Maeve
Five Years Ago
Getting lost in my drums wasn’t an option. My life revolved around lies and subterfuge. I probably could have told Mo about my secret hobby, but when everything rested on my parents not finding out, letting one more person in on my secret seemed too risky.
Yael and I had worked out a system. She lurked around the door to the garage, painting her nails, grabbing a bite to eat in the kitchen, or reading a book in the hallway, and if she saw someone coming, she’d alert me, and I’d hop my booty off the throne and attempt to act natural. Luckily, that had only happened a couple times. I kept my practices early enough in the day that Mo was normally still sleeping it off.
On this day, luck wasn’t on my side. Or maybe it was, depending on the angle I looked at it. It took me a while to notice the man watching me. My ears were perked up for warnings from Yael, but Santiago’s steps were particularly stealthy.
My entire face glowed so bright, I was sure I’d turn to ashes. “Hi,” I said, holding my sticks in one hand.
He grunted, jerking his chin. “You look good back there.”
I gave him a ghost of a smile. “It’s my favorite place to be.”
He crossed his arms, brow furrowing. “I texted Mo to let him know I was coming over early for extra practice. He left the side door open for me.”
I was surprised by his lack of questions. Since we’d met last month, I’d seen Santi often, tried to talk to him often, and got shut down just as often. So maybe his lack of questions was only an extension of his lack of interest in me.
“That explains why Yael didn’t warn me you were comin’. Our system is flawed.”
“Do you come out here a lot?”
“Most days,” I said.
He nodded, then set down his case, unzipped it, and took out his bass. “Mind if I play too?”
“Um...really?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to interrupt you, and I’d like to get some practice in. You choose the song.”
I bit my lip, trying to think of something cool. I mean, I could choose Metallica or Linkin Park, but I didn’t want to be quite so obvious.
“Do you know any Hole?” I asked.
His lips twitched, head dipping. “Yeah, I do.”
For the better part of an hour, we played all the Hole songs we both knew, then a couple classics from Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkins. We meshed, his bass and my drums. His rhythm wound around mine, and instead of competing, it complimented.
I’d played with a lot of other musicians, so I knew it wasn’t always like this. Santiago and I had a connection, at least musically, that was rare. Or, at least, I hadn’t come across one like it yet.
We came to the end of “1979,” and Santi laid down his bass, walked over, and squatted beside me. “Can I show you something?” he asked, his voice soft, polite.
“Do you drum too?” I asked.
“Used to. Picked up the drums before I picked up the bass.”
My teeth sunk into my lower lip. He was so close now, I could smell his soap mixed with a hint of sweat and something else I couldn’t quite decipher. I decided right then it was my favorite smell.
“What did you want to show me, Santi?”
He took my sticks, showing me how he played the last song with a different time signature. He also showed me how he gripped the sticks, a slight variation of the traditional way. He kept his voice soft and careful, teaching me without patronizing. I liked listening to him. He clearly knew what he was talking about, but he also listened to what I had to say.
Being this close to Santi was like being on the high side of a seesaw, loving the view from up top, but knowing the fall will be so damn thrilling.
Yael stuck her head in the garage. “Alert, I hear Mo walking around upstairs and—” She gasped when Santi stood from his spot beside me. “Oh dear. How did you slip by me?”
He jerked his thumb behind him. “Mo left the side door open for me.”