43 Rhys
43
Rhys
Axel Nguyen lived less than a half mile from my house. I was almost certain I’d seen him out surfing by the beach. I took a look around when he invited me in and felt uncomfortable somehow when I realized this was a home and not just four walls. He was nothing like what he’d seemed when I first met him weeks before at the club. And I wanted to leave there right away, turn around and not look back.
“Sorry, it’s a fucking wreck in here. My kids, you know…” He shook his head. “I mean, why lie? It’s my fault too. I must have my newest portfolio here somewhere…”
I watched him dig through the papers, paints, and junk on top of his desk. The house was in complete disorder. But that chaos so full of life was stimulating. There were paintings on the doorframes, on the chair legs, and in some of the corners, as if they’d wanted to mark every single space, making the place unique. The living room was full of toys, and there were storybooks on the ground. While he went on opening and closing drawers, I crouched down and picked up a piece of paper.
“Wow, look at these colors,” I said.
“My kids, they’re super artistic. And of course, Leah’s the best painter in town. Actually, though, I’m the one responsible for the craziness.” He looked up at the ceiling beams with their drawings and symbols. Then he went on looking around his desk. “Ah, here it is. It was in this folder.”
I came closer and looked at the cover design for the single. All I’d told him during our informal meeting was the specifications Alexa had given me. I still hadn’t seen the final result. Axel had been in touch with Owen since then, and Owen was the one to give him the thumbs-up. It was when I saw Axel in a café that morning that he asked me if I wanted to see it. And it was every bit as good as I’d imagined.
A cliff surrounded by smoke and shadows. A red sky. The title we’d chosen, “Edges and Scars,” was at the top, and underneath, Rhys Baker feat. Alexa Goldberg. I looked at it a long time, almost surprised, as if those weeks of recordings, meetings, and rehearsals with Alexa hadn’t been real until now.
“Bro, it’s not that bad…”
“Fuck no, it isn’t. It’s perfect.”
“You were starting to scare me,” he said.
“I was just trying to take it in. It’s incredible.”
“Cool. Well, that’s that. You want a smoke?”
I told him I didn’t smoke, but that I’d go with him. We went out onto the porch, and Axel lit his cigarette. We remained quiet as we observed the stretch of the sea further off.
“Where’d you tell me you were from again?” Axel asked, expelling smoke.
“Tennessee. In the U.S.”
“What takes you so far from home?”
“Just life,” I sighed.
“Don’t you miss it?”
“Sometimes. You from here?”
“Yeah. I moved here with my family when I was little and grew up here. Then I went to college and came back. I spent a few months in Paris years back, but it wasn’t the same. I’m anchored here, to this stretch of sea,” he said proudly.
“What do you mean?”
“Just that. It’s my anchor. We all need one, don’t we?”
“I don’t know what you mean…” I murmured.
“I mean something to sustain us.”
“Sustain us…” I closed my eyes.
“Cities, circumstances, decisions all change us as we go through life, don’t you think? We’re malleable, like the clay my kids play with. I wanted to keep being the person I was here… I think that’s what it is.”
I blew out a breath of air.
“Not all of us have an anchor,” I said.
“Sometimes it’s not a place. Sometimes it’s a person, a dream… Who knows? There are so many variables. Listen, I won’t keep you any longer.” He gave me a look that was indecipherable. I don’t know if it was curiosity, or if he saw something in me. But it made me uncomfortable. “Good luck with the song.”
I thanked him and repeated that the image was perfect before walking down the steps of the porch so similar to mine and onto the sand of the beach. I took off my shoes and kept going slowly, breathing deeply, savoring the scent of the sea. An anchor. That’s what mattered. Anchors, roots, nests.
It was so simple and painful at the same time…