I’ll Become the Sea by Rebecca Rogers Maher

and wonder what she was doing there.
    David stood on the stage leaning over an amp. He adjusted some wires and tuned his guitar, his back to the audience. The drummer sat beside him, a stocky guy in his thirties with a shaved head and a sleeveless white shirt already damp with sweat. His arms were gorgeously tattooed. Next to the drummer a bassist stood drinking a bottle of water and speaking in the ear of a young woman with bleached-blond hair. She was sitting on a stool in a short skirt with one cowboy boot propped on the lower rung.
    Jane looked back to David, reluctant to linger too long and be caught staring. He was wearing a gray T-shirt and faded jeans, an old pair of black boots. A blue handkerchief was stuffed in his front pocket. A lock of brown hair fell over his eyes as he kneeled down over the guitar. His back was still to her. The muscles in his arms moved as he worked.
    She had no business swooning over this man. It was unfair and unproductive in every possible way. The only way to avoid embarrassing herself was to get her heart under control. She missed Ben, she was confused about where their relationship was headed and she was lonely. The connection she felt to David simply added some missing excitement to her life. It felt real, though, and she had to look away from him.
    She got up to go to the bathroom and splash some water on her face. The scent of perfume in the crowd made her look up and take more notice of the people around her. The audience was mostly women, she saw now—young, beautiful women in small tight skirts and various shades of lipstick.
    She was wearing green pants and a black tank top. She was short and plain, a quiet schoolteacher here to see a platonic friend play guitar in his band. Surely she could not compete with all these women even if she were free to do so.
    The realization was almost a relief. If she could not curb her own wayward feelings, at least David would not return them. She walked into the bathroom past two young women preening themselves in front of the mirror.
    “Did you see that guitar player? Holy hot.”
    “Oh, my God, yes. I’m hoping he’ll spend the whole show bent over that amp. Yum.”
    Jane smiled behind the bathroom stall.
    “Do you think he’s dating the singer? Guitarists always date the singer. She’s pretty cute.”
    “I hope not. Or else I hope they’ve had their fling and moved on. Maybe she’s seeing the bassist now and Mr. Lead Guitar needs a new lover to get over it. That’s where I come in! Let Mama ease the pain!”
    The two girls laughed as they left the room. The door swung out behind them, briefly letting in the heat and noise of the club. Jane plunged her hands into the sink’s cold water.
    She hadn’t even thought about the singer. Maybe David was seeing her. All the better. Bringing her cooled hands to her face, she looked at herself in the mirror. She liked the way she looked, ordinary as she was. Her eyes were bright in the strong light of the bathroom. She may not have worn a lot of makeup, but she had put on her favorite earrings and a shirt that showed a little cleavage. If nothing else, this evening would give her something to laugh at herself about.
    The band started playing and she walked back to her seat. David was standing at the front of stage right, near her table, guitar slung low over his hips. She sipped her beer and watched him, hidden enough now by the low lights to do so outright.
    He was electric, his fingers pulsing over the strings of his guitar. The music was thick and fluid, driven by David’s lead and supported by booming bass and drums and the rich, melodic alto of the singer. She had a beautiful voice and paced like a panther across the stage, pulling the audience as she went. Their attention was on her while David drove the song to a shrill pitch, lifting her vocals up and out across the room.
    Jane turned from the singer to find David looking at her, his hands on the guitar. She caught his eyes while he