lahammack - Tumblr blog

lahammack · 4 months ago

Text

That Counts, Right?

It was cold, i mean it was 7pm on a Wednesday night so yeah it was bound to be a little chilly but honestly it was a bit worse then i was expecting. We had gotten there right as the doors opened and there was already a line, not a super crazy long one but it was enough to have me debating if this was at all worth it. (spoilers, it was) My jacket was tight around my arms and even then my teeth smacked against each other and my stomach clenched in the way it would if I was doing sit ups.

The band was playing at a bar, we got little blue wrist bands that allowed us in but we couldn’t order any drinks, not that we would want to anyway. The room wasn’t huge and the floors were made up of cracked concrete with spots of black clay and a few colorful spots made from spilled drinks. It wasn’t gross or ratty, it seemed to add character to the building. The walls were lined with stickers and posters, it was like stepping into a different world where everyone was unique and interesting.

My friend had introduced them to me, the band I mean. They were a small thing, going on their first tour consisting of 5 different cities most of which didn’t really know who they were. At least that was the case with this group, most people were just looking for something to do. I had only started listening to them on the way over, so I recognized two songs and knew the lyrics to none of them. But i pretended like i knew what i was there for, My friend reassured me that i would like them and i trusted her judgment plus it was my first concert how could it not be amazing.

The openers were a girl and a guy, brother and sister, and they were pretty fun to watch. A little too country for my taste but the guy, Alex i think was his name, he played four instruments at once which was dope as hell. I don’t remember the second opener, I was way too eager to see the main event to really pay attention to her, but now that I think about it I feel a little bad for not giving her my full attention. She did her best to put on a good show, Carmen liked her a lot.

The lights began to dim and they finally turned on the fans so following the darkness was this exhilarating chill that ran across the room like a wave of water crashing against the front of a boat. The soft chirping of recorded birds played over the speakers beside our heads and I could tell I would fall in love with this moment, not to the extent that I ended up falling but stuff happens. I couldn’t make out their faces in the dark and they turned with their backs facing the audience. It was a surprise to see what they looked like, i mean i hadn’t really thought about it up until that point, but i definitely didn’t expect them to look like that. Once the initial shock wore off I realized they couldn’t possibly have looked any different, they were like every indie band ever, with flannels and shaggy hair.

In the dim red and blue lights my eyes landed on his face, cast in a purple glow that beamed down on him like a white hot sun. It felt like the corniest romance movie I had ever seen. All that “time slowing” crap. Let me tell you, those sparks everyone talks about, they’re real but they’re more like roman candles that are pointed right at your face before being shot into your eyes and the space around you starts to smell like fireworks.

He had shoulder length blonde hair, he’d obviously just started growing it out. His friends stood around him but he kept looking at me, our eyes connecting for a disgustingly romantic moment before one of us pulled away. I could feel my face grow red, a heat that made me bring my cold fingers up to my cheeks to calm the raging fire. I could’ve sworn his expression reflected my own though it could have just been the lights.

I had asked Carmen afterwards, just in case my over active wannabe main character brain made me delusional. She said he kept looking at us because I was the only one jumping and screaming, pretending to know lyrics I clearly didn’t.

Prior to the concert I had heard that leads would often do crowd work, ya know, lean down at the edge of the stage and reach out for frantic teenagers begging for their attention. So when he jumped off of the three foot platform and made his way through the crowd I was only momentarily confused. I played it off (I wanted to throw up) as he stood right in front of me, mic to his mouth and free arm resting on top of his guitar.

He wasn’t smooth or edgy or overly erotic the way musicians have always been made out to be, but maybe that came with fame. His voice was kind of girly when he sang and when we were finally face to face, he froze. If it wasn’t awkward enough he turned the mic in my direction. Did I mention I'd never heard this band before? This would’ve been the perfect time to have picked up on the lyrics from the previous verses but of course, I hadn't.

I shook my head a little more dramatically than I had meant too.

“Oh hell no-” Slipped from my mouth and through the speakers, I hoped my face didn’t show how much wanted to melt into the concrete floor.

We laughed, a sweet sound that made the song better than it actually was. When he had returned to the stage I just kept smiling, Smiling and dancing and jumping and screaming.

As their final song faded out they thanked the city and headed for the merch booth. We were about fifth in line, not nearly long enough to rehearse the next interaction in my head.

“Hey!” I said, dragging it out as if we were old girlfriends meeting up for the first time in a while.

The band members retaliated with greetings that matched the same energy, and before the silence could get awkward i quickly spoke again,

“Uh- Can I get one of the tour shirts?” I asked, ending my sentence with a chuckle that attempted to calm my rattling nerves.

“Sure thing, what size?” The bassist (I think his name was Nick?) asked.

“Small,” I responded, turning towards him and attempting to make the eye contact we shared natural and not overly uncomfortable.

Nick turned to the cardboard boxes behind him, and as his back was turned the drummer butted in,

“I think we only have mediums left”

“That’s good with me!” I said watching as the lead who’s name I embarrassingly couldn’t remember grabbed one and stuck it out to me.

I was thankful for my years of ‘fake-it-til-you-make-it’ practice so they couldn't tell how badly I was freaking out. My hand gently grabbed hold of his wrist, pushing it back towards him and as I did it I imagined a million different ways I could've done that, each one infinitely better than grabbing hold of him.

“Could I have you guys sign the back?”

Again, various versions of ‘sure’ and ‘yeah’ erupted from the four men who, now that I think about it, couldn’t be that much older than me.

“Thank you,” I said, my fingers finding the cuticles of my other hand and picking at the skin there.

“And what about you?” Nick asked after he had signed my shirt, leaning on the table as he addressed Carmen.

“Uh, what?” She asked, shaking her head as she was pulled away from wherever her mind had wandered. “Oh! Right- can I buy one of your posters? Signed, please”

I ruffled though my purse made of wooden beads (the excessive clicking made me nervous for some reason) only to find an assortment of cash and hidden deep in the crevices was a debit card with not nearly enough money on it.

“Ah crap.” I muttered to myself, “I don't want to make you guys break anything but i only carry around big bills”

While my head was buried in the tiny bag, the Band’s stage hand had come over, presenting the four members with the camera he had used to take pictures during the show. He had a bandana around his neck and his curly hair hid his forehead and if i didn’t know any better i’d think him and the bassist were brothers.

“Ah, screw it, whatever” I laughed, pulling out one of the hundreds I had been saving for a rainy day. Now, don't think I'm loaded, I didn't even pay for my ticket, but I just so happened to have visited my grandma over the weekend and she was loaded.

“Oh she wasn’t lying-” commented the stage hand. There was just something about the way he said it or maybe it was just the sleepless drunk feeling I had but I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard.

The drummer took my cash and the lead began to count out the change.

“Give him a minute, he’s not so great at math” commented the drummer with a sweet smile, he had an older face but young eyes and just the way he stood told you he was the most responsible of them.

The lead awkwardly laughed beside him as he counted out a few twenties.

“No, It’s alright neither am i” I said, shrugging my shoulders as i took my change.

I wish I could say there was an ultra romantic brush of our hands but no such magical event occurred.Just two people bad at math exchanging good and services, nothing to freak out about.

My head turned to look at Carmen who had her poster tucked between her fingers, i looked up to her face to make sure she was all good before making another request.

“Can we get a picture?”

Another roar of agreement spread through the space.

The group stood behind a table covered in a black sheet, the people before us took their photos standing in front of the booth but I'd be damned if a shitty image of me existed anywhere on the face of this planet.

“Can we get back there with you?” I asked, pointing behind the small table and without skipping a beat the lead practically threw the table out of the way. It wasn’t just him of course the other members helped move it too but he was especially enthusiastic. Or maybe I was imagining things again, I don't know.

We slid behind the booth and the girl in line after us took our picture, we bid our goodbyes albeit rather reluctantly before exiting the brick building.

Carmen and I were full of evening adrenaline and post excitement. I sang the songs we had just heard, filling in the lyrics that I didn't remember with various sounds and repeats of ‘something something’, until Carmen corrected me and we’d start over again. We grabbed hold of each other’s arms and danced together in the parking lot, skipping and jumping as we waited for our ride.

I could drive, but I hadn't been around this area before so I had decided we should hitch a ride with a buddy that lived nearby. As we calmed ourselves, the cold air chilling our lungs rather than burning them, I called Harrison but he didn’t answer. I called again and he didn't pick up. Ten missed calls and 40 text messages later, we sat our butts on the cold side walk grumbling to ourselves about our unreliable friend. But our lack of a way home didn’t distract from the memories that we had made a few minutes ago coupled with the leftover thrill of the night.

I had Carmen retell our evening over and over again, I always liked it better when she told the story. I’d giggle and make largely inappropriate comments as she recalled seeing the way the lead looked at me followed by her judging silence and overly exaggerated disappointed expression. We laughed together, unable to take ourselves seriously as the night grew inactive.

By the time we had gotten the ‘On My Way’ text, the building we sat against was practically empty. We had been rating the outfits of the people that walked out, being overly generous rather than criticizing the small details.

“Hey,” called out a familiar feminine voice, “What are ya’ll doing out here?”

I recognized his Texan accent and my hair whipped me in the face as I spun around to look at him. There he was again, the awkward blonde Lead with a crooked smile and the stupidest name. (we had looked it up a bit after we left).

For the first time that evening I found myself unable to speak, that was rare for me, embarrassing really.

“Our ride is running late.” Carmen answered, and through her I found my words again.

“He’ll be a bit, when Harrison says ‘be there soon’ he really means ‘i’m not leaving the house for Ten more minutes” I joked and he laughed.

Oh my lord, I made him laugh. Again. I could do this forever.

“We just packed up” He explained, pushing his hair out of his face, it wasn’t some flirt move but that didn’t mean i didn’t like it. I like his hair.

He walked over to us, sitting on the curb beside us, to my right. His elbows rested on his knees as he looked over at me- well, us. He was looking at us.

“I’ll wait with you guys, can’t have two pretty girls sitting out here by themselves” He said though it didn’t come out nearly as smooth as he had meant for it too.

“How many times have you used that one?” I asked with a raised brow.

“Uh, not once?” he said almost like a question with a chuckle that trailed off at the end of his answer.

I could see Carmen shaking her head beside me before standing and insisting she need to go to the bathroom, which I knew was a lie and I simultaneously loved and hated her for it.

“Do you do music?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation, though it seemed harder this time than any time before.

“I wish, I can't play an instrument to save my life, I mean I played Alto Sax for a while but i haven’t touched that thing in like, three years” I answered hugging my knees to my chest, my jean jacket almost making the cold worse.

He smiled at me when I talked, weird. I mean a good weird, the kind that makes air build up in my lungs waiting to be let out in the form of a high pitched squeal. The one you’d make while reading a heart gushing romance novel and the main characters almost kissed.

“You?” I asked before quickly back tracking “wait- sorry, duh of course you do. What?”

He laughed again, god that sound would kill me.

“You're adorable.”

That’s it. I’m dead. This has got to be a hallucination right? Yeah definitely, I'm sitting on the curb dying of hypothermia and I'm delusional.

I heard his name being called from behind the brick corner, I sighed in equal relief and disdain at the ending of the moment.

“What’s your name?” He asked quickly, and I answered without thinking.

I just gave a stranger my government name. A pretty stranger. A pretty stranger that sings cheesy love songs and plays guitar.

“Number?” he asked again a bit quickly as the sound of his name grew louder.

And again I answered without a beat of hesitation. Ew.

He smiled and got up, mumbling the numbers to himself as he went. It was nerdy. I don’t think I've ever witnessed anything more attractive than that.

Carmen stepped back out of the building and Harrison’s car crackled against the gravel lot, we both rushed for the warmth of the vehicle and as we drove in comfortable silence I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. My cheeks were starting to hurt.

I couldn’t bring myself to look out the window, in fear of shattering the image of him taking one look back just to watch us leave. I felt an irrepressible giggle building in my throat, the kind a little girl might let out when presented with her favorite toy. My head turned towards Carmen, the air in my lungs feeling less repressed than it did a few minutes ago.

“That counts as a first date, right?”

- L.A. Hammack

#writing #short story #writers on tumblr #short stories

0 notes

lahammack · 4 months ago

Text

Jo and Amy

Me and my sister have always been like Jo and Amy March. (Except for being proposed to by the same guy) We both have big dreams, and we fight all the time, and I'm not as good at forgiving as I would like to be. I'm so jealous of her and I'm sure in some ways she’s jealous of me too, but for different reasons. She’s much louder than me, she’s so upfront about what she wants and she doesn’t take no for an answer, and even if i find all her argumentative traits annoying i can’t deny i admire them. I’m not like that, not outwardly anyways. Which makes me even more upset because as the eldest I feel I shouldn't be jealous of my younger siblings, it's not the way of things. It hurts my ego. (I have a big one)

It’s like a coil wrapped around my throat that tightens when she’s around, like my lungs are actually a metal cage that clung to my internal organs and my envy is the warden that rattles the bars and shoves me around. My head aches and all I want to do is scream, but I don't have any reasonable motive for this rage, so instead I just seethe and writhe under my own frustration. I'm trying to wriggle out of the hold of my own thoughts, my breath feels like smoke in my lungs and it burns when I try to speak, I shut up and my brows knit together and I cross my arms like a child denied candy.

My sister doesn’t really know who she wants to be or what she wants to do, yet things still seem to work out for her. Which feels even more unfair because I do know what I want to be, I want to be a writer, but even more than that I want to be an actor. I want to be in front of a camera or on a stage somewhere. I want to be seen and adored and enjoy my craft and make my name. I like the attention, maybe that stems from a deep seeded need to get out from behind my obnoxious little sister, but I don't know. My grandparents say it’s a vain career and I'm sure they're right. I guess I'm even more angry at the fact that no one takes my ambitions seriously. What is it about me that makes people think I won't be great? I think everyone expects me to be like Meg, or Beth, quiet and content to live a simple life. Sometimes I wish I could do that.

I’m lonely too, like all the time. Something about being unwilling to give up my childish fantasies seems to push me away from people rather than pull me closer. My sister never struggles making friends and she hardly cares what people think, and I don't either but it’s harder to be your own person when you're doing it alone. I could go on and on about the loneliness of being a dreamer, but I'll only depress myself.

In this one sided competition with my sister, I continually burn out trying to prove I'm greater than her. Sometimes I wonder if we’d fight at all if I wasn't so resentful of her natural betterness. I’m so upset with myself for falling behind in my work, knowing there are people who are far ahead of me. And i say i can take criticism but i really can’t, i want to really i do, but i can’t. I’m mad at myself for that too.

They say imitation is the best form of flattery and I call bull, because when my sister picks up a hobby that i dropped and is instantly one step ahead of where i was, i want to scream. In hindsight it's probably because she saw me fail, and learned from my mistakes, that's what older sister’s are for anyways. But that’s not what i want to be, i don’t want to be the person that paves her way, i want to pave my way.

I remember a time, when I had gone to a parent teacher meeting, in place of our mother who was far too busy to bother with ‘how-do-you-do’s’ and endless comments on how great her kids are to have in class. I walked into my sister’s English class. Her teacher was a sweet old lady, but stern when she had to be, I knew because I was her student the year before. We had smiled and exchanged greetings,

“How is High School going?” Mrs. Blake asked, her tone one of genuine interest and not forced politeness.

“It’s going alright,” I answered with a smile, “We’re not doing as much writing in English this year so i can’t say i'm having too much fun”

“That’s a pity, i always loved reading your writing, you are incredibly talented,” She showered me with praise, the kind that made my chin rise and a squeal of excitement bubble in my throat.

“You are still writing outside of class though, right?”

“Yes, of course, it’s all i ever do”

My sister had walked in then, having come back from the bathroom and I assumed stopping to gossip about the annoying math or science teacher from the previous semester.

“Hi, Mrs. Blake!” She said, I wasn't always jealous, sometimes I was proud of her like I was then. Why wouldn’t I be after hearing five different teachers and their silly stories of her harmless and endearing shenanigans which paired well with her good grades and positive social life.

“Oh my goodness, how are you my girl?” Mrs. Blake said the way happy elderly women did, “you know, your sister has a knack for writing too” she said turning towards me.

At first i laughed, obviously she would be biased to my sisters work, if you said Mrs. Blake didn’t have favorites then you didn’t actually know her. But she went on, and on and I felt my natural smile become more painfully forced by the second.

“In fact, she’s been working on this short story, my dear won't you read it do us?” Mrs. Blake spoke and I almost didn’t hear her over the buzzing in my ear and the twitch in my eyelid. Oh, I'm about to cry. That’s beyond embarrassing.

After sitting through what felt like an eternity of my sister’s short horror story, we left. When we got into the car, I couldn't look at her. I faced the window, staring at my reflection, my brows furrowed together in a way that was less than flattering on my face. As if sensing my tense and bubbling vexation, my dearest little sister broke the silence,

“What did you think of my story?” She asked, in that tone she spoke in when she sought my praise. It made me sick to my stomach, the way she looked at me in hopes I would tell her what a great job she had done while simultaneously choosing to ignore how much it frustrated me.

I didn’t answer at first, only looking at her until her smile fell and was replaced with an annoyance.

“It was fine, I guess,” I said, turning back to the window.

My sister crossed her arms, taking my seat cover with her as she slid down in the passenger seat, “Mrs. Blake said i should enter it in a competition-”

“She’s just being nice.” I snapped, “you really shouldn’t, you don't even like writing anyways”

“I like writing,” She argued, turning her head to look at me.

“Since when?” I said a bit louder than before, the familiar twist of hate curled in my belly and made me want to throw up,

“Your only interested in it because I do it, god can’t you be original for once in your life-”

“I’m original!” My sister argued again, sitting up straight with her back practically blocking the window behind her.

I continued to fight, and she just fought back, always retorting with comments that hit me worse than any insults that a stranger could make up.

“Ya know what?” She said sharply, looking at my face as we walked towards the front door. I didn't glare back at her, opting to roll my eyes and continue to pretend I didn't care while I pulled the house key out of my pocket.

“You're good at a bunch of stuff, but you're always second best.”

My fingers shook as I attempted to put the key in the deadbolt, growing more frustrated every time I had to pull it out and try again. You could tell in her face she regretted it as she said it, but she would never apologize first so instead she just continued to dig herself a deeper hole.

“You always talk about making it, but you never will.”

I slapped her. Right in her big mouth, and that pissed her off. I don’t remember every detail, too blinded by guilt and anger and frustration and jealousy to actually form any kind of coherent thought. I just know that we both yelled, hit and cried our way across the house. When I finally regained a semblance of consciousness we were sitting on the couch with ice cream and cookies watching a rerun of some show we used to be obsessed with when we were younger. We were still sniffling and red faced, but everything was fine again.

Most of our fights go like that, you’ve never heard crueller words shared between two people only to turn around and see those same two sharing gas station sushi like nothing had happened. I don’t believe that healthy couples fight, but I do believe that healthy siblings do.

She’ll be great, I'm sure she’ll be great but I don't want her to be greater than me, which i know is selfish and I know it’s cruel but it's just what I think, even if i don’t know i think it. I feel as though I'm watching her and longing to be something I'm not because it would be easier that way. It would be easier if I was obsessed with boys, it would be easier if I was naturally outspoken, if I was content to fall through the cracks of history and just live a simple good life.

I want to stay a kid forever, to have the wild and reckless aspirations of a young girl even when I'm a grown woman. And I want my sister to stay the same way she is, I don't want her to outgrow me. I want to fight with her over menial things and tease her about her childish interests. I want to be creative and known but I don't want to do it on my own, and I think that was the point of Jo’s character. I know one of us has to grow up and it most certainly won't be me.

-L.A. Hammack

#short story #sisters #little women #writing #stories

1 note · View note