THE REST of Petty Crime arrives three weeks after we do. The plan is for the band to spend a week rehearsing, a month or so recording, and then Seth will stay behind and do whatever cleanup is needed on the vocals and instruments. I’m documenting everything to be used in a web series on the band, or maybe to cut up some of the footage for their next video. I have some ideas already for what I want to do with it, a mix between the Red Hot Chili Peppers “Breaking the Girl” and the Smashing Pumpkins “Today,” with the desert featured prominently.
On the day everyone arrives, Seth hosts a get-together at our place for the band, significant others, and whatever friends and groupies have come along for the ride. The inside of our trailer is too small, so the party spills into the front, where there’s a fire pit and a ring of lawn chairs. Seth sets up a cheap charcoal grill as well.
The smell of the charcoal makes me uneasy, but I try to put it out of my mind.
Mitchell and Dean, the bassist and lead guitarist, are easy enough to reunite with again. A handshake and a how’s it going suffices. They mostly stayed out of the drama between Seth and me. Mitchell has a wife and young kid, and Dean, who’s older, is a recovering alcoholic, tough as nails. The few times he’s slipped, he made himself go out and get a tattoo as punishment. I’m not sure how that’s a punishment, because his tattoos are pretty rad, but I understand the mind games you play with yourself in order to stay sober. I’m losing mine every day.
My reunion with Sabrina is a little bit rougher.
“The fuck are you doing here, Hiro?” she says by way of greeting. She’s the only other person who calls me that.
“Just soaking up the sun,” I say. Seth’s a few feet away, no doubt within listening range.
“I thought this song had been played out,” she says with no trace of amusement.
“It’s making a comeback.” I want to keep it light. No drama.
“Still powdering our noses, Marie?” For Marie Antoinette. Somehow it turned into a drug reference. We’ve been friends for years, so we have a lot of coded messages. It’s how we communicate when Seth’s around.
I shrug in response. I don’t want to get into it with her in front of everyone else, Seth included.
“Rehab was that good, huh?” she asks.
Seth comes up then and slings his arm around her shoulders, squeezing a little too tightly. She recoils from him. “You know the thing I like most about drummers, Sabrina?” he purrs. She says nothing. “Yes, that’s it. They know exactly when to shut the fuck up.”
She glares at him and shoves him off her, walks over to the cooler and pulls out a beer, tilts the bottle my way. “Cheers, Hiro, to the reunion tour.”
I need something to do other than wilt under her deep disappointment, so I get a fire going in the pit I made earlier that day out of random rocks that were lying around. I arranged them so it looks like a mosaic of a sunburst. I don’t know why I went to the trouble. I could have just piled them up. I guess I have a lot of time on my hands.
Most everyone in the entourage has a guitar, except Sabrina and me. Sometimes she plays the bongos or taps her sticks to keep a beat, but she gets bored quickly. Sabrina has a lot of aggression, and she truly loves beating the hell out of her drum kit.
“So, how was rehab?” she asks me later that evening. The sun has set and the stars are out. I like looking up at the night sky in the desert and seeing the vastness of our universe. I find comfort in being reminded of just how small and insignificant we humans are.
“Fucking sucked,” I say.
“And your new school?”
“Same.” I’m not going to tell her about Trent or the assault. If she asks me why I came back to Seth, I’ll make something up.
“Make any new friends?”
I shrug and pull down on the brim of the hat Berlin gave me. I wear it whenever I can because it reminds me of when we went horseback riding, and the way Berlin greeted me that day with a little dip of his hat. So hot and so sweet at the same time, a perfect gesture. I guess I’m smiling just thinking about him, because Sabrina kind of nudges me. “Tell me about him.”
I feel comfortable talking with Sabrina about Berlin. I trust her not to say anything to Seth, and it will do her good to know I was involved with someone else.
“He was a cowboy.” That day on his ranch, I wanted to rip off everything else but the hat and just devour him from head to toe. Snapshots of him flit through my mind. His broad chest with his rust-colored hair gleaming in the sunlight, gray-blue eyes that crinkle with kindness and change colors with the sky. His hands, big and callused and surprisingly gentle.
“His friends didn’t know,” I tell her. “We had to keep it a secret.”
“That must have been hard,” she says and lays her hand on mine. It’s the same thing my father does to my mother when she’s upset, which makes me miss them too. Sabrina has always been a good listener. She hears the spaces between the words, the things I don’t say.
“It was hard.” My eyes start to sting a little. I regret the way I left things with my parents and Berlin. I hope Spencer has reached out to Berlin like I asked. Maybe they’ll even get together. Pickings are slim in Lowry. The thought of them having each other kind of makes me feel better about it all.
“Is that why you went back to Seth?” she asks, this time with less judgment.
“Yeah.” I sniff a little and drag my arm across my eyes, adjust my hat. I glance across the fire and see Seth staring at me with a crazy look in his eyes.
“Reminiscing over there?” he calls sweetly while continuing to strum his guitar. Sabrina glares at him. Neither of us responds, so he continues. “Hiroku had an interesting year. Why don’t you tell us about it?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say shortly. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but I figure it’s nothing good.
“You want to show us that little souvenir you got from your redneck boyfriend?”
I shouldn’t be surprised he’d throw that in my face the moment he feels threatened, but I hoped he’d moved past embarrassing me in front of his friends to make himself feel better.
“Hiro, don’t tell me you got a tattoo?” Sabrina teases, elbowing my side.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say coldly. Their expressions all flatline, except for Seth. His smile widens.
“Go on, show them,” he says like it’s funny. Like it wasn’t one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.
“No.” I wish the word alone would choke him off so he won’t utter another goddamned thing.
“They branded him,” Seth says, his mouth turning downward. “That’s why you came back, Hiroku, isn’t it? That’s how fucking bad it had to get?”
“Shut the fuck up, Seth,” Sabrina growls. She reaches out to me and I evade her, get up and grab my cigarettes on my way out. I hear Seth groan and say something like, “Looks like he’s mad at me, again,” even though I’m sure he’s secretly pleased with himself. Insert knife, turn, then act surprised when the blood starts gushing out.
“Come back, Hiroku, baby,” he calls like a condescending asshole. I flip him off and keep walking.
I head out under the starry sky like a lone wanderer, my cheeks wet with tears. That happens to me sometimes—I’ll just start crying without really realizing it. I can still get on my bike and get lost in the desert. Pick some random hotel room to hole up in until the withdrawal subsides, but I don’t have the money to pay for it. And what place would give a room to a dodgy-looking teenager anyway?
I lie back in the sand and stare up at the stars until the anger drains away, leaving that hard, shriveled knot inside me that passes for a heart. I imagine Berlin’s arms around me, the way he made me feel safe without trapping me. I reach under my shirt and trace the tender skin, feeling bitter and confused all at once, thinking about how the scars you can’t touch are just as dangerous because of how easy it is to forget they’re there.