Like now.
The only thing that can numb the pain and the guilt more than booze is performing. So I cup the mic and hold the stand for balance, and I let Bray’s masterful mandolin playing wash over me, tap my toe when Will comes in with the banjo, and weave a swaying dance when Atticus taps the bongos with the heels of his palms and fingertips, creating a quick, driving rhythm. Vance and Mim are quiet for this number, sitting off to the side until we’re ready for them. For now, it’s just Bray, Atticus, Will, and me.
I dive into the music, letting it take me away.
“I don’t need to love, you know,
Don’t need the heartache,
Don’t need the high or the low,
Don’t need anyone but me,
I don’t need to cling to you
Late at night, through the stars as they sing,
Don’t need love, old or new.
I just need me.
Because I’m all there is,
I’m all right,
I’m all right,
And I don’t need love.
I’ve ached and I’ve hurt and I’ve cried,
I’ve loved and lost and love has died,
I’ve learned the lessons, and now I know,
I don’t need to love,
Don’t need the high or the low,
Don’t need anyone but me
Because I’m all there is,
And I’m all right,
I’m all right.”
There’s an instrumental break, and then I repeat the last few lines, Mim harmonizing.
And then we play “Only the Moon” which nearly makes me cry, so we do a cover of “Broussard’s Lament” by Sarah Jarosz, and then “Henry Lee” by Crooked Still, with Mim playing the cello rather than the bass and Vance on the fiddle. I’m lucky as hell to have these talented multi-instrumentalists in Will, Mim, Vance and Atticus; Bray and I both only do one thing, but we do that one thing really well. I mean, when you come across insane talent like those four, musicians who can seamlessly switch from instrument to instrument like they do, you go with it. You hang on to ’em and you make beautiful music with them. You do not waste it sitting in class learning shit you’ll never use. I learned composition by composing; I learned harmony by harmonizing.
I find my pace, find the groove where the music pulls me away.
We do “Undone in Sorrow” by Crooked Still, which really showcases Vance’s show-stopping fiddle skills, and then we take a break. I take a bottle of Sam Adams and sit out back behind the bar, drinking and thinking.
And of course, Bray joins me. “From an artistic perspective, I should appreciate this funk you’re in. Even piss-drunk, you sing your guts out up there. Better, even, maybe. And the songs you’ve written? Amazing. But…as your friend, I’m worried for you, hon.” He shakes his head to toss a hank of brown hair out of his eyes. “You’re drinking all the time, and you won’t talk about what happened.”
“My fucking mother died, Bray. That’s what fucking happened.” I take a long swig.
“I know, but…I know you. I’ve sweat and bled on stage with you. I’ve held your hair while you puked your guts out, and I held you through that pregnancy scare you had our freshman year, and I stood by you through that whole shit with fucking Marcus. And now, suddenly, whatever this is you have going on, you’ve shut me out of it.” He leans toward me, rests his head on my shoulder as he digs a cigarette out of his hip pocket. “And that scares me.”
“I’m just fucked up, Bray. That’s all.”
He blows a stream of smoke. “Bullshit. That’s total bullshit, and you know it. I mean, yeah, you’re mega fucked up, I get that. So am I. But it’s not just about your mom dying. I mean, I know you two weren’t on the best terms lately, and—”
“Bray-bay, I love you, buddy, but shut up. Just…shut up.” I hate the way I sound, and the way he pulls away from me and smokes in silence. “I’m sorry, Bray. I really am. I just…it all hurts too much, and you can’t help. The last time I talked to her, we screamed at each other. I called her a meddling bitch, and she called me an ungrateful spawn, and—that was the last time I talked to her.”
“Shit, honey. I had no idea.”
“And it’s not just that. It’s also that…that all I ever wanted was for her to see how much I love doing this—” I wave toward the bar, the stage, the rest of the band, “and she couldn’t just be happy to see me using my talent. She was jealous that I get to follow my dreams when hers was—was taken from her.”
Bray stares at me with compassion in his eyes. “Echo, I—”
“She’s gone, Bray!” I shout. “She’s dead, and I’ll never get to fix any of it. I’ll never get to tell her how much she—she meant to me, that I loved her so…so much. She was all I had. Well, except for Grandma and Grandpa, and thank god for them, but…she was my mom…and she’s—she’s dead.”
“God, Echo. Just…god. I’m so sorry.” He wraps his arm around me, and he accepts the truth I gave him.
It’s the truth, sure, but it doesn’t touch on the rest of what has me fucked up. It doesn’t touch Ben, or my regret, or my heartbreak, or my guilt. But he accepts it, and we go back on stage.
We play more covers, another few original songs, and then the rest of the band leaves the stage and only Brayden and I remain.
“Okay, we’re gonna take ya’ll back to when it was just Brayden and me. This is a song I wrote during a…a very painful time in my life. And to be totally honest, I’m in a very similar place right now, so this song is really appropriate, I guess. Just don’t get too mad if I have a hard time near the end, okay?”
The crowd goes quiet. Bray stands at my side, mandolin cradled in his delicate hands, his expressive dark blue eyes on me, waiting, encouraging. Finally, he nods at me, and starts the melody. It’s slow, mournful.
“Oh god, it’s like a hole,
Ripped into my chest,
And I can see my bones,
Each and every one.
My bones, they prick and stab,
Poke and slash,
And I wish sometimes
That I was dead,
Laying on a slab.
If I was dead, I wouldn’t have to feel this,
I wouldn’t have to know this pain,
Wouldn’t have to bear it,
Because this kind of pain,
You can’t help but wear it,
When it cuts you deep,
Slashes at your heart, and tears it.