and I stay there, frozen, for a good two minutes. I
think I may have just made an enormous error in judgment. I promised myself I
would never fall for Mason’s charm again. But something seems so different.
Maybe…maybe it’s me.
Max is bundled in his weighted blanket, fast asleep. He’s
always been good at falling asleep, and I feel lucky. Many kids with autism
struggle, and I don’t know how their parents survive. I need these few hours in
the evening—alone. I need the me time to let my brain stop, though I often spend those hours finishing up
homework or researching something for Max. But that’s my choice—and at
least I can put my headphones on and just be.
Max and I sleep next to one another in a set of twin beds.
The separate mattresses make it a little easier—this way he won’t be
disturbed when I crawl in and out of bed. I grab my headphones and my laptop
and nestle into my pile of blankets. I was planning on reading, but that course
changed the second I heard Mason playing the guitar.
It only takes me a few minutes to find the file—I
converted most of my old recordings to digital files last year. I never
listened to the ones of Mason, though. I was too afraid of how it would make me
feel, and I’m pretty emotionally spent as it is most days.
I double click the folder open and pause, not sure if I’m
ready for this. It’s like my hand has other plans though, because in seconds, I
see the “Wild Horses” file open up on my play screen and Mason’s guitar is
filtering in my ears. It’s more beautiful than I remembered—his voice
sounds so young, but his playing was perfection. And even though he was just a
teenager, there was so much emotion to every word that left his lips.
His band website is still up, even though the label dropped
them. The links are to personal email addresses, so I decide to take a chance
and open one to him. I attach the file and then stare at it for about 20
minutes…starting, stopping, and deleting until I find the right thing to say.
You know me, always
have to prove I’m right. Thought you might like to hear what I hear.
-A
Send. It’s done. The adrenaline pouring through my veins now
is thick, and I swear I could run a marathon. I just opened a door that I’m
pretty sure can’t be shut. I just hope it’s a safe door, and doesn’t come with
regret. I push my laptop to the side and shut the screen before snuggling
deeper into my covers. I’m going to be getting up early in the morning and
doing my best to leave the house before anyone else— Mason —is awake.
Chapter 5: Calluses
Mason
Two hours, if I’m lucky. That’s how long I slept last night,
AKA this morning. I sat there on the other side of my door thinking about Avery
Abbot until the sun was almost up. I thought about Avery Abbot because she
thought about me. And I liked that she thought about me.
I didn’t get her email until this morning. That’s probably
good, because now my head is all kinds of fucked up trying to figure out what
to think about it. She has wanted to do nothing but stick a staple through my
neck since I ran into her at Dusty’s my first day back in town. But last
night…I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading into it, but I think somewhere, deep
down, Avery Abbot cares about me. And I think maybe I care about Avery Abbot.
At first I was just fantasizing about having a little fun
with her, maybe getting her drunk and fooling around. But now I kind of just
want to kiss her—like a real kiss, not the kind I usually give out just
to make some chick think I’m into her so she’ll sleep with me.
I’ve listened to the clip she sent me a dozen times. The
first six, I rolled my eyes, not even letting it play all the way through. But
something kept calling me back. My young hands didn’t even know what they were
doing back then, picking around the strings trying to make something sound
good—sound different, unique. But there was something there,
think I may have just made an enormous error in judgment. I promised myself I
would never fall for Mason’s charm again. But something seems so different.
Maybe…maybe it’s me.
Max is bundled in his weighted blanket, fast asleep. He’s
always been good at falling asleep, and I feel lucky. Many kids with autism
struggle, and I don’t know how their parents survive. I need these few hours in
the evening—alone. I need the me time to let my brain stop, though I often spend those hours finishing up
homework or researching something for Max. But that’s my choice—and at
least I can put my headphones on and just be.
Max and I sleep next to one another in a set of twin beds.
The separate mattresses make it a little easier—this way he won’t be
disturbed when I crawl in and out of bed. I grab my headphones and my laptop
and nestle into my pile of blankets. I was planning on reading, but that course
changed the second I heard Mason playing the guitar.
It only takes me a few minutes to find the file—I
converted most of my old recordings to digital files last year. I never
listened to the ones of Mason, though. I was too afraid of how it would make me
feel, and I’m pretty emotionally spent as it is most days.
I double click the folder open and pause, not sure if I’m
ready for this. It’s like my hand has other plans though, because in seconds, I
see the “Wild Horses” file open up on my play screen and Mason’s guitar is
filtering in my ears. It’s more beautiful than I remembered—his voice
sounds so young, but his playing was perfection. And even though he was just a
teenager, there was so much emotion to every word that left his lips.
His band website is still up, even though the label dropped
them. The links are to personal email addresses, so I decide to take a chance
and open one to him. I attach the file and then stare at it for about 20
minutes…starting, stopping, and deleting until I find the right thing to say.
You know me, always
have to prove I’m right. Thought you might like to hear what I hear.
-A
Send. It’s done. The adrenaline pouring through my veins now
is thick, and I swear I could run a marathon. I just opened a door that I’m
pretty sure can’t be shut. I just hope it’s a safe door, and doesn’t come with
regret. I push my laptop to the side and shut the screen before snuggling
deeper into my covers. I’m going to be getting up early in the morning and
doing my best to leave the house before anyone else— Mason —is awake.
Chapter 5: Calluses
Mason
Two hours, if I’m lucky. That’s how long I slept last night,
AKA this morning. I sat there on the other side of my door thinking about Avery
Abbot until the sun was almost up. I thought about Avery Abbot because she
thought about me. And I liked that she thought about me.
I didn’t get her email until this morning. That’s probably
good, because now my head is all kinds of fucked up trying to figure out what
to think about it. She has wanted to do nothing but stick a staple through my
neck since I ran into her at Dusty’s my first day back in town. But last
night…I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading into it, but I think somewhere, deep
down, Avery Abbot cares about me. And I think maybe I care about Avery Abbot.
At first I was just fantasizing about having a little fun
with her, maybe getting her drunk and fooling around. But now I kind of just
want to kiss her—like a real kiss, not the kind I usually give out just
to make some chick think I’m into her so she’ll sleep with me.
I’ve listened to the clip she sent me a dozen times. The
first six, I rolled my eyes, not even letting it play all the way through. But
something kept calling me back. My young hands didn’t even know what they were
doing back then, picking around the strings trying to make something sound
good—sound different, unique. But there was something there,
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