A Song for Julia

body wanted him, my mind knew that he was a mistake.

    Watch you go (Crank)
    I made it amply clear I wasn’t in the mood to talk with anyone the moment Julia left. Mark and Pathin avoided me carefully all day Sunday, until Serena finally barged into my room and demanded, “Aren’t you supposed to be moving back in with your brother today?”
    “Yeah,” I muttered. “I’ll go hop on the T in a little while.”
    She waved her hands at all my crap. “What about all this stuff?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t give a shit right now.”
    She shook her head impatiently. “Will you snap out of it, Crank? I’ve never seen you like this.”
    “Fuck off.”
    “No thanks, asshole. Pack your stuff. Maybe your dad can shake you out of this mood before he leaves.”
    I sighed. Guilt got me moving. My dad was leaving first thing in the morning. And wouldn’t be back for a year or more. Julia or not—I had to get over there. For Sean.
    “All right,” I said, sitting up. I started to stuff loose clothes in a bag.
    “I talked with Julia,” she said quietly.
    “That’s funny,” I said. “Because she won’t answer my calls.”
    “I don’t understand what’s going on with you two.”
    I shook my head. “That makes two of us.”
    She walked over to me and pointed a finger at my chest and poked. “Well, don’t let it screw up the band, Crank. Do you hear me? She’s the best thing that’s happened to us in a long time.”
    The thought that went through my head was this: Screw the band. But no way was I voicing that out loud. Or even internally, if I could avoid it. The band was my life. Julia was just a girl.
    That’s what I tried to tell myself. But I knew it was utter bullshit. She was anything but just a girl. Somehow, in a matter of just a few weeks, she’d turned my life upside down. And I didn’t understand why or how she was willing to just walk away.
    I finished stuffing things in a bag, and Mark gave me a ride to my dad’s. We were silent during the ride. I was brooding, and he seemed distracted, almost angry. Probably was. As far as the band was concerned, Julia walked on water and shit gold bricks. Anything that pissed her off made them go ballistic.
    Screw them. They didn’t write the music, I did. Without the music, there was no band, no contract, no nothing.
    Yeah, I was in a crappy mood.
    It was about four o’clock when I got to the house. I hoisted my bag on my shoulder and said the first civilized word I’d said all day. “Thanks.”
    Mark nodded, put the van in gear and drove out of there. I turned and trudged up the stairs.
    Dad was in the kitchen, like always, but I could tell it was different because Sean, abnormally, wasn’t in the living room on a game or reading a comic. Instead, he was sitting at the kitchen table. I yelled, “Hey,” and took my bag upstairs and flung it into my old bedroom. My new bedroom, I guess. Then I headed back downstairs.
    Sean was still in the kitchen. He was talking, without pause, about one of his manga. Dad usually tried to slow him down or deflect the subject, because otherwise the one-sided conversation tended to get mired in excruciating details, but tonight Dad seemed content to just listen.
    I didn’t interrupt. Instead, I walked in, grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat down at the table across from Sean.
    A couple minutes later, Sean paused his monologue and said, “Where’s Julia?”
    Shit.
    I sighed, looked at my father. He raised his eyebrows.
    “We had a fight,” I said, my voice sounding defeated.
    “She’s not coming?” Sean asked.
    I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
    He stood up and shouted, “I knew you’d screw it up. I finally make a friend, and you screwed it up. Well, screw you!”
    “Sean!” Dad shouted.
    Sean was already gone, stomping upstairs. I sank my head into my hands.
    Dad grumbled for a minute, then sat down at the table diagonally from me.
    “All right, kid. What’s going on? You look like somebody just pissed in your Cheerios.”
    I squeezed my eyes shut hard, then opened them and looked up at my dad. He had a look of real concern on his face.
    I opened my mouth to talk and couldn’t even start. I muttered, “Shit,” and looked up at the ceiling.
    “I know I’m not seeing this. Dougal, you look like you’re about to cry.”
    I grunted. “Would you believe … I got a record deal, Dad. Three-year contract, and we’re opening for the biggest rock band in the business on tour this