34. Rickie
Rickie
Aw. Daphne is really nervous. I feel bad about pressing her to do this.
I’ll just have to make it up to her later. That could be fun.
“Okay, let’s hear Radiohead’s ‘Creep,’” the DJ says with a smile. “Awesome song.” He hits a button.
“Interesting pick,” I say. “A little dark, but it’s a killer track. I like it.”
She gives me a funny little smile. Then she switches on her mic, and I do the same. The intro kicks in, and she taps her toe easily to the rhythm. I put a hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze.
And we start to sing.
The first part of the song is pitched a little low for her. She stands very still and sings the lyrics carefully, and I help, without drowning her out.
We sound awesome, if I do say so myself.
When we hit the chorus, she sings it full-out. And I instantly get the chills. Her voice is silky over the crunchy guitar, and I feel her voice roll over me.
It’s exhilarating.
The next verse goes the same way, and I’m really enjoying myself as we hit the chorus again. And I risk a glance to the right as we build up to the crescendo on weirdo .
She picks the same moment to glance my way. And she smiles.
And then… I don’t know what happens to me. I get a prickly sensation all over my scalp. My face gets hot and it’s suddenly hard to get oxygen into my lungs. I glance at Daphne again, and it’s like hardcore déjà vu. As if I’ve been here before, but maybe on an acid trip.
I keep singing on autopilot. Or maybe I’m just mouthing the words.
It’s a short song. Daphne sings the last quiet line alone, and then the bar erupts in cheers, especially from our table against the wall.
Daphne smiles, but it’s forced. She’s shooting me strange glances.
What the hell just happened? I’m having a panic attack for no reason at all.
We walk back toward the table, but the tightness in my chest isn’t loosening up. “I’m gonna smoke,” I grit out. Then I make a beeline for the door.
Outside, it’s a pretty summer night. The light is fading already. That’s August in Vermont. I kick a foot against the bricks, lean against the building and tilt my head up. And I just breathe.
I stay out here alone for a few minutes, just trying to figure out what triggered me. That song, maybe. But why?
The door opens and Daphne comes out, her bag over her shoulder. “I paid the bill. We can leave if you want.”
“We don’t have to,” I grunt.
She shakes her head slowly. “I think we do. What happened in there?”
“No idea.” It comes out as a sigh, because I’m so tired of making excuses to this girl. “Why, uh, did you pick that song? It made me feel…” Crazy? Possessed? I don’t even know how to explain it.
She looks uncomfortable. “Because we sang it together before.”
“What?” The prickles on my scalp are back. “Where?”
“In your car,” she whispers. “On our road trip.”
“Fuck. Really?”
She nods.
“Holy shit.” I put my head back against the wall. It’s tempting to bang it right into the bricks.
“God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to screw with you. I just saw it on the list.”
I reach out and grab her hand. “It’s okay. I want to remember.” As I say these words, I am nearly consumed by self-loathing. “But aside from having an episode of the creeps, I don’t actually remember. Christ .” I’m a delicate fucking flower, apparently. “What else did we sing in the car?”
“Whatever was on the radio. And also, um, things you had on cassette tape. Joan Jett and the Black Hearts.”
My laugh is bitter. “Prince?”
“Yeah, ‘Purple Rain.’”
“Journey? Or maybe not. I wouldn’t have wanted you to think I like Journey if I was trying to impress you.”
“Maybe you did like me, because there was no ‘Wheel In the Sky.’” She squeezes my hand.
“Of course I liked you,” I snap, sounding like an asshole.
“Joking,” she whispers.
“Sorry. Can we go home?”
“Yeah. Come on.”
* * *
Daphne offers to drive, but I turn her down, as usual. She doesn’t argue, but she shoots me worried glances for the first few miles.
I’m a broody asshole all the way home, too. And when we pull into the driveway, I realize I haven’t said a word for thirty miles.
Shit .
I kill the engine, and the silence practically throbs.
“Sorry,” I grunt. “I’m a little tired.”
“Oh please,” she says, not letting me off the hook. “You're freaked out. Can’t you just admit it?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Uh huh. I know you will. But you just spent the whole summer trying to get me to trust you. And when I finally decide to do that, you clam up. So why do I have to show you my whole bag of crazy when you never show me yours?”
“It’s not the same.”
She snorts.
“I’m serious. Everything that’s gone wrong in your life right now is someone else’s fault.”
“That’s crap, Rickie,” Daphne fires back, with her trademark lack of bullshit.
“What you don’t understand is that the only reason I do trust you with the darker things is because I’ve gotten a glimpse of yours, too.
You make me feel like I don’t have to be perfect all the time.
That song? ‘Creep?’ It’s like our little secret. ”
I hang my head. I don’t feel like anyone’s safe place tonight. But I am definitely a weirdo, like the song says.
“Look—my ex was really good at pretending he had everything figured out. And he turned out to be the scariest person I’ve ever met.”
“Jesus. Don’t compare me to that violent fucker.”
“I'm not, and you know it. But if you want me to really trust you, you have to be willing to share.”
“Hell,” I curse. “You’re too smart for your own good.” I reach across the seat and take her hand in mine, smoothing my thumb across her palm. She’s right, of course.
And now I realize I have another problem. I recognized her ex, too. But I haven’t told her that. I recognized him enough to tell Lenore about it, and to dream about him, too. Yet I haven’t shared, because that’s just freaky. Why stir up the specter of that jerk for nothing?
She opens her mouth again, and I expect another plea for me to talk. But she changes the subject instead. “Rick, we forgot to go upstairs for a look at the empty room in your house.”
I lean back against the headrest and smile. “We did, didn't we? Never made it past my bedroom.”
“Chastity says nobody is allowed to go in your bedroom. Ever. But I did.”
“I thought I explained this already. You’re not just anybody. You’ve already had a first row seat to my bag of crazy. And now you’ve got a backstage pass.”
She laughs. “All right. Then I’ll take that empty room in your house. Sight unseen.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Because I trust you. And even if things don't work out for us, I’ll still know that you're a good guy.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t really deserve you, Daphne Shipley.”
“Just try to, McFly. That’s all I ask. The whole Meghan Trainor thing was a nice touch, by the way.”
“Was it?” I really had enjoyed watching her blush while I sang it. So now I hum the chorus again, and I can feel her smiling in the dark.
“Encore?” she asks, hopefully.
“Depends what kind you’re asking for, really.” Then I hitch myself closer to her on the truck’s seat, and pull her in. “There’s all kinds of ways I could interpret that. Just saying.”
The kiss I give her is sweet, and deep, and it’s everything I need.