A Soul Ensnared

Fifteen

Brent's office was empty when she arrived. She hadn't noticed anyone on the marching field, so she gathered they were now in private lessons, or rehearsing in groups as sections. Although he had texted her an outline of their daily schedule, she hadn't bothered to read it for more than the lunch times, which were still fifteen minutes away. She had time to waste.

She thought about walking around the school to find one of the groups and listen in on the lesson. It was always fun to sit in on a rehearsal. After that night with Noah, she'd been drawn to the sound of instruments, wanting to remind herself what it was like to be a part of this world once more. So much of her life had been band. It wasn't until she'd opened herself to playing that she'd discovered the connection was still there, lingering inside of her, wanting to be released.

Music was part of her life. She recognized that now. Although she didn't regret turning down the scholarship, getting a degree in business management, or building her position at Bloomfield's, she regretted the fact that she'd walked away from the clarinet. After eight years of ignoring her passion, the itch was back. Although she'd yet to pick up the clarinet after that night in Noah's office, she planned on stopping past her mom's office to reclaim it.

Looking down at the bag of food in her hand, she decided to place it in Brent's office and wander off to find the group of clarinets. With that in mind, she walked across the band hall, toward the back offices. The hallway was long and scattered with private rooms. When she finally stepped into his office, her plans for roaming the halls were forgotten in her desire to admire his newly acquired space. She moved over to his desk and pulled out his chair to sit down.

The office was unremarkable. A tall black filing cabinet filled the area behind the desk, which itself was a rickety wire frame. There was computer monitor taking up the right corner, and a mess of folders spilled across the rest. On each folder was a student's name. She shuffled them into a neat pile, and stacked them in the corner, needing something to do to fill the time. As she looked around, she was reminded of the upcoming move-in date, and the fact that Brent wanted to strengthen their relationship through abstinence. The absurdity of the two, disjointed as they seemed, washed over her.

Playing house was okay, but sex was not.

Sorry, God, she thought, mocking Brent, we're not married, but we're sleeping under the same roof, in the same bed. It's okay, though. We're only cuddling.

She couldn't roll her eyes hard enough to satisfy her emotions. None of his behavior made sense to her, which was why she had refused to give him the go ahead on the movers. She hadn't bought boxes. She hadn't sorted through what would be packed in the move, and what would be donated to charity. Her mind rebelled over the thought of leaving her apartment, of leaving her home, of abandoning her security. Even in the wake of her discussion with her mother, when she'd vehemently claimed that she wanted to be in her relationship, her stalling tactics belied her declarations.

Tapping a finger against the desk, she looked around Brent's office. Brent, the man she loved. Brent, the man she didn't want to live with before marriage. Brent, the man who didn't believe in being shackled in a forever situation.

Staring around the room, lost in thought, she noticed something strange. Her eyes squinted to take in the room again, noticing an oddness about his office. No pictures adorned the walls, not even a motivational poster. There was nothing homey, nothing that spoke of Brent. There should have been something, though. A picture of her, smiling back at him, cheering him on throughout the day. A framed picture of his Master's from IU hanging on his wall.

Something.

With the exception of the folders on the table, scattered as they had been, the office could have been empty. She was again reminded of Brent's inability to accept the here and now, always looking for something better to achieve. This was a permanent position; he was the assistant band director. It was a position to be proud of, but he was unwilling make the space his own.