Anca
It’s just me. And him.
Him. Marius.
Not Him… the Maes-…
No. Don’t say his name.
It’s Marius.
He’s sitting in front of me, my hands in his and he guides me.
He’s telling me to breathe.
He’s telling me I can do this.
He’s telling me I’m talented and beautiful and strong.
He’s telling me to breathe again.
Why do I keep forgetting to do that? He’s asking me, even as he’s laughing.
I can feel my mouth laughing with him.
Just as I can feel my heart pump so loud and fast in my chest, I think I need to hold my palms against my sternum to hold it in.
I can do this.
“I can do this,” I hear myself say out loud.
“Yes, you fucking well can.” He tells me again.
“No matter what anyone has said in the past,” I say, before I can stop myself.
There’s a flicker of a frown, but he lets it pass. His hands are on either side of my face.
“Deep breath, babe.”
I close my eyes and fill every single cavity of my lungs with air.
“Don’t worry about anyone else. Listen to me. Trust me. You are a fucking ROCK. STAR. Do you hear me?
“I hear you.” I hear every word, Marius.
“Just don’t forget to breathe.”
Just don’t forget to breathe, Anca.
Breathe. And forget.
Breathe, he mouths the word to me and nods.
I nod back.
It’s time.
Marius
“Anca! Anca! Anca! Rock Chamber Boys! Rock Chamber Boys!! YEAH!!!!” The cheers from the ten thousand strong audience thump in my ears, ricocheting off the edges of my skull and fill up every inch of my brain. Anca grins as she blows another kiss into the crowd and then joins us as we take each other’s hands and bow in unison.
“Merci, Paris. Je t’aime!!!!!” Sebastian yells and I can see him wipe a tear away. He always gets like this when we perform in his hometown, and they love him for it. I run over and jump on his back giving him a big sloppy kiss on his cheek and the crowd roars. The other boys join in the bear hug and I can’t help grinning at the sweaty faces of these men I love so much. Jez holds his arm out to his sister and Anca runs over, letting herself be pulled into the love fest.
Then the lights go down and we rush off the stage. The inevitable chant starts up again.
“ROCK CHAMBER BOYS, Encore! ROCK CHAMBER BOYS!”
We look at each other on the stair leading backstage, grin at each other and run back on stage. Grabbing our instruments, Sebastian yells out, “Bohemian Rhapsody!” and Jez nods, breaking out into a face splitting grin.
I look around, and she’s not there. That’s not right. She should be here.
I turn to the wings and she’s standing there, face gleaming like an angel’s. I wave to her and she shakes her head, laughing. I run over and pull her on stage and push her onto her harp stool. The crowd’s cheer grows even louder and I lean in and whisper, “You see? They want you.” I don’t add what I really want to say, that I want her too.
I join my guys and we raise our arms, ready to play. We play with everything we’ve got. For those who gave us everything.
***
“Oh my god, that encore was truly inspiring, guys.” Dennis says, sinking into the couch in our communal living room.
“Um,” Sebastian looks up from his phone, forehead furrowed, “Did someone spike Dennis’s drink?”
“What? No, why?” Brad asks, his head lifting off the couch head rest.
“Then why did he…” Sebastian leans in and says in a conspiratorial loud whisper, “say something nice to us?”
“Oh hush, bluefromagefucker,” our manager retorts, rolling his eyes, but still smiling. “Can’t I compliment my band when they do something well?”
“Ha, of course. We’ve just never heard it before. Did you lay all the money we made you on the bed and roll around naked on it this afternoon, Denny?”
“Ew, guys, gross.” Hailey says, not able to look her father in the eye.
“And Anca, you were great tonight,” Dennis says to her kindly. “You had someone look at your harp pedal? It didn’t seem to give you any trouble tonight.”
She turns to me. “Well, right at the beginning, it might’ve been a little touch and go, but someone gave me some tips on how to deal with it and it seemed to work, so no, no problems. I think… I think I might have found a way to fix it.”
And the smile she gives me is like a million people chanting my name at once, except that I can only hear her voice.
***
“Marius.” Jez comes with me when I wish everyone good night and make my way back to my room.
“Yeah, man. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say thanks,” he says, surprising me.
“Thanks for what buddy?”
“For helping Anca. With her… with her problem.”
“Well, firstly, it’s not a really big problem, nothing a few good, deep breaths couldn’t solve, and secondly, no need for thanks.” I give him a pat on the back.
“Okay. But I still wanted to say thanks… for helping. My little sister.” He says the last part slowly and pointedly, putting his hand on my shoulder and looking me in the eye.
Ah.
I nod, returning his look.
“I got it,” I tell him.
And I do. Get it. Whether I like it or not.
***
“Whose bright idea was it to take the train?” Sebastian grumbles the next morning at 7 a. m. as we walk down the long train platform at Gare de Lyon to get to our carriage.
“Yours, fartbreath.” Brad reminds him, pulling his shirt collar up around his neck. “Oooh, vous must see se country-side on ze train, eet ees soo bootifoool,” he continues, imitating Sebastian’s French accent.
“Well it is. Just not at 7 a. m. Why don’t we ever leave at 1 a. m. when I am most awake?”
“Yeah, I love looking at the view out of the train window after midnight,” Jez taunts him.
“We’re here. Stop complaining. People will think we are over-privileged rock stars who can’t wipe our own asses,” I tell them, helping Anca onto the steep step of the train.
It’s a three-hour train ride to Lyon, and while the view for first hour or so is gray train tracks, gray train tracks, and more gray train tracks, once the city opens up into countryside, it really is quite lovely.
We spread out over three carriages and take turns wandering around between them, annoying each other. Jez and Brad never really were the best at sitting in one spot for too long.
Anca sits by the window in one carriage, earphones firmly planted in her ears, her stockinged feet up on the opposite seat bench, an unopened journal sitting in her lap.
I stand by the carriage door and take a mental picture.