"I want to learn all about you." I pushed as we flopped down on the generic loveseat next to the bed.
"Okay, such as?" Billy settled in next to me and set a heavy foot on the coffee table.
"What do you want me to know?"
He sat back and gazed at me before settling on "many things."
"Tell me cheerful things."
He again paused as his mind spun through items. "When I told my parents I didn't plan on going to college, I thought they'd hit the roof, but both were completely calm."
"Really? I'm pretty sure my mom would die if I skipped college," I giggled.
"Mmhmm, my dad asked why. I told him it didn't fit for me. It perplexed my mom. I've always liked to read and enjoyed history, so naturally, they assumed I'd continue to college, not that it was the norm." He paused and inspected my expression before continuing. "Only two of my brothers went to college; the other two got into trades."
"I always wished I was better with my hands. I'm too clumsy for anything of use," I sighed.
"I disagree," he murmured as he lifted the pendant from my neck with a single finger before letting it fall back to my chest. "My dad asked for my plan; I told him I had taken a mechanic job. He asked why that felt right; I told him I enjoyed the work. He smiled and said he was proud of me." His stories were like him, straightforward. Billy's eyes stayed on his hands, twisted together on his lap. They unknotted as a fresh memory came into focus.
"I wish I could have met your dad," I whispered, causing Billy to drop his face so his lips could gently glide over my temple.
"I got into a fistfight on the playground once; I must have been around ten." A hint of a laugh toyed with his smirk. "Some little jerk was teasing a girl about her red hair." He shook his head with laughter. "I laid him out with one punch." His eyes flickered up to me. "It shouldn't be something that makes me happy, violence and all, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't."
"Who was the girl?" I asked, expecting to hear of some adolescent love.
"Not sure," he shrugged. "She was a couple of grades behind me."
The story struck me as more endearing in that his chivalry didn't stem from a deep connection. He just saw something wrong and acted. My hand reached out to his, and he let it slide in with a gentle squeeze.
"What else?" I nudged; his quiet memories captivated me.
"The first time my mom laughed after my dad died, really laughed; I remember that so clearly. It had been months; I was convinced that she'd never be happy again. Then one Sunday dinner, my brothers and I were ribbing each other, and she let out an honest-to-goodness laugh. I've never been happier or more relieved in my life." His gaze stayed on my hand so he couldn't see the pooling in my eyes. "One time, my brothers decided they wanted to build a soapbox racecar. Being the youngest and smallest, I was, of course, the driver. I remember sailing down the hill by our house as they cheered." He lifted his eyes to mine. "Then the wheels came off the front, and I flipped. Smashed out my front teeth and broke my nose." A smile spread across his face, "worth it."
"That explains the hook." I teased as I tapped a fingertip on his nose. "I assumed it was a fight."
He gave a shrug that made me think fights had also helped the shape.
"It's funny to think of you as the smallest," I smiled.
"Mmhmm, wait until you meet my brothers." It was an absent thought, meeting his brothers, but it send a pang of longing and fear through me. I wanted to meet them. I want to dive into everything that made up this human next to me. But with every new detail, I was being pulled deeper into him, and the fear of drowning closed in on me.
"Don't stop," my voice came out as a whisper.
"We have plenty of time," he smiled, releasing my hand.
"Fine," but I couldn't let his memories drop that quickly. I searched for something tangible to keep him close to me. "Do you bite your nails?"
"What?" He let out a laugh. "No, why do you ask?"
"Your left hand has really short nails," I pointed out.
He looked down at his hands and flexed them, "guitar." The fingers of his right hand flexed, "picking fingers." He then dropped it and raised his left hand, "fretting hand." He looked at them for another moment before returning to my gaze. "Does it bother you?"
"No, of course not. I probably should've been able to figure that out myself." I let myself shift to his side as one of his weighty arms landed on my shoulders. "Tell me about your music."
"My music?"
"Yeah, where does it come from? It doesn't seem like inspiration hits, and you halt everything."
He let out a laugh, "that sounds terrible and stifling." He pushed a tendril of hair behind my ear. "I'm not sure where it comes from. I'll commit to something, you know? It's an 'I'm going to write this week,' and then that's what I do."
"You can schedule your creativity?" It seemed bizarre.
"No, I guess I'm always tinkering with melodies and words in my head, but it's not always my focus. I schedule focus, I suppose, and during that time, I reduce distractions."
"I'm a distraction," I mumbled.
"You are a focus." He sternly corrected me as he let his hand cup my face.
His eyes poured over me, lingering on my lips. A rush ripped through my body as I awaited his next move, but as much as I hoped for a kiss, his hand dropped from my face, and he averted his eyes to his twitching foot.
"I'm sorry I said no." My eyes followed his gaze to his foot.
"You don't need to be sorry. You did what was right for you. I get it."
"What's it like?" I slumped back into his shoulder.
"What's what like?"
"Traveling, playing music?" I pressed.
"Shitty hotels? Late nights? Never knowing the day or where you are?" The honesty of his words sent a pang of loneliness through me.
"Finding something you love and allowing yourself to pursue it," I countered.
"It's great," he somberly admitted. "I'm fortunate anyone shows up. But I think of the things I'm giving up, the normalcy that's nonexistent now. I get what you're saying. I'm choosing to give up something of myself."
"But you're aware you're giving it up. You're willing."
"I am." His far hand lifted to his hair and tugged on a few erratic clumps that fell from the brim of his hat.
"Thank you for calling. I missed you, Billy."
"Sorry I didn't call sooner; I didn't think you wanted to hear from me."
"Billy," I sighed in frustration, but then tried to temper my annoyance before starting again. "Hey," I breathed.
His dark eyes twitched up to mine.
"I love hearing from you and seeing you, Billy. I'll always be here for you."
"I don't want to interfere with your life, Lil. It's not my intent to interrupt."
His words stung but were not undeserved. He listened to why I declined his invitation and was trying to be considerate, even if I wanted him to be inconsiderate.
"Billy," an interest filled his eyes when I said his name, "I enjoy you... immensely."
I lifted my head from his shoulder, pulling my face inches from his. In the proximity, the flecks of green and gold in his dark brown eyes gleamed. He tipped slightly forward, and just as I thought my lips would burst into flames with anticipation, "hey Billy, is your girl... oh, shit; sorry, man" came from the doorway. The voice came frighteningly familiar, causing my face to snap up, dispelling the moment.
"Fuck, Tim; learn to fucking knock." Billy tossed an aptly named throw pillow at him.
"Sorry, man," Tim slowly backed towards the door without turning his back on us as though her feared Billy would lunge at him like a bear.
"You're Tim?" My voice came with an excited squeak.
Tim frantically looked between us, not sure what to do. Billy's tone gave off the go while I gave the stay vibe.
"I am," he tentatively said.
"It's so nice to meet you!" I shot up and extended a hand.
"I need to know about Billy as a kid," I excitedly added.
"Oh, hell no." Billy popped up from the couch. "Tim, get out," Billy demanded, as he grasped at my waist and pulled me away from Tim.
Tim just let a laugh roll from him. "Now, Billy, don't be rude," he teased.
"Please!" I grasped Billy's hand and squeezed it. "We can all go get malts."
Billy's rigid hand began frozen within my clutch, but as he gazed down at me, it melted into mine.
"I can answer for him. He's never been one to say no to a pretty lady or a chocolate malt," Tim laughed.
"I'm a lady," I smiled up at Billy.
"That shows how much you know of each other. No one wants to spend time with Tim, and you may be a woman, but you're not a lady." Despite his joke, I pushed up and kissed him on the cheek for conceding. As I pulled away, Billy let his face hang low for a little longer than needed.
"So, where to begin?" Tim started as we headed out the door.
"I'll regret this," Billy grumbled from beside me, but he still held my hand and even gave it a gentle squeeze.