I’ll Become the Sea by Rebecca Rogers Maher Page A

played. His gaze went straight through her, into her middle where the vibration from the amps jarred her stomach. He stood with his legs slightly apart and moved his body slowly with the fast music.
    The second song was quiet, lonely and slow. Jane watched David play it with his eyes down, listening to the words the singer was breathing out at center stage. They were simple and lovely and somehow she thought they were his. He wasn’t looking at her. His shoulders were bent over the guitar. He concentrated on the movement of his fingers and on the floor.
    She thought about Raymond leaving her class to go to David’s center in the afternoon. She was possessive of her students, believing in an unhealthy way that she was the only one who could teach them well. Once in a while she met another teacher who looked at children with the right combination of sternness, dedication and love. She looked to those teachers for guidance and she tried to steer her students toward them.
    David was like that; she could see it when she visited him at the center. Watching him play, she saw that he would touch something in Raymond that she couldn’t reach. Raymond had the same look when he was drawing or writing a story that David had now: a kind of transformation. He might be teased for his problems with reading, he might not have a mother at home with him, but he had this, a consolation for his loneliness and a true gift.
    She wondered if David had been like Raymond when he was a kid. She imagined him shy and kind of nerdy. He was a little shy and nerdy now, actually, though with the confidence of a man who had grown to appreciate those qualities in himself.
    At the end of the set, Jane watched the band pack up, disconnecting wires and zipping instruments into their cases, preparing the stage for the next act. She was sipping the last of her beer and picking up her jacket when David hopped down from the stage and made his way toward her. He waved, motioning for her to wait as he stopped to greet some friends and shake their hands. Jane sat back down, watching his progress as he moved closer.
    “Hi!” he said when he reached her.
    She stood up to say hello and he pulled her into a hug. He smelled like wood burning.
    Oh, Lord, she thought. Help me .
    “You were amazing. I loved it.”
    “Oh, thanks. I’m so glad you came. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
    “A little rain won’t stop this gal.” She sounded like an idiot. “It was wonderful, really. Thank you so much for inviting me. You guys are really good.”
    He was still holding on to her arm. He looked at his own hand and flushed, pulling it away. “You’re not leaving, are you? Can I buy you a drink?”
    “Um, I was going to. But yeah, okay. I can stay a little while.”
    “Great.” He gave her a broad smile. “Be right back.”
    He returned with two beers from the bar and sat down beside her at the small table. They were both still, looking at each other across the table, then looking away.
    Jane cleared her throat. “So. You were fantastic.”
    “Oh, thanks. Not as good as I want to be, though, you know how it is.”
    “How long have you been with the band?”
    “About two years. I was playing on my own mostly, or jamming with friends sometimes. But I knew these guys from some of the clubs, and when their guitarist moved out west, they asked me to join. It’s made me a lot more serious about playing, which is important. We’re working on a CD right now.”
    “Really? That’s great! I’d love to hear it.”
    “I think we’ll be done recording in August. It’s great having a goal like that. Makes us work harder, getting the songs tight.”
    “Do you write any of the songs?”
    “Yes, I write some.”
    “You wrote that slow one you played tonight, right?”
    “Yeah.” He sounded surprised. “How did you know?”
    “You played it differently, more intently. That one and a few others.”
    He tested her, going through the play list. She was right about all