13. Chapter 13 #2
Summoner rolled his eyes. After each performance, we would rate.
Summoner’s commentary was colored by his years of experience.
Even when the opportunity presented itself for biting criticism, he remained balanced and patient.
Except when the stand-up comedian took the stage.
Us poor fools who didn’t have the foresight to step outside for a vape break were held hostage by 10 minutes of the worst, most unfunny monologue about smoking weed and having sex.
I cringed so hard that I think my large intestine got a cramp.
I polished off the last of my drink as dollar store Sam Kinison thanked the crowd.
I turned to Summoner with expectant eyes.
“D minus.” He smirked.
Damn.
Summoner shrugged out of his coat before slowly standing up. Lips fixed in a hard line, he stretched his arms overhead.
“Everything alright boss?” Moore asked without looking up from the game on his phone.
“…Yeah, just stretching my legs.”
I pushed back my chair to follow, but Summoner shook his head.
“I’ll be right back.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.
Dejected, I scooted back to the table and chewed on my straw.
My eyes followed Summoner as he navigated the cramped space.
He fit the role of an aging hipster very well.
He didn’t look out of place. It took a moment for my brain to comprehend the scene before me.
The dawning was slow, then piercing. A violent attack.
My stomach dropped to my boots, and I felt lightheaded.
No! No! No! No! No!
This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the plan at all. We were meant to be silent observers.
“Moore!” I exclaimed in a harsh panic.
“Shit,” Moore muttered through gritted teeth.
But he was just as powerless as I was. Stopping him would call too much attention.
Right now, Summoner was nothing more than a random old guy at an open mic night.
My eyes darted around the room. No one gave him a second thought as he browsed the instruments on the back wall.
He grabbed an acoustic guitar and strummed it a few times.
Lines bunched up on his forehead as he considered the sound.
He sat on the stool in the middle of the stage and adjusted the tuning keys.
My jaw clenched and ground down my teeth.
Summoner swallowed hard. Even from the back of the room, I could see the harsh rise and fall of his Adam’s apple.
His free hand brushed against his thigh and wiped away the nervous sweat I knew was there.
He looked down. His shoulders rose and fell steadily before he picked up his head and started to strum the guitar.
The movement. His fingers on the strings pulled forth notes and snatched my breath away.
But the thing that held me captive was the sound of his voice.
His notes. They were marred by age and years of overuse.
Yet they still flowed like a fine wine. Summoner’s voice was larger than the room.
It had a personality of its own. His tenor exploded outward and pushed against the walls.
I had seen a countless number of Summoner’s concerts over the years, so I thought I knew what it was like to see him perform live.
But that was a lie. My repeated viewings of those tapes, DVDs, and illegal downloads paled in comparison to this.
On stage, he was in control. He was master of his domain.
The weapon of music cast aside his nerves, anxieties, and fears.
Summoner tilted his head and locked his eyes on mine.
I was selected. The pounding of my heart sent echoing waves of coolness through my chest. His gaze was overwhelmingly powerful.
Nothing and no one else mattered. His audience was me.
The intertwined seduction of his voice and his musical notes grabbed my hand and led me on a dance.
The music pressed against my body, straightforward and bluntly honest about everything it needed and wanted.
The lyrics breathed harshly, almost violently, against my ear.
Goosebumps inched down my arms. And in that moment, I only existed to be led by him.
My body twisted, dipped, and swayed without moving from my seat.
My chest rose and fell manically as if I’d been running for my life as Summoner ended his song. My lower half was clenched, desperately attempting to hold on to my underwear for dear life as I was moments away from ripping them off and throwing them onstage.
God…
Summoner quickly sat aside the guitar and carefully climbed off the stool. He ran off the stage to a smattering of applause. The crowd’s reaction made me slightly irrational.
If they only knew who had performed for them.
Moore jumped out of his seat and launched into a dead run after Summoner.
The top-heavy man dove around the tables before disappearing out a side exit.
A wave of panic overcame my arousal. I stood on jelly legs and pulled on my coat.
I grabbed Summoner’s coat off his chair and followed.
The winter cold slapped me in the face as I stepped out of the dingy bar.
Assaulted by mother nature, I walked around until I spotted the SUV. Moore leaned against the trunk.
“Watch out.” He pointed.
A multicolored puddle of fresh vomit, punctuated by bits of rice, decorated the icy ground. I grimaced. The weight of guilt settled heavily on my chest, making breathing difficult.
“…Is he okay?” I rasped.
“I think so. He’s just cleaning up.”
“How?”
“I’m always prepared. It’s my job.” He shook his head but couldn’t help his grin.
“Moore!” Summoner called.
Moore stepped around to the passenger side and retrieved a washcloth, a bottle of water, a bottle of mouthwash, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. I stood back, wringing my hands as he placed the items into the trunk.
“Should we get going?” He slammed the trunk shut and turned to flash a smile at me.
I climbed into the backseat and immediately looked to Summoner.
His body was pressed against the car door like a discarded heap.
He had gone twelve rounds with his anxiety and had been dealt a knockout punch.
I started to reach for him, but my hand stopped midway.
His barriers were up. There was no in for me.
I pulled my hand back and clenched at Summoner’s coat in my lap.
Pulling at the soft fabric gave me something to focus on that wasn’t him and how badly I had mis-stepped.
Silence roared loudly and impenetrably for the entire ride.
My mind was a scramble of unhelpful words and phrases.
Nothing sounded right in my head, so I stayed quiet.
We rode up a private elevator from the parking garage.
Summoner leaned against the wall. His shoulders were heavy.
Moore shook his head disapprovingly as we stepped into the hall on the opposite end.
I walked several steps behind him, using him as a shield.
When he walked to his door, unlocked it, and stepped inside, I totally felt betrayed.
So much for helping me out!
With a tiny huff, I walked inside Summoner’s apartment and hung up our coats.
I looked over my shoulder but didn’t see him.
Worried, I wandered the apartment, looking for him.
The kitchen, dining room, and living room were all empty.
I stepped over his discarded hoodie in the hall before eventually catching up to him pacing in front of the staircase.
His head stooped. His shoulders heavy. Again, I found myself in a place where I didn’t know what to say.
Naturally, my mouth betrayed me, and I started blathering.