Finding Eden

11

There was no dancing for me twenty-four hours before a show. It was a ritual I strictly followed, as well as wearing one colour, not eating anything white, and sleeping for exactly nine hours forty-five minutes the night before.

Instead, Cade took me to one of his gigs and I was introduced to his bandmates. The colourful tattoos on the keyboardist's arms entranced me and she allowed me to trace it with my fingertips. Despite the art on her body, it did not compare to Saint Peter's cross.

We never did mention that night, just like we never addressed the kisses we snuck in, and I was left with the impression that perhaps he had been drunk that night. However, we both knew the only substance Cade would touch was nicotine.

I had never been to a concert outside of the classical variety. My library did consist of numerous bands but never had I been to anything live. And I loved it. I loved it because it made me hard of hearing with the thrumming of the bass and how the guitar Cade played struck a chord through my heart as well. I loved it because his band also covered one of my favourite songs by Portugal. The Man. He had made me stand in the very front, where—I presumed—he could keep an eye on me but during his performance, he didn't look at me once. My heart ached by the end of his set, drumming dully in my ribcage.

"You have a nice voice," I said, watching him pack away the amps after his show. His band was popular, having booked a gig at the Music Hall of Williamsburg. Cade had given me his EP a few months ago. Unlike ballet and me, he kept his part-time career in the second floor of his townhouse.

"Thanks," he laughed, once again, remembering our previous exchange.

"Are you hungry?" It was well beyond midnight and there was not an ounce of weariness in me.

"Famished. Let's get some fries," he proposed. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and no doubt the thin material of his shirt was sticking to him as well. His cheeks had a rosy tint and for a moment, there was a disconnect between him and the stranger that smoked on his balcony and read satirical novels at midnight.

The pavement was damp outside and the air was buzzing with excitement, no doubt from the show. Cade said goodbye to his band mates and walked me to a little diner two streets down.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked, pockets in hand, slowing his pace to match mine.

"Highly," I replied.

"If you want, I can arrange more concerts for you," he offered, almost teasingly.

He took my silence as reluctance and said it doesn't necessarily have to be his band ("There are perks to hanging out with a frontman"). His words implied that perhaps, we would attend concerts together. I gave him a smile and said I'd look forward to it.

Outside the diner, he opened the door for me and took two menus from the front, doing the waitress's job for her. He shrugged his thick black coat off once we sat down at a booth and we sorted through the menu. My gaze wandered listlessly over the choices.

"Sort of craving some ice cream right now," he mused. Our eyes locked and the light glint in his eyes darkened before he averted them and flipped to the beverage section.

The waitress took our order: two black coffees and a plate of waffles (with a side of vanilla ice cream). There was no conversation tonight as we shared the food. I took the opportunity to give him the ticket for Le Corsaire.

"Courtesy of Aldous," I said.

"I'm anticipating this," he grinned and took a sip of his coffee. He made sure to get us home in time when he remembered my nine hour forty-five minutes sleep ritual. We talked of trivial matters on the short commute home: his childhood dog, my favourite film, his sister Cassie, and my strange collection of music boxes. Cassie was five years older than Cade and was working as a secretary in a prestigious law firm. She was, what they would say, the glue of their family. Cade never talked of his parents.

***

That night, we slept in separate rooms for he feared he would disrupt my superstitions. I left early on in the morning and at 5:00 AM, there was still a sliver of light coming from the crack between his door and the floor (where I then slipped the programme for the show under).

I decided to go to the cemetery.

The moment I stepped out the black cab, I regretted my decision. The thin jacket I had on was not enough and the snow was raining furiously down so I chased after the cab and asked to go back. The heady feeling in my body either came from my short sprint or the panic of standing outside the towering dark gates of the cemetery.

"Not ready?" The driver diverted his eyes from the road to look at me from the rear-view mirror. He had the acrid smell of smoke and I found no comfort in it the way I did in Cade. I gave him a tight lipped smile and shook my head, staring at my lap. I hated days like this, where the sun was pale and the snow was heavy. He didn't charge me for the ride back, surprisingly, and I bounded up the doorsteps to Cade's house.

He could be heard singing on the second floor and that was the direction I ran in. It wasn't hard to locate him and once I did, it wasn't long before I broke down in the cave of his chest. Wordlessly, he placed his chin on top of my head and rocked us side to side. By the end of it, our embrace had turned into a waltz of sorts.

"What happened," he said calmly, one hand in mine, another on the small of my back.

"Nothing," I replied, stepping in tune to his humming.

"Don't lie to me," his eyes were dark pools in the haze of the afternoon.

"Nothing," I repeated and his grip tightened. He didn't press on and took careful attention to not stepping on my feet. At that second, I craved intimacy, something he didn't provide. His brows were furrowed but he didn't voice what he was thinking.

"Do you like me?" I asked. What have I become? A cliché, trivial mess.

Cade's lips parted. "I suppose so."

But do you like like me? His exclusiveness was what I found myself craving for. Instead I asked him if he would miss me.

"I'm not sure I follow. Are you going to leave me?" he asked, head-tilting, half-joking. I shook my head and ended the little dance. He went back to creating universes with his guitar and I sat near him, wrapped up in his words.

Life was fine that way.