Mitch poured me another glass of beer before refilling his own mug. “They have open mic night on the first Saturday of the month. We’ve been coming here for the last two years,” Mitch said in way of explanation.
I looked around at the small crowd and turned back to Mitch in disbelief. “Is this place harboring the next Dave Matthews and I didn’t realize it?” I asked. Mitch chuckled and gave me a strange look.
“Not exactly,” was all he said.
I watched as the bartender went to the tiny stage and set up a microphone stand and a small amp. He didn’t announce the beginning of any act. He simply switched on the power and went back to his post behind the bar.
Slowly, a guy from the audience came up with a beat up electric guitar. He began to play a horribly out of tune version of All Along the Watchtower. I felt embarrassed for the poor man as he hit the wrong chord over and over again. His voice wasn’t half bad but it was hard to notice over the horrendous way he butchered his guitar.
No one clapped when he finished and I felt bad for him. Two girls came up next and sang some country song I didn’t recognize. They weren’t as bad as the last guy but they still sucked. Jeesh, this was becoming painful.
Nobody at our table was paying a bit of attention as the acts filed up one after another. They continued to chat amongst themselves and get more and more drunk. I was completely confused. I thought this is why they had chosen to come here.
I was about to ask what the deal was when Jordan got to his feet, put two forefingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle. Mitch and Cole joined him in a riot of cheering. Maysie was beaming as she got to her feet to clap.
I watched as someone made their way to the stage with a guitar case in hand.
I should have freaking known.
Garrett set the case down on the stage and slowly and purposefully unhooked the latches to open the top. He pulled out the well-worn Taylor acoustic I recognized as the one he played at his house. His hand smoothed down the fret board lovingly as though this inanimate object meant more to him than anything else.
He hooked the guitar strap around his neck and under his arm before sitting on the stool and resting the instrument in his lap. He blew out a breath to move his blond hair out of his eyes. He put a pick between his teeth as he began to turn the tuning pegs.
“Playing without backup this evening?” I asked Mitch dryly, trying like crazy to disguise the uncomfortable thudding of my heart at seeing Garrett on the stage by himself and strangely vulnerable. He looked so much like that other Garrett from weeks ago. The one I had found so compelling.
Mitch’s eyes slid to me as he tried to assess whether I was being a bitch or not. It was an understandable confusion considering most of the time I was being just that. “He’s been playing here every month for years. He was doing it awhile before the rest of us figured out where he was disappearing to,” Cole piped up, answering my question.
Gracie clapped her hands and looked as though she were about to swoon as she watched Garrett tune his guitar. “Isn’t he amazing? Seriously Riley, he’s so awesome!” she remarked, patting my arm a little harder than she probably meant to in her zealousness.
“Wow, when did you become Garrett Bellows’ number one fan?” I asked sarcastically. Gracie was too drunk to notice how irritated I sounded, though my overly astute roommate picked up on it instantly and gave me a funny look.
“I just think he’s so freaking sexy. I mean look at him,” Gracie said breathlessly. She leaned in close and said in a loud whisper in an effort to be discreet and failing miserably. “I’ve been trying to get him between my legs for months. And I plan to seal the deal tonight.”
Ugh. I felt sick all over again. Though I had the consolation of knowing that Gracie and Garrett hadn’t slept together…yet. Though the exact reason I was pleased by that knowledge was a bit unclear in my deep pit of denial.
“I think the only thing you’ll be doing tonight is passing out and hoping you don’t choke on your own vomit,” I bit out angrily. Gracie giggled as though I had just made the funniest joke ever.
The soft strains of music caught my attention as Garrett began to strum a few chords. He pushed his hair back from his face and looked out into the crowd, finding our table and giving his friends a big grin. His smile lit up his face and made my breath catch in my throat. He pointed at his bandmates and made some gesture with his hand that the other three imitated, followed by a fresh round of yelling and cheering.
Without an introduction, Garrett began to play a song. It took me awhile to recognize it. Huh, he was playing an unplugged version of Soundgarden’s Black Hole Sun. And damned if his voice didn’t give Chris Cornell a run for his money. Garrett’s voice was melodic and pleasing to the ear with a slight rasp that gave his singing a raw edge. Why in the hell had Cole become the lead singer when Garrett had a voice like that?
After he finished that song he launched into an up tempo rendition of Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb. It was weird but oddly catchy. I found my leg bobbing up and down in time to the music. I looked around the bar and saw that aside from our table, no one else seemed as entranced with the set as I was. Conversation carried on in spite of Garrett’s supreme talent. People were so freaking rude.
Garrett ended the Pink Floyd song with a screech along the strings and then promptly jumped into a new set of chords that melded in with harmonics beautifully. I remembered the gentle melody all too well. It was the same tune he had played for me before. Back all those weeks ago when I stupidly thought there might be more to him than I had originally thought.
Then he opened his mouth and began to sing. And I forgot to be bitter. I forgot to be annoyed about seeing him with Gracie. All I could think; all I could feel was complete and total awe.
I hadn’t expected it
I thought you were a joke.
Your whispered words
Wrapped around my throat.
I hated that I loved it
The way you reached inside
Clawing through the wreckage
And the pieces that have died.
You don’t even know it,
You’re blind to what you see
The disillusioned lies
Bleeding out of me.
Quiet slumbers before the storm
Violent eyes, passionate cries,
Resisting and tormenting wanting more.
There is no beginning without an end,
No tomorrow, no future,
losing it all again.
Our story is a nightmare,
Written in stone,
Nothing can change it,
I’ll still be alone.