Page 40 of Searching for Beautiful
“Seriously, you cool?” he asks, all humor gone from his voice.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m caught off guard or what, but I say, “I can’t do it. I’ve always been able to lose myself in my pottery and now I can’t even go in the room. ”
Christian stares at me, and then the right side of his lips tilts up. God, he is so cute. I wish he wasn’t.
“Maybe it’s the music. That shit would kill my creativity, too. ”
Without an invitation, he goes inside and turns off the power on my CD player. Then, he heads right over to one of the extra chairs, sits down, and starts to play a song that sounds a lot like the Plain White T’s.
“Hey there, Bryntastic, sit your ass down in that cha-ir. ”
Something twitches in my chest. “I think I like, ‘Hey there Delilah, what’s it like in New York City’ better,” I tease him.
“What?” His fingers are still moving on the strings. “How can you say that? My words are original and fit the situation, so quit stalling and sit down. ” When I cross my arms at him, he adds a “Please. ”
This is completely stupid. I know there is no way that listening to Christian play his silly song is going to make me find my muse again. It’s not going to make me feel okay about doing what she gave me when I let her die. “I can’t. ” My voice cracks.
“You can. Just come inside. You don’t even have to make anything. ”
Shaking my head, I say, “This isn’t going to work. ”
“Damn, you’re negative. ”
“No. I’m honest. ” I wonder if it’s his mom’s psychology books—the ones she said he reads—that make him seem so much smarter than me, or if it’s just because he’s already been through so much and he found his way out of it.
“Doesn’t hurt to try. Plus, you can’t tell me you don’t want to hear me play, chica. ” I give him the evil eye and he winks at me. “Can’t hurt, right? Just come in and listen. If it helps, cool. If not, you’re no worse off than you are now. ”
“Why?” I creak out. “Why do you care? I haven’t been very nice to you. ” I hate myself for it. I’ve been horrible.
“Maybe I remember who you used to be. Maybe it sucks to see people lose themselves. Or to lose yourself. ”
Author: Nyrae Dawn
My heart starts to thunder. He’s talking about his sister. He saw her lose herself. And maybe he did a little, too.
Then, another grin. “Or maybe I just like to show off. You know, my mad guitar-playing skills. ” Christian nods toward the chair. “Come in. Sit down and listen to me play. ”
His eyes leave me, his head facing down as he concentrates on what he’s doing. Christian’s dark hair falls forward, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Nothing does. He’s so deep in concentration, I wonder if he remembers I’m here.
I take one step in. Then another and another until finally I’m sitting in the chair at my pottery wheel for the first time since Mom died.
…
I lie in bed, remembering what it felt like to sit in my pottery room tonight. I didn’t touch the wheel once, but still, I was there. That has to count for something. I’m trying to fight and claw my way back to normal little by little.
I think Mom would be proud about that.
I let Christian pop into my head. His hair in his face and his fingers dancing on the strings the way mine used to do in clay. How even though it felt awesome to just sit and be with someone, I know to the marrow of my bones that it wasn’t just him that got me in that room. Yes, he was a part of it because something about him is calming and normal, in my world that feels both ever-changing and also completely stagnant. But I’m not sure Christian’s hand lit the match.
It was his, and maybe Emery’s, Brenda’s, and…
In a way, I think it was mine. Mine because I took the step to let him in. Or maybe I’m being crazy, trying to look for something that isn’t there. Some part of me I never realized still needed someone the way I obviously thought I needed Jason.
Rolling over, I let my eyes find the red numbers of my clock. I stare at them until they start to blur. It’s a little after 4:00 a. m.
Riding my new burst of courage, I sneak out of bed, downstairs, and out back. My heart drops when the porch on Christian’s side of the fence is empty. It only takes a few seconds of my standing there and wondering what I’m doing before I hear a door opening quietly. Brenda steps on the porch, pulling out her secret cigarette.
A heavy breath finds its way from my lungs. I don’t know why I need to talk to her so badly, but I do.
