Sewanee stamped her foot, every inch the child she didn’t think she was. “So what am I supposed to do?”
Blah leaned back, wrapped her hands around the frame of the lounger, crossed her legs. “What I never did. Get good. So goddamn good they can’t tell you shit.”
Blah’s lack of talent had never prevented her from understanding how it manifested in others. She helped Sewanee develop emotional accessibility, a command of words and language, a body that moved freely, effortlessly, sensually through space. She set about making her granddaughter her, but better. And when Sewanee applied to Julliard and got in? It was the greatest accomplishment of Barbara Chester’s life.
And by the time Sewanee graduated, she had Blah’s star quality, Marilyn’s innate goodness, Henry’s analytical skills, Julliard training, and four years of New York spit shine on her. She was unstoppable.
Until she wasn’t.
*
February 25
BROCK:
Been thinking about our convo the other night. I want you to know: I’m not an actor. Everything you said about Alessandro made so much sense. I never think about stuff like that.
SEWANEE:
How did you get into audiobooks if you’re not an actor?
BROCK:
someone liked my voice.
SEWANEE:
It is a good voice.
BROCK:
I once called the DMV and the representative said, “I loved the way you said your VIN number. Would you mind doing it again a little slower?”
SEWANEE:
Haha appreciate what you have, my friend.
BROCK:
I do. I’d be lost without it.
Hey AM I your friend?
SEWANEE:
Figure of speech.
BROCK:
Ouch.
SEWANEE:
JK it’s not that we’re not not friends.
Ooof, too many nots.
We. Are. Friends. No nots.
I hate texting.
BROCK:
I heard they’re testing a new invention. Calling it a tellingphone or something like that. They’re saying we’ll actually be able to talk to each other through this here typing box! Science!
SEWANEE:
FAKE NEWS
Eleven minutes later:
SEWANEE:
What did you do before you were a narrator?
BROCK:
Mmmmmm story for another time.
Sewanee made herself wait until she was done for the day, still dripping from the rain that had been lashing during her climb back up to the casita, to text: OKAY IT’S ANOTHER TIME!
BROCK:
Is this MY Another Time or YOUR Another Time?
SEWANEE:
Nice try. You’re up.
BROCK:
K just let me wrap up this chapter.
Maybe make myself a drink first.
SEWANEE:
Ooh I’ll join you!
BROCK:
You a wine-spritzer lady or a whisky-neat woman?
SEWANEE:
Depends. What kind of story am I settling in for?
BROCK:
A tale of enduring friendship in the face of dashed dreams.
SEWANEE:
I’m breaking out the tequila.
BROCK:
Olé
57 minutes later:
BROCK:
Tequila ready?
SEWANEE:
Turns out I only have a little cheap vodka in the back of my freezer.
BROCK:
Only a little?
SEWANEE:
It’s a little freezer.
What are you drinking?
BROCK:
Beer.
SEWANEE:
LOSER
BROCK:
And you don’t even know the story yet.
SEWANEE:
I’ll get my little vodka while you type.
BROCK:
Ok, here goes.
I was in a band. We were killing it. We had a record deal. We were on tour. We were young and fearless and had nothing to lose. Long story short, the lead singer, my best friend, flamed out. Drugs.
SEWANEE:
Wow. I’m sorry.
BROCK:
So typical it’s embarrassing in hindsight.
SEWANEE:
Did you try a solo career?
BROCK:
No. He was the musical genius. I just write a little, play a little guitar, and sing a little.
That’s my M.O.: do a lot of things a little.
SEWANEE:
You and my freezer.
How’s your friend now? Or shouldn’t I ask?
BROCK:
That’s the silver lining. He’s sober. Has been for five years.
SEWANEE:
That’s great!
BROCK:
It is. Few months ago we started playing together again. To see if there was anything left.
SEWANEE:
Was there?
BROCK:
He wants to take another shot.
SEWANEE:
And you?
BROCK:
IDK
SEWANEE:
Are you afraid he’ll relapse?
BROCK:
He’s not the problem.
SEWANEE:
?
BROCK:
I’m not afraid for him specifically. I’m just afraid.