Arboria Park by Kate Tyler Wall

Author:Kate Tyler Wall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2017-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

9—STACY, 1980

When I saw him again, I was playing guitar in the basement of a rental house on Beech Street, wearing a Dead Kennedys T-shirt and Scarlet Slasher lipstick, on a Friday night in September.

Autumn and her friends had formed a band called the Parkers, and they were the last of four groups playing the Beech House basement that night. Shows were usually over around eleven, to lessen the chances of a neighborhood noise complaint. Benny couldn’t play that night, so Autumn had begged me to fill in. They’d mostly just wanted some additional noise, so it had been enough to do a quick run-through before the show.

The spectators were mostly neighborhood high school kids or college students on their way out to late-night parties or townie bars. That’s why I noticed him at first. Midway through our set, a man a little older than the others descended the stairs and stood in the back, in front of the hand-lettered “Respect the House” sign. Some things about him had changed: the military-style haircut, for one, and his upper body was more muscular, more powerful now. Some things hadn’t: the black T-shirt and jeans (with a brown suede jacket added), the dark eyes that danced as they met mine, the smile that made me lose track of what I was playing.

Billy didn’t notice my error, just kept yowling and flailing away on his own guitar. I put my head down to catch my breath and stared at the concrete floor as Billy announced our next song, a Ramones cover.

When I dared look up again, I fucked up a chord change. I kept looking away until we finished the set. Then I busied myself unplugging my guitar from the house amp. I was still crouched over the amp when I felt a hand on my arm.

“It is you.” He smiled. “Stacy Halloran. I thought I’d never see you again. And playing a song from my favorite band.”

“Greg.” Everything was kaleidoscoping now: Autumn and her friends, some kids trooping noisily up the steps, others arguing about which record to play. Greg Martinez, with his hand on my arm, was all that mattered.

He shook his head. “Ten years, and here you are, a block from my house. All I had to do was follow the sound.”

Autumn danced up to us, pulling me back to reality. “Hey, that was so cool.”

“Thanks for letting me play with you. Do you need a ride, or are you hanging out here?” I tried to remember my responsibilities.

“We’ll walk,” she said. “We can get home in time for Thriller Theatre.” She looked at Greg. “Hi, I’m Autumn and this is our band, the Parkers. Stacy’s helping us out.”

“Autumn, this is Greg Martinez. I knew him in high school,” I managed to say. “This is my niece and her friends, Rosie and Billy.”

They all shook hands with Greg and then headed for the steps. Greg and I followed.

“We watch all the horror flicks on TV because we’re writing our own film,” Billy explained over his shoulder.

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