search of my flip flops. Just as I was swiping my lip gloss over my lips, the buzzer sounded. I sent him a message letting him know I'd be down in a moment, grabbed my purse and sunglasses, and locked up. I took the stairs two at a time and met him on the steps to my building. It was a bright sunny day, and a slight breeze blew. He looked nice standing there in a pair of shorts and nice fitting tee. I'd never really looked at him as more than a friend, but now that we were there, I was appreciating what he had a lot more. His hair ruffled in the wind, and his lips turned up on one side when he saw me.

"Where to?" He swept his arm out, directing me to take charge.

"I was thinking we could make our way to Quincy Market. There's a new sandwich shop there, and they always have new stuff in the stalls." I turned and started walking down the block.

"Perfect." He smiled as he reached for my hand. It was weird at first, being like this out here. I mean it was different in the apartment, out here makes it real.

He laced his fingers with mine, then lifted our joined hands and appraised them. "I like this. Is it ok?" He seemed unsure when he glanced at me.

I nodded. "It's new for me too." He lowered our hands between us, and then gently swung them. We walked that way all the way to the market. It was bustling with tourists and street performers were already setting up. One man had a set of makeshift drums. Some were large buckets, others looked like cans, and then he had an actual bass drum. He was placing them just so, and tapping to see what sound they'd produce. He lifted his chin and smiled as we passed by. A little farther down was a girl with a guitar. She had her case open in front of her. We stopped to listen for a moment and Bryson tossed a five-dollar bill into her case.

Being around music was always hard but being with Bryson seemed to make it a little easier. I tuned out the things that used to come to mind and tried with everything to stay in the present. "You, ok?" He leaned down by my ear. I nodded.

"Let's go in here." I motioned to a shop that was opening. A worker was pulling racks out the door and onto the sidewalk in front of the windows. There were beautiful scarves hanging. The fabric looked expensive. My mind began to wander, and I remembered the day my dad came home from a trip. He'd been away for weeks, traveling for a tour. He brought me a doll, and my mom a beautiful silk scarf. She wore it to several shows when I was little. I shook away the memory. I wasn't going to do this; ruin our day with sadness.

"It's ok to think about them." Bryson's voice broke into my thoughts.

"How did you know?" I blinked up at him; the sunlight was behind his head, making it look as if he were wearing a halo.

"You get this far away look on your face, and your eyes get cloudy."

"I don't want this day to be about them. I spend all my time trying to move on, and I just can't." I sighed.

"You're not supposed to forget them or move on. You just have to accept that it's ok for you to be happy. They would want you to be happy." He squeezed my hand.

"I'm gonna try." I offered a half smile. "You're helping."

"Good. So, Penny, what makes you happy?" He pointed to all the vendors that were surrounding us.

"Ice cream." I grinned as I began dragging him toward the pink and white striped awning that adorned the front of my favorite ice cream shop. "Dad used to bring me here once a week for a double fudge cone."

"Let's get one in his honor." Bryson laughed as I rushed us through the door. I hadn't been here since before he died. I couldn't bring myself to do it, but Bryson was making me brave. Parts of me were seeing that it was ok to love things again and to be happy.

The shop smelled just as I remembered it. The same list of flavors was posted on the wall, and the same pink napkins were stacked on the counter. Before I could even get the words out, Bryson had placed our order. When he handed me the cone full of double fudge ice cream, I couldn't help it. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I smiled as a tear slipped free. "Thank you." Those words didn't seem like enough, but it was all I could manage at the time.

"Let's walk this way." He guided me back out onto the sidewalk and began leading us back the way we came. When we reached the town square, we found a bench and sat. The drummer had finished setting up and was putting on quite a show. A small crowd had gathered, and as we sat there, Bryson tapped his foot to the beat.

"You know, you should bring your guitar here, and play. I bet you could find others who might be looking for a bandmate that way." I tossed the idea out, thinking it was crazy and he'd ignore it.

"I might consider that…if you come and play too." He didn't look at me when he said it. He just let the words hang between us.

"I can't." It fell from my lips without any effort. I'd uttered these words so many times that I didn't even have to think before I responded.

"Can't or won't?" He turned this time, shoving the final bite of his cone into his mouth.

"You know this." I narrowed my eyes. "I don't play anymore." I hadn't told him about my night in the bar a few days ago. How I gave In and let myself play and it almost broke me. How the pain almost swallows me every time my fingers touch the keys. He didn't know that giving up that part of me was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

"I just don't understand it, I guess. I mean, you clearly still love it. I see the way you look at the instruments. I see the smile you get when you hear a piece you know. How can you just walk away from it?" He was facing me at this point, both hands on my knees.

"It hurts too much. I've tried, more times than you could ever imagine. I'll sit in front of the keys and will myself to touch them. I've done it, twice, and both times I felt like my heart was going to split in two. I can hear him each time I think about it, telling me how to fix whatever mistake I keep making, reminding me that I can get it. I can see him pacing as he thinks about what piece to give me to learn. It's all right there in my head. All the time, every day. Pushing music out of my life made it not hurt so bad." I finished my ice cream and stood up. I needed space. He was making me feel things I wasn't ready to deal with yet.

"Penny, it's been five years. Do you want to live the rest of your life feeling like this? You have to let this out. Music is who you are. Let it help you." He sounded like he was begging.

"It's who I was." I wiped at a falling tear. "I'm not that girl anymore." I crossed my arms over my chest.

"That's where you're wrong." He shook his head at me. "You'll always be that girl. It's who you are. You can't hide her away. She's in there—" he pointed at my heart "—you just have to let her out."

"I can't." I started to walk away.

"It's what you were made for," he called at my back.

"Not anymore," I murmured as I kept walking.

I made it all the way home. I thought he'd follow, but he didn't. I slowly climbed the steps of my building, let myself inside my apartment, and went into my bedroom. I passed by the piano, the only thing I really had of my father's, on the way. I flopped across the bed and began crying as I hit the mattress. What started out as a day to move on from this grief, had just been a tease. It was still there, just under the surface, like a sore that had scabbed over, and Bryson kept picking at it. Music wasn't a part of me anymore, and I needed to him to accept it, or stay away.