If I Fell

Chapter Eleven

“I always loved Morrissey,” sighed Sara wistfully.

Raising my eyebrows, I tapped my pen against the notebook that was in front of me as I cupped my chin with my free hand, leaning into it casually with my attention focused on her. “Who’s Morrissey?” I asked blankly.

It was odd; usually I wasn’t fond of admitting aloud that I was the only one who couldn’t understand something. I’d go do research on my own, save face or whatever the saying was, because I hated the attitude that people gained when they knew that they knew something more than you. It was as if they believed they were somehow elevated above you with the knowledge and it gave them the licence to act condescending and pretentious.

Yet I didn’t even hesitate in my admission here. It wasn’t just in this moment, either. Right from the time that I’d begun talking to Cole I hadn’t been able resisting the temptation of asking him questions straight out, and I hadn’t even paused over that strange anomaly that came with him. He’d never held the knowledge over me, though, and for that I was grateful. There was no arrogance about him and what he told me wasn’t boastful, it was simply sharing something with another person. That was a trait that most teachers didn’t even have.

And it was something that he’d apparently inherited from his grandmother.

“The Smiths, dear,” she told me as she tapped her finger pointedly on the record case that she was holding. “He’s that wonderful voice you’ve been listening to.”

With a nod, I dropped my pen in sacrifice for my mug of tea. I could only agree with her; wonderful didn’t even begin to cover it though. Enchanting was a word that I mentally attached to the trance-like vocals that had been playing from the living room, but that didn’t cover it either. There was a much broader scope to it.

“I always had an enormous crush on him,” she continued, her eyes slightly unfocused as if she was in a trance herself.

Had it simply ended there, I would have just replied understandingly – who wouldn’t have a crush on a person that could sing like that? As it happened the conversation didn’t drop off there, and I found myself snorting into my mug of tea when Cole’s voice rang out clearly.

“Grandma,” he complained, “You’re ruining Morrissey and The Smiths for me.”

Opposed to my inelegant snort, Sara gave a tinkling laugh – it sounded like music. “What? Do you kids not say crush anymore? What should I say; I was turned on by him?”

Giving a loud laugh, I let my eyes flickered over to the stove where Cole was standing. He had his eyes closed as if trying to block the entire conversation from his head, and I couldn’t help but notice that his hair had gotten steadily messier in the time we’d been at his house and he’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows as he cooked.

Cole let out a slow breath, eyes opening only to be focused solely on the soup he was stirring as if there was nothing more interesting in the world. “Johnny Marr was always my favourite anyways,” he said, but I couldn’t help but think he was talking to himself, trying to assure himself that he could ignore his grandmother’s words.

In my stomach there were two opposing forces that seemed to be waging a war. One part was queasy and the other warm. The warm feeling was bigger, though. And I forced myself to push that uneasy feeling out of my mind, and focus on the good-natured teasing Sara was employing – although by the look on his face, I wouldn’t think that Cole would agree to it being all done in fun.

I just hid my smile behind the mug, content to be a fly on the wall.

“Johnny Marr?” said Sara with twinkling eyes as if she’d just thought about the man – I’d have to ask Cole later. “I think I liked him just as much as Morrissey,” she confessed. Yet in the middle she sent a wink in my direction, causing me to laugh again. “There was this time –” she began, but was cut off quickly by Cole.