Saturday is uneventful. Colt spends the day holed up at home. He watches some TV. He gets his violin out of its case and he plays for a long while, missing the feel of it, the sound of it, the way playing it brings out the best version of himself.
There had been a time, years ago, when Colt had found such solace in the beauty of this instrument. Music was something he was good at. While everything else in his world had sucked beyond the telling of it, this, the relationship between himself and his violin, was beautiful. It was something his father had never been able to bruise and fracture. Hearing him play was the only time his mother ever looked like she was proud of him.
It isn't too far of a stretch to say that music saved his life, that it changed his life. But then that's the power of music, isn't it? Music can move mountains.
Other stringed instruments came later for him, but the violin came first. The violin is like coming home, it's a reset.
He plays well into the evening until the sun is going down, losing track of time and not caring about anything else.
Saturday comes and goes.
Sunday morning he goes to church as he always does. He's there but he doesn't really listen today. He thinks that sometimes just showing up has to be good enough for God. It's all he has to give the Almighty right now.
He works in the front and back yards of his house the rest of Sunday, pulling weeds and mowing the lawn. It feels good to do normal things.
Alone.
It feels good to be alone.
It takes him a full week to start feeling more like himself again, to quit thinking about Marc every two seconds, to quit looking at the bottles of alcohol and wanting to taste them, to quit feeling so outside of and unlike himself that he's unrecognizable.
He almost calls or texts Marc several times that week. In the end he makes himself leave it alone.
His little league team loses the semi finals the next weekend. They go out for celebratory ice cream anyway. Colt gives them all their end of season trophies and hugs them all goodbye. He chats with their parents and tells them he hopes to see their kiddos next season.
The next Saturday, now with not much to do and his mind mostly back where it should be, Colt takes stock. He wonders where his crappy table and chairs went. He wonders where his fridge that had been on its last leg went. His old TV was fine. He didn't need a newer, bigger TV. He wonders what made Marc think it was okay to change all this stuff in his house without asking him.
A knock at the door startles him and when he answers it, a cheery woman is handing him a bouquet of black roses in an opaque red glass vase. Colt thanks her and takes them inside to set them on the new table.
Where does someone even find black roses?
The attached note reads: Busy working for a few more days. Thinking about you, Vanilla. - Marc
Everywhere Colt looks, there's a reminder of Marc. Colt decides that he needs to get out for awhile.
He goes out to his bike and heads to a bar for some nameless, faceless company. There's a live band playing tonight and while they're newer than his band, he's heard of them and is happy to listen and enjoy their music.
He's standing there, water in hand, enjoying the performance when he feels a hand on his arm. He turns to see one of the girls that's usually at Drunk Wizards performances. She's a fan. She follows them around from bar to bar and gig to gig so she's easily recognizable.
Colt puts on a big smile for her and they hug and say their hello's while he's trying to remember her name.
"It's Dana, right?" He asks.
"Close! It's Deanna."
"Ahhh almost." He gestures to the band on stage. "Not bad, huh?"
"Well they're no Drunk Wizards." Deanna says. "Wanna dance?"
"Yeah, let's dance."
It feels good to dance. Colt had never enjoyed dancing until recently when he hit that age that he quit caring whether he looks stupid or not and just allows himself to have fun. He and Deanna dance several songs together, maybe three or four, and then she leans up and kisses him.
Colt looks at her, surprised, and then he kisses her too. He's had relationships with women before and this feels natural and easy and right.
Except... not completely right.
Colt pulls back and shakes his head. "I'm sorry."
"Oh no. Was it bad?" Deanna asks. "I thought it was great."
"No, no it's... that was a great kiss and you're very attractive. It's just that..."
