This guy is different. He’s probably in his late twenties. He’s cute. He knows it. He wants me. I know he does. If I go home with him, I won’t crash on his couch. But sometimes, maybe I can just try to be a normal girl and go on a normal date, even if it’s only a drink in a bar. Sometimes I can have something that’s mine.
So I say, “Yes,” and get jitters, actual jitters, so much so that I even stop thinking about how I’ll describe them in a song. I just enjoy being a girl out with a guy.
We walk across the street together. He’s quiet. His hands shake a little while he fumbles with a cigarette. It’s cute, makes me feel shy too.
The place he takes me to is next to the train station. It’s dark. Neon and worn out wood. Almost empty. We sit at the bar. He orders Jack on the rocks. I order a Coke. I don’t drink with strangers, and my fake ID isn’t that great. I only use it when I absolutely have to.
“So, April,” he says, when our drinks come, “where are you headed next?”
“New Jersey,” I say.
“Uch, Jersey,” he says, wincing, and I feel like I have to defend my tour schedule and maybe all of New Jersey.
“Red Bank is great,” I tell him. “I play at this place called The Downtown. Good crowd. I have a guy I record with sometimes when I’m there.”
“The Downtown what?” he asks.
“Just The Downtown.”
“Like who’s on first?” he says, grinning. He crinkles his nose and his glasses go crooked. He has big teeth. I like them. I think about how I could paint his smile in a song. I realize I don’t even know what to call him.
“You never told me your name,” I say. “I’m at a disadvantage.”
“Ray.” He offers me his hand, and when I go to shake, he puts his other hand over mine, looks in my eyes, and says, “It’s really nice to meet you, April.”
We talk until last call. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to stop feeling like I actually exist in the world. He tells me how he used to be in a band. We talk instruments. He says my guitar is a really good one. The way he says really makes me worry that my mother’s old ring wasn’t enough of a trade and maybe I still owe Adam something.
“I’ve been thinking about having an electric pickup added,” I tell him.
“Thing is, you’re better off just getting an acoustic-electric. Don’t start cutting into your guitar. You’ll kill the soul. I mean, this is what you do for a living, right? You can have more than one guitar, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m so bad with the gear side of things,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face, letting it fall back where it was. “I should probably get my own PA too at some point. I could play in so many more places, and the sound would be consistent.”
“Why don’t you?”
“It costs. And it’s a lot to learn—all the different techie things I’d need to know before I could figure out what to buy.”
“You know what? Come home with me.” He’s shredding his wet bar napkin into tiny pieces. I like that I make him nervous. I like that he has jitters too.
“I don’t know,” I say, “I was going to hit the road and drive to Red Bank. Pull an all-nighter. I have a place to crash there.” It’s always better to make them think it’s their idea.
“You have a place to crash here,” he says. “I’ll show you my guitars and amp. You can play them, so you’ll have a point of reference when you’re ready to buy.”
“Are you sure?” I say. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“Not at all,” he says, and just like that, I have a place to sleep tonight. I have someone to talk to. Maybe more.
* * *
When we get back across the street to our cars, he offers to drive me to his place. I tell him I’ll follow him instead.
“Alright,” he says, “be that way.” He says it like he’s joking, but there’s an edge. It kind of throws me off balance, but I’m so tired. My eyes don’t want to stay open. I get in my car and follow him. He drives hard. Squeals around corners, blows through stop signs. I have to work to keep his taillights in sight. I start to think that maybe I should just drive the other way, cut my losses and sleep in my car somewhere, but it’s one of those rock and hard place situations. Keeping up with him means I haven’t been watching the roads. I don’t know how to get back to where we started, so I just keep following.