Brake for It #3
By the time I get to the Downtown, the only all-ages venue in Great Falls, the parking lot is full and I have to park the Beast three blocks away in front of the yoga studio on Main Street.
But I don’t mind, because a dose of fresh air is absolutely necessary tonight.
I spent most of the day in my makeshift darkroom, which is basically an old storage closet my parents let me clean out and fill with a folding table, a bunch of chemicals, and a red light bulb.
Everyone I know takes digital photos, but I just can’t get over how much better things look on film, how much joy I find in the act of making an image, dodging and burning and figuring out how the chemicals play with the light.
I know Photoshop can do all of that and more, but every time I’ve used it for the yearbook, it’s like the thrill fades away.
Tonight, I have a job to do. I can’t be distracted. I hold my camera steady as I walk past the line to get into the Downtown and tell the bouncer my name. She checks the guest list and ushers me past a velvet rope. “Right this way.”
Inside, the energy in the club is already cranked up high, even though Monica’s folk group is kind of a snoozer. In every corner, I hear people talking about how they can’t wait for Cameron’s band, how they already got tickets for the summer tour, how they hear he’s single.
I push through the crowd and find the door to the backstage area, where another bouncer lets me glide past security, and I snake through the bowels of the building until I get to the greenroom. I slip inside, not wanting to be seen. Not yet.
Cam, Fiona, Timmy, and Regan are huddled up, their heads ducked toward one another, and I raise my camera, snapping photos of their hands white-knuckling against each other’s backs, the tension in their necks, their side profiles betraying anxiety, anticipation.
“We got this,” Cam says, his voice intense. “It’s just like any other night. Any other club.”
Timmy leans his head back and lets out a howl. I snap another photo, and the group breaks, jumping up and down. I keep taking photos until Cameron spins around and faces me.
“Oh my god. You’re here.” He grabs me in a hug so tight my cheek is pressed right up against his collarbone. “Thank god.” He releases me and looks like he wants to say more, but then a woman dressed in black pops her head through the door.
“Ready, crew?”
“As ever,” Cam says. He looks at me, his brows pinched together. “You’ll be right up front, yeah?”
“Nowhere else.”
Cameron’s face relaxes, and I follow them through the door, reloading my film just in time for them to hit the stage.
The lights go down, and the crowd, which has become even denser since I arrived, roars with excitement, all attention on the stage.
There’s a pulsing in the air, a bubble of hope getting bigger and bigger.
Everyone is here because they want to witness greatness.
Because they want to forget whatever else is going on in their lives. They are all here because of Cam.
I hold my breath and turn my attention to the stage. Cameron grins at me, quick, and I snap his photo before he grabs the mic. He begins.
The set is uproarious, an increasingly intensifying explosion of guitar riffs and drum solos and Regan’s ethereal keys, the thumping bass, and raw, ragged vocals that can only be produced from genuine emotion.
Several times, I have to look away from Cameron because watching him tonight is like seeing him splay his insides out.
He has never performed like this, like he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t, if he let all those feelings fester inside.
And at the end, when he grabs the mic and breathes heavily and says, “Thank you so much. See you on tour,” everyone in the room shouts, “More! More! More!” But Cameron just waves and heads backstage with the others.
My heart is racing and my fingers quiver as I rest my camera against my hip. No one can deny the effect Cameron has on the crowd, the magic he conjured with only his guitar. He could have anyone in this club if he wanted.
I shake my head. I don’t want to think about the explosion he just set off. What I want to do is get fresh air.
I sneak out the side door and am greeted by a rushing breeze, cool in the night.
It picks up my hair and tickles the back of my neck, where sweat sticks to my skin.
I swallow as much air as I can. With my eyes squeezed shut, I listen to the sounds around me.
People singing Cam’s songs as they climb into their cars.
People laughing, high on the music, on the night.
And then, one voice above the rest. “Willa?”
I blink my eyes open and see Cam leaning against the brick wall just behind the dumpster. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be with the others?”
His eyes are sparkling, electric. “That was…it was amazing. But I needed…” He trails off and looks up at the sky.
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
Cameron walks over to me, and we face each other for a moment, silence extending between us, charged.
“Everyone’s going to a party at Fiona’s,” he says. “You in?”
“Actually,” I say, suddenly aware of my racing heartbeat, the quickening of my pulse.
It’s almost like I can feel every tingling nerve in my fingertips, like every cell in my body knows that what happens next will change our lives forever.
Now, the voice in my head urges. Now is the time.
I choose my words carefully. “Do you think we could go somewhere for a bit? You and me?”
Cameron’s mouth ticks up in a smile. “Like where?”
“I dunno. Knot’s Creek?”
Cameron cocks his head like he’s surprised. “Okay.” He nods toward the parking lot. “Where’s the Beast?”
“Over on Main Street. Let’s take your clunker?” Cameron’s sedan is just behind him, and he shrugs like sure, and we both climb inside.
The car isn’t as well-kept as mine, and even though it’s from the nineties, I’d classify it as old instead of classic.
He nods toward the stereo. “What kind of music do you want?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” He looks aghast.
“Come on. Can’t I just remember how good you guys were? I don’t want those songs to leave my brain just yet.”
“You really think so?”
My mouth is dry and my neck stiff with anticipation, but I force myself to nod. “Yes.”
Cameron takes a right turn down an unmarked dirt road toward Knot’s Creek.
It’s a dead-end pull-off, and even though you can technically hop in the creek here, you really only go here for one of two reasons: to hook up or to hide.
He cuts the engine and sets the keys down in the cupholder between us. “What’s up, Willa?”
I planned this conversation a million times, but now that it’s here, I’m forgetting every single version I practiced. But I have to do it. I have to start. “We’ve been friends forever,” I try, the words coming out chalky.
“We have.” Cam’s smiling, a dopey grin on his face.
“And you’ve been with Drew for so long. But,” I say, moving my hand to the keys slowly, gripping them in my palm, “for a long time, I thought…I wondered…”
Cameron leans forward, resting his hand on my knee, and the shock of his touch steals my breath.
“I always wondered what would have happened if you went for it before Drew,” he says, soft and gentle.
“Really?” I ask, my heart pounding with anticipation.
“Yeah,” Cam says. “I mean, I wondered a lot of things over the past two years while I was with her.”
“What else?”
“I love Drew. We both do. But…sometimes I wonder what I missed out on by being with her.”
I don’t dare move, only grip his keys tighter, hold back a wince as the metal digs into my skin.
“So, when I found the texts on Drew’s phone—this sounds bad,” he says, “but I figured it was a way out.”
“What did the texts say?” I lean in, curious.
Cameron takes his hand from my knee, and immediately, I feel its absence. My pulse quickens. Did I just ruin everything?
“You can tell me,” I say, urgent. “You can tell me anything.”
Cam glances at me sideways. His lips purse, and then he lets out a rush of air. “I know,” he says. “I can’t talk to anyone like I can talk to you. Not even her.”
My stomach flips, and for a split second, I worry my lunch is going to come right up out of my throat. “What did the texts say?” I ask again, bringing his keys into my pocket, holding them tight.
Cam sighs, resigned. “They were from some guy named Joe. Drew claimed he was her coworker at the roller-skating rink. He asked her to pick up another shift on Saturday. Then he said, ‘I love working when we’re on duty together.’ ”
Cam pauses, and I wait for him to continue, but his shoulders inch up toward his ears, then drop back down.
“Is that…” I start. “Is that it?”
“Look, this wasn’t my finest hour. But now that I’ve had a little time to reflect, I think I wanted a reason to break up with her.
I don’t want to head out on tour tied to my high school girlfriend.
Saying that to her face just felt cruel.
So I pretended to go ballistic, accused her of hooking up with him, and said I didn’t believe her when she denied it.
” He grimaces like he knows it was wrong.
“So she didn’t cheat on you?”
“I mean, she could have. Maybe I was right. Or maybe she got with him after the breakup.”
“But you don’t know that she did. All you know is that she works with a dude named Joe who was maybe flirting with her.”
Cam shakes his head. “Yeah. I guess.”
“So why does everyone think she did? All those text messages…those people at school.”
“I told Timmy I found some sus texts, and I guess it spread around.” Cam pulls at the hem of his T-shirt, a nervous habit he’s had since we were ten.
I don’t say anything, only wait for him to keep talking, gripping the keys tight in my pocket.