Our story began the summer before our Sophomore year in High School. We grew up together. We lived in a small town in West Virginia known as Montgomery Town, named after the family that lived there years ago. Part of the family still exists today.
*
I was in my room writing when my cellphone rang. I picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Are you coming up? It was Billy. Um . . . yes, I told him. I'm on my way.
Okay, he followed and we hung up.
I slipped on my boots and headed for the door. Dad, can I borrow the Jeep?
He looked at me. Where are you going?
Billy's house.
I still do not see why you will not join them, my mother said to me. She was referring to the band that my friends had started.
The truth is, I had been writing stories and cheesy poems ever since I could remember, and although I had a decent voice, I had no interest in singing.
I don't sing, I told her.
You used to sing in church, she reminded me.
That was a long time ago, I followed.
It wasn't that long ago."
Long enough.
My father tossed me his car keys. Be careful with it, he warned.
Always I yelled before going out the door.
I hurried out to the Jeep and drove up the road to Billy's house. I pulled up to the garage where they held band practice.
Everyone greeted me when I walked into the garage. I sat on the old couch and listened to the new song that Dalton had written. When it sounded good enough to Billy, he called a break. Billy was the one that was always in control of every situation, so everyone looked to him to make sure things were the way they were supposed to be.
Lance, would you get us some drinks from the kitchen? Billy asked me.
I got up and went into the kitchen and took five sodas from the refrigerator. Dalton's song was still dancing in my head and I began to sing the chorus, aloud, to myself. Bad idea. When I turned back around, Billy was standing in the doorway, his mouth wide open.
I thought you said you couldn't sing, he said.
I never said that I couldn't, I told him. I just said that I wouldn't.
I doubt that." He grabbed me by the arm and practically dragged me back into the garage. He shoved his microphone at me. We are going to do the chorus of Go Away, he explained to everyone. I want you to sing lead, he told me.
What? I almost shouted. Hell, no
Come on, Lance, he pleaded.
No, I said firmly.
Don't tell us you're scared, Devon said.
I am not scared.
Prove it, Billy challenged. Sing with us.
No, I repeated.
Lance, you don't have to be shy around us, Dalton insisted.
I know, but . . .
But what?
Come on, Lance, Billy pleaded.
I looked at their pleading faces for a few seconds and then gave in. I took Billy's microphone and then the music began. My heart was racing, but when I began to sing, I felt myself relax. I felt as if I had been singing all my life. When the music faded away and all became quiet, I opened my eyes.
Wow, Devon said under his breath.
Damn, Billy, Dalton followed. He's almost better than you are.
To my surprise, Billy nodded. Almost. He patted me on the back. Welcome to the band.
We lived on Hummingbird Lane and only a couple houses away from each other. That was how we got to know each other so well. Billy Cole lived in the enormous house at the top of the hill. It always reminded me of a King's castle, watching over its Kingdom. His mother left him and his father when he was ten years old. From what I know, they have not seen or heard from her since, so it was just he and his father in that big house. His father was hardly ever home, so we could use his garage for band practice without complaints from all the noise.
Dalton Cole was Billy's cousin. He lived in the single story house at the bottom of the hill. His father and Billy's father were cousins, but they rarely spoke. Dalton lost his mother to cancer when he was six years old. He does not remember much about her. His father drove an eighteen wheeler for a company called JB Hunt, which meant that was gone six months out of the year. He would leave and be gone for two months and come home for two weeks and then he went back out on the road. I suppose the money was good, but it meant Dalton being alone for months at a time. Still, he had us to keep him from getting lonely.
Three houses down the road was Devon Stone. His parents moved him here when we were just starting preschool. It was not long after that we all became friends. He was the tallest sixteen-year-old that I knew, standing at six feet tall. It was insane. He always wore his black cowboys' hat and very expensive snake skin cowboy boots. He loved horses. His parents owned many and they bred them and sold the colts for a pretty penny. Devon's parents, like mine, were business people, but my parents were usually home on the weekends. His parents would leave him along for weeks. They were always away on business trips to places like Chicago or New York City and even Seattle, Washington.
Right beside Devon lived Ronnie Short. His name fit him perfectly, considering that he stood only about 5'3. I stood 5'10, so there was not much difference, but his height never seemed to bother him. It was one of his many charms, he always said. It is what made him unique. Ronnie had somewhat of a normal family. His father worked for the local Fruit Farm and his mother was a Homemaker, taking care of the elderly in their homes.
Not too long after I had joined the band, we began to advertise. I guess Billy thought we were ready. We began to play at birthday parties and weddings. We even got invited to play at the Teen Civic Center. They built it years ago to keep kids out of trouble. When we arrived at the Civic Center, we unloaded the van that Devon's father had bought for us. It was the only thing big enough to haul all of our equipment. Once inside, we began to set up.
Hey, Lance, look who's here, Billy said to me in a low voice.
Who? I asked, without looking up.
Miranda, he replied and pointed her out.
I looked up and saw her standing by the pool table with her lifelong friend, Raven Jenkins.
Wow, Devon said. She really filled out, didn't she?
I couldn't deny it. She was more beautiful than ever. Her blue eyes could make Satan fall in love with her. Her dark brown hair reached her lower back. The outfit that she wore left little to the imagination. She could make a Priest stop and take notice. She wore a shirt that read, Brunettes Have More Fun. The blue jeans she wore hugged her hips very well and my heart began to beat faster as I continued to check her out.
Lance, Devon said. Lance.
What? I answered him.
You're staring, he said.
I am not.
You were.
Okay. I was. Shut up about it.
Do you like her? he asked me.
I looked at him. How can I like her? I barely know her anymore."
You don't have to know someone to like them, Billy spoke up.
I know that, I told him. But I don't.
He and Devon exchanged glances.
Uh-huh, said both of them.
Miranda Quinn was her name. I have known Miranda as long as I have known the guys. We were best friends throughout middle school. Seventh grade was when we drifted away from each other. She met knew people and that was the end of our friendship. It was that easy. That night was the first night I had really taken notice.
That evening went well. There were many requests from the audience for songs that we knew and some that we did not, but we sung them anyway. Later, after nearly everyone had gone, I was gathering up my equipment when I looked up and saw Miranda standing in front of me.
"Miranda," I said, aloud. "Uh, h-hi." I tripped over my words.
"Hi, Lance," she greeted. "I didn't know you could sing."
I smiled. "Neither did I."
"You sounded really good."
"Thanks." There was an awkward pause. "So, um, it has been a long time," I said, finally.
"I know," she replied.
I looked at her for another long moment. She stared back at me. My heart sped up. I didn't know what to say.
