Torn

Devin. He was the nice guy. The good kid. The knot in Devin’s gut twisted.

“Oh, Devin! Devin, Devin, Devin. You trust that spoiled brat?” the shrill voice shouted. “You’re going to wind up just like your father!”

For the first time, anger appeared in Karston’s voice. “Keep my father out of this!”

Frozen at the rusted gate, Devin heard footsteps moving on a wooden floor. The next sound was a hard slap of skin against skin, followed by Karston’s whiny, “Ahh! Don’t hit me!”

That was it. Devin turned around, got back in his father’s car, drove home, and spent the rest of the afternoon fiddling with the melody to his new song, trying to get it just right, wondering if it would ever be bright and shiny enough to distract the adamant Cody, if only for a little while.

4

Once Devin’s parents gave him the long list of warnings for his weekend home alone, declared their faith in his maturity, and finally left, the afternoon slipped by quickly and the time for the recording session neared.

Karston, of course, showed up first. It was a mystery how he got around, but he always showed up and never dared ask anyone for a ride. Speculation was that he hitched, or took some bizarre combination of public transport. After exchanging hellos, Devin explained that he had to pick up some soda and left the bassist alone in the garage.

By the time Devin returned, Cheryl was there. She had her own car, and had driven over from the nearby development where she lived. As he stepped back in, she looked up from her half-assembled drum kit, made a face, and said, “You look different.”

Before he could begin to wonder what she meant, Cheryl stepped out from behind the drums and walked closer, filling Devin’s field of vision with smooth, beautiful skin, straight blond hair, and natural energy. By the time she stopped coming closer, he had a good view of the faint freckles on her cheeks.

What could it be? Had his encounter with the Slits magically matured him overnight? Was it finally writing a song he felt good about? Or both?

Whatever it was, she scanned his face, brow furrowed. “You look more…rugged,” she finally said. Her eyes continued their investigation, questioning his features, focusing on his lips. “Reminds me of someone. Cody?”

He frowned, so she went up on tiptoes to kiss him. “Mmm. Nice mix. Sexy.”

He was going to grab and kiss her again when he caught a glimpse of Karston over her head. His eyes were hidden by dangling hair, but he was watching. Remembering they weren’t quite alone, Devin stepped back and smiled. “Maybe I’m just excited about tonight,” he said.

Cheryl shook her head slowly. “No. That’s not it. Did something happen?”

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice. “Tell you later.”

“Let’s get this party started,” Cody howled as he and One Word Ben walked in. For a second, Devin hoped Cody had forgotten about Karston, or at least was willing to let it go for one night. But when Cody spotted Karston, he spun and glared at Devin with a malevolent twinkle in his eyes. His voice was flat and earnest as he said, “But first, Little Devin’s got something very special to say to K—”

Before Cody could complete the name, Devin held up his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I do have something to say.”

And then Devin went silent.

“What?” said One Word Ben.

Good question, Devin thought. He turned to look at Karston. He was already bracing himself, already expecting something was up.

“I…I’ve got a new song I want you all to hear,” Devin said. Now was as good a time as any, so he pulled up his acoustic Ovation, sat on a stool, checked the tuning, and started to play.

Sun is low, the sky gray, gray, gray,

All day’s colors gone,

Your heart beats slowly, drowsy eyes,

Soon your dreams will come.

Don’t start, sweet child, lay still, still, still.

Angels on their way

Will ride the breeze tonight to ask

If you were good today.

And when they do, say yes, yes, yes,

Even if you lie,

Or else the wild will come for you

And you will surely die.

It won’t care how you cry, cry, cry,

Or swear how much you’ll change.

It hasn’t eaten for so long

Its stomach aches with rage.

No one’s pure, my love, love, love,

But if you cross the line,

Your deeds will call out to the wild,

And there won’t be much time.

So lay your head down, rest, rest, rest,

And when the angels ask,

Tell them just how good you’ve been

As long as the darkness lasts.

The last finger-picked notes from the guitar reverberated against the cinder-block walls of the two-car garage. As the echo melted away, Devin slipped the Ovation from his arms and leaned it against the stool. He cupped his hands in his lap and watched and waited. It was a risk playing anything on acoustic in front of Cody, but he wanted to sing it in a range his own voice could barely touch, and the softer guitar sound let his weaker vocal come through more clearly.

The late afternoon sun was just above the tree line outside the open garage door, making Devin’s band- mates appear in silhouette. They just stood there a little while, looking at him, but he couldn’t see any expressions on their faces.

Finally Cheryl held up her hand. “Wait,” she said, then ran out.

In her absence, Cody twisted his head to the side in a kind of apelike way. “It’s a ballad,” he huffed.

“So?” said One Word Ben.

Karston shifted his position so he was standing nearly behind Devin. It was as if he was aware something was up and sought protection. Cody looked like he was about to say something when Cheryl raced back in, her camcorder in hand.

“Okay,” she said, putting the viewfinder to her eye. “Play it again. Just the same way.”

Devin looked at her. “On tape? Why?”

“I want a recording of our first hit song.”

Devin laughed, figuring she was joking, but when not even Cody said anything, he did as asked and ran the song again, screwing up some of the picking in the middle as he became too aware of the camera.

When he was done, Cody said, “It needs a chorus.”

Cheryl shook her head. “It’s amazing.”

“I didn’t say it was bad or good. I said it needs a chorus.”

But does Cody like it? Devin wondered. They needed more songs if they were going to fill a set, and Devin was confident this was as good as any they had, even if it wasn’t exactly nu-metal. Had it worked as a distraction, though? Would Cody give Karston another night?

Cody lifted the strap of his Les Paul over his shoulder, but he still wasn’t giving anything away. As he plugged