Chapter Four : Ashley Davies, One-Oh-One
"Wait, you were a photographer for PICK magazine?"
Ashley nearly drops her fork, and as I nod, I can't help feeling proud of my old job.
"Bitch."
"Hey."
I try looking offended but I can't, not with her smirking at me in that way. I could never look anything but thrilled when she looks at me that way, so instead I break into laughter, not able to hold it in anymore. She starts laughing too, and something tells me it's because she likes how we sound laughing together.
It's been a week since Ashley met up with us at O'Neills, also known as The Most Torturous Night Ever. Glen and Ashley were cordial, sharing laughs and innocent touches, always initiated by Glen. Having to watch that was hard enough for me to stomach, and I probably would've called it an early night, leaving them to fall in love without having to watch it, but something prevented me from leaving. Something in the form of Ashleys eyes and subtle touches with me, almost always initiated by her.
She may have gone to meet Glen, but she stayed because of me. I may be clueless sometimes, but I'm not dense, and I know she hung around to hang around me. I mean, why else would she jump at the chance to be alone with me whenever the possibility arose? Why did she follow me to the bathroom every time I went, lamely [but adorably] saying it was because we were "Loo Buds"?
And why did her eyes remain on mine whenever she told a story? A table full of eyes, and she kept hers right with mine the whole time. Telling me a separate story from what she told the table.
I'm not really sure whether they [Glen and Ashley] hit it off or not, but I am sure that we [Ashley and me] really did. Which is why we're here now, having dinner together inside her small but perfect apartment.
"So what's your beef with PICK, then?"
I smile cheekily, realizing that when it's just me and her, I'm different. We both are. It's like we're finally ourselves, or something. I've never felt like this with someone, with any friend, and if I weren't having so much fun, I'd probably freak out.
But the truth is, it's only a matter of time before I freak out. Because I know there's something developing here. Something that scares me in a way I can't put my finger on.
"Oh, well my old band, The Drumsticks, tried to get you guys to do a story on us for, like, ever. But you always turned us down."
I nearly cough on my beer, "The Drumsticks?"
"Yeah! Why? Do you remember us?" She smiles an excited grin, and I wish I could say I do remember, but I don't.
With a teasing scoff, I lean back in my chair, smilng devilishly, "Well, Ash, with a lame name like The Drumsticks, is it really any wonder we turned you down?"
Her mouth opens in a surprised gasp, the first time I've ever really teased her, a glimpse at my sarcasm, before she smiles, somewhat impressively. "Wow, low blow, Spence." Holding a hand to her heart, she laughs, "Low blow."
She smirks around her drink, and I feel something flutter inside my stomach for the 2,387th time tonight. I'm in trouble. I'm in so much trouble. I'm getting myself into something I'm not ready for.
No, I'm not just getting into this, I'm already very much inside this -- whatever it is -- and, yeah, I'm definitely not ready.
I've finally gotten to know Ashley Davies tonight. Through the smidgiest bits of information she's divulged, I feel like I know her. Born and raised in downtown Cleveland (the bad parts), she grew up fast, living with only her mother. Money was always tight, her mother literally saved their lives by working three jobs, and that's all she shared about her childhood [so different from my own]. But that was ok with me, that was fine by me, because I felt special just to hear it. For hearing something that sounded like no one else had ever heard.
No one but me.
She loves music, and loves it in -- her words, not mine -- a "crazy, obsessed way". With no boundaries or segregation. She is the Rosa Parks of music, leaving no artist behind to ride in the back of the bus. Glancing over her CD collection proves this; Led Zeppelin, Laura Nyro, Destroyer, Bananarama, Pearl Jam, Temptations, Spice Girls, The Mountain Goats. The list could go on forever, cause the CDs certainly do, and really who still buys those things?
Well Ashley does. She's a rarity in this day and age, a rare bird that pays for every bit of music she owns. And it makes me like her even more.
While she's an honest and law abiding citizen [in the ways of music, that is] she's also talented. Weathered and rehearsed in the drums, guitar, piano, violin, and as if that weren't enough, she can also sing. She studied music at a community college [that she's still paying for], and now aspires to pursue a career there, inside music, in whatever way she can.
Which has me curious as to what she's doing here in Shaker Heights, but when I asked, she merely shrugged, giving me a simple answer, "Just felt like it was time, you know? Time for a change in scenery."
That was it. My 101 crash course on Ashley Davies, and I have to say I'm happy I signed up. I'm positively thrilled I was even accepted.
We finished the delicious meal she cooked a little while ago, and neither one of us have made any signs of moving anytime soon. We both seem completely content to just sit right here all night. Drinking our drinks, and telling our tales.
"So," But something in the air just changed. Something just shifted. "Glen called today."
And there it is. My brother's name out in the air, out in the open. Changing everything about this this moment, this night, even her. Especially her. She seems so strange, now, so foreign. Like she's putting it out there just to see how it's received. Like she's winding up and pitching me a ball just to see if I'll actually hit it.
Just to see if I even can.
"Oh?"
I try sounding nonchalant, cause Lord knows I'm definitely interested, and somehow definitely not interested at the same time.
"Yup."
Those dark eyes stare straight through mine, and I have to look away, I have to peel at my beer bottle label. I have to laugh and turn on the sarcasm -- my tension reliever since 1980.
"Wow, really? We were starting to think he'd never learn how to use that damn thing. But I guess my brother can make phone calls all on his own now. So yay! Go Glen!"
She smiles, but it's in a very "I'm serious" kind of way, and I waste no time in following her silent command.
"Ok, so he called. What did he want?"
But I already know very well what he wants.
"Well," She's tentative, she's ready to throw a curve ball that I just can't handle, and something tells me she knows it."He wants to go out again this weekend," Deep, deep breath. "With only me."
"Oh." I can't hide the defeat in my voice this time, and it just keeps oozing from me as I fruitlessly try covering it up, "Well, ok, that's cool. I guess."
"Is it?" She seems disbelieving, and I'm feeling more and more uncomfortable.
What's going on here? Why is she looking at me like that, and why do I feel like I'm on fire?
"Yeah. I mean, that's what you wanted, right?"
Please say no. Just say no.
Wait, why? Why do I need her to say no? Honestly, why does her dating Glen, Hell anyone, why does it bother me? More than just bother, why does it eat at me?
"I don't know." I see something in her I've never seen before -- hesitant fear -- and slowly, so very slowly, I feel the honesty leaving her in waves, knowing she's about to start stripping herself down to nothing but naked vulnerability. "It feels kind of weird. Like, I'm wrong or something. It's wrong to do to you. Like, I should talk to you about it, you know, run it by you first."
Oh, so that's whats going on here: Pity. And if there's anything I hate more than Ryan Seacrest, it's a pity party.
My wounded pride shows, as I defensively reply, "That’s stupid, Ash, you should do what you want. Don't worry about me."
"Oh no, no!" Her words are leaving her lips fast, so fast, that it makes me even more nervous. "I'm not worried about you. No, that's not what I meant. I just," There's that fear again, there's that deep breath, and this time it feels like she's gonna strip away everything, leaving her unbearably bare before me, "I just don't know if he's what I want. I don't know if *that's* what I want. Don't get me wrong, aside from being a jackass, your brothers nice."
She smiles, and even though I feel like I'm going to explode from a bomb made up of fear and confusion, I smile too. I can't help it. Not when she's looking at me like that.
"I just think," Now her eyes are focused on mine entirely, searching and reaffirming. There's no fear in those eyes and there's only relief as she practically whispers, "No, I know, I could have something better, something more real, with someone else."
Oh God. That internal bomb just blew up, shattering any of my self composure. I'm terrified. I'm sweating. I'm drinking gulp after gulp of what little beer I have left, before I'm jumping from the table. Quickly retrieving another one.
Is she talking about me? Does she want...something with me?
"Spence?"
Sitting back down, looking at her through the bottle sitting between my lips, I widen my eyes. "Yeah?"
But it's lost in my swallows, and she looks sad. So very sad.
"You ok?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." I've always been good at lying, and this time is no exception, except this time, someone reads through them. This time, she sees everything I hide, and it scares me shitless.
I'm starting to see where this is going. I'm starting to understand what's had me lost, flustered, excited, confused, and frightened.
"Spencer, come on, you're not fine. You're practically eating your bottles over there and you won't even look at me." She pauses, reaching across the table to hold my trembling hand, and I know she feels just how shaky it is, because she actually stills it between hers. "Hey, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Is that what's wrong? Is it something I said?"
"No." I say quietly, truthfully, feeling like I can't lie just because she's holding me, "No, it wasn't anything you said."
It's the truth, but it's still a lie. Because I love what she said, but it's exactly what has me so unnerved, so off kilter.
"Ok, then what is it?"
With a gentle smile, she asks as if it were just that easy. As if her thumb softly stroking over my skin, so very softly, doesn't burn me. Doesn't stoke me into the largest flames.
And that's it. That's what it is. She's what's wrong. This is what's wrong. This is not an innocent crush. This is something I still can't, and don't want to, put my finger on.
Because if I do, then that means, God, that means I'm gay.
And I can't get into that. I just can't deal with something like that. Something that changes everything I've thought about my life, everything I've thought about me. Everything would be different. Nothing would be as it was. And I can't break that. Because, as I've said, I'm a girl who doesn't break routine. I'm a girl who sets out on her desired path and sticks to it, no matter what other forks tempt her along the way.
And this fork, this girl before me, she is so tempting. Too tempting. And I'm not ready for it. I'm not ready for her road.
"Spence?"
She breaks me from my thoughts, making me realize that at some point I must have removed my hand from hers, leaving me colder than I was before. She looks so insecure. She looks so out of her element, and it hurts me, knowing I'm the one who's thrown her there, "What's wrong?"
She's staring right inside me from across her small kitchen table. She's looking straight through me, and we've never been closer. In this moment, we see everything. We see everything we want. We read every word we're not saying.
I can't let her see that far inside me anymore. I can't let her see what I hide. I can't let her see me being gay. I can't let her see that word, the one I hide so well. The one word I don't want to spell -- the one I might never be able to spell -- because that word changes my entire life.
I'm just not ready for that, and what's even sadder? I don't think I'll ever be ready.
And that's why I muster up the saddest smile in sad smile history, as I look into her open and honest eyes. That's why I have to speak in the smallest voice I have, hoping with the tiniest sliver of hope that maybe she won't hear me. Maybe she'll see the truth inside these lies I'm about to tell.
"I think," Sighing and more sighing. "I think you should call my brother."
"Spence." She's not ready to let me take that safe and lying road. She's still trying to give me strength. She's still reaching her hand across the table to keep me warm, and I'm still shutting her out. I'm shutting her right out, leaving us both with nothing but the freezing cold.
" No, really, you should. You'll never know what could be real if you don't try, right?"
I say these hypocritical words, genuinely. These words I should be listening to. My own advice I should be taking. But I'm not. Because I'm too much of a coward. Because I don't have the balls.
Because she was right to have pity before. She was so right.
I can feel the disappointment dripping from her, leaking all over this table, filling every one of my empty spaces, as she just looks at me. Just looks for a beat longer, one more beat, as if she were waiting. Waiting for me to change my mind. Waiting for me to say something else. For me to say the real words. The words she sees inside of me.
The words she wished I would have said.
But I'm not, and that one more beat is up. That last hopeful breath has been breathed. And she sighs. She sighs in a way like she's giving up. And I'm colder than I've ever been.
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
Through the smallness of her voice, through the sadness of her eyes, she still manages to wear a tiny Ashley smile, telling me it's ok. Telling me we're still ok.
And I would believe her, I should believe her, but it's her eyes that mislead me. Those eyes are telling me a separate story. One only I can read.
"So," One heavy sigh and a deep swig of her vodka tonic. "I guess I'm going out with your brother again."
"Yeah," One regretful sigh and half-a-bottle swallow of beer. "Guess so."
With the excitement held for her yearly physical, she breathes out, "Awesome."
And as I sadly glance down on the dinner she's made us, I look like I'm in the middle of one. "Yeah. Awesome."
-------------
Chapter Five :: Eater's Remorse