(un)lucky

seven.

Mamés braces himself for the blow, but it never comes. Instead, she says, "That was amazing. No more than that...incredible? Astounding? Remarkable? Oh God, I'm just spitting out synonyms."

Her face is doing something weird; lighting up, opening up, stretching and stretching and stretching. It's a smile. A smile he has never seen before, not on her or anyone for that matter. How does one smile with their whole body? The air starts to vibrate. His whole body rumbles along with it.

Ana sucks in more air. "You said you only sing a little," she sounds accusatory. "This is more," the rest of the words are a whisper. "More than anything."

Mamés finally finds his legs and comes down from the stage, but it's more stumbling than walking—his legs are boneless. But he doesn't know if it is because of the performance or because she is still talking. It flies over his head mostly with a whoosh. But as he stumbles over to her, he picks up some words like—soul, upside down, star.

He thinks she's exaggerating. He thinks she's out of her mind. He thinks he doesn't want her to ever stop talking.

In front of her, he says, "How are you here? I saw you leave." And, he did see her leave, that is. He peeked from the kitchen doors, like the coward he is, and saw the whole group leave. Ana turned back when she reached the door, eyes searching. Some part of him hoped she was looking for him. A very tiny part.

"We left for some drinks but I came back to take a dump. The tall guy with the purple durag let me in, after telling me about a hundred jokes. He looks like you. Not physically, like from the inside. It's like you're related but I know you're not, because I asked..." She trails off, almost like she feels she sounds foolish. She doesn't.

Mamés finally understands why she is so greedy with the air. Why won't she be when she has so many words trapped inside her? The way Mamés has music inside him, dancing in his veins, trying to leap off his skin, always bursting to come out.

"I get it," he says, because he does. He is always finding long-lost family members in odd places, a trailer park, a workshop (that's where he meets George for the first time), and an empty parking lot. They share no blood ties but they are family.

"I think he forgot I was inside and turned the lights off later. I wasn't worried though. There's a window in the back that I could've used to escape. Sadly, the door was open so I came out and saw you. Okay, your turn. Do you do this often?"

"Yes. I mean no. I—" There is a smile crawling on her face. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Can you blame me? You're adorable."

Adorable. Ugh. He sighs. "Not that often. It's supposed to be a secret, for my ears only." He looks pointedly at her. "Like singing in the shower. Private."

"That is not how I sing in the shower or anyone else for that matter. It was incredible, your voice is so beautiful, Mamés and the way you play. Wow. But why is it a secret? Do you have stage fright? Is that why you covered your eyes?"

"No. No." How can he explain this? She leads him by the arm to a table while he organises his thoughts, "Not stage fright. I speak to crowds all the time. Okay, not all the time. I have the same amount of stage fright a normal person has. So no hurling at people for me."

"Okay not stage fright, then what? Performance anxiety?"

Why do you care? "Moot point. I'm in a band. We play every other Saturday."