Paper Airplane

8

Chapter Eight

 

 

                “So, how is that one song coming along?”

                Brady paused his unwrapping of the First Aid kit he just bought, lifting his eyes to meet mine.  The smile that spread on his face reminded me of the times he’d wake me up in the middle of the night to play me a tune or read me three lines of lyrics he was really proud of.  He wore this same smile then.

                “Really great.  I’m recording the last of it tomorrow, and my manager is going to have a copy for me by Monday.  You guys are going to love it,” he insisted.

                I smiled too, despite the pain in my knee that seemed to be getting worse with each passing second, because I liked when he was this happy.  Moments like this one reminded me of how much I actually missed my brother and how much I wish life was still normal and he had never become famous.  As horrible and selfish as that is, I couldn’t help it.

                “Is it the single everyone’s been waiting for?” I asked as he returned to unwrapping the First Aid kit.

                “No.  I can show you that one when we get home.”

                “So how’s the rest of the album going?  What’s it called?”

                My brother rummaged through the kit’s contents.  The gas station clerk had generously offered to let us use a back room instead of the bathroom, and Brady had thanked her with an autograph.  She swooned, I gagged.  The whole thing was very weird to me.

                The gash on my knee suddenly began to ooze blood again, so Brady quickly grabbed the damp cleaning cloth the clerk had given us before to stop the flow from dripping onto the ground.  I reached for the cloth so that he could continue searching for whatever he was looking for in the kit.

                “It’s called Our Song after one of the tracks.  It’s going to be hugely based on connecting with relationships and friendships.  It’s a lot more acoustic, but a lot more…cute.  Get what I’m saying?” he smirked, feeling awkward about using the word “cute.” 

                My lips spread into a grin.  “Yeah, I get it.  Sounds like something I could get into.”

                He rolled his eyes.  “You best be always into my music.”

                “I was at first.  Then your second album became really pop-oriented and radio friendly, and that’s not a bad thing,” I tried explaining.  “I really liked, um..”  I snapped my fingers until I finally remembered the titles.  “You’ll Never Know and Playing With Fire from that album.”

                “Not Absolutely?” he asked, clearly surprised.

                I pursed my lips.  “Mm, no.  That one got overplayed.  Your third album was better, though.  Much more like the first.  I liked that one.”

                “Well, I think you’ll like this one,” Brady decided.  “Besides, I dedicated it to you.”

                “To me?  The whole album?”

                “Yeah.”  He must have found what he was looking for in the kit, because he set it down to meet my gaze again.  “I mean, obviously not the love songs, but the album in general.  On my birthday, I was going to come home to see you guys.  And then, I don’t know, something didn’t work out and I couldn’t.  I started to think about other years and I remembered that surprise birthday party you threw me.”  He smirked.  “And you invited Mandy Jansen because you thought I liked her and I really I couldn’t stand her.”