“Erm . . . Kat?”
“Yes?” I called. He didn’t answer me right away. “Everything okay?” I hiked halfway up the steep staircase before he came into sight at the top. His black shirt was unbuttoned, and I caught a glimpse of a plain white T underneath. His hand was cupping an unlit cigarette.
“Just curious. Was this . . . your room growing up?” he asked, appearing slightly flustered.
“God, no! It was my brother Kevin’s.” I hopped up the last few steps. “I know it looks like a shrine, but don’t worry, he isn’t dead. He’s just in Oregon.” I laughed, casting a sweeping glance around the room and trying to imagine seeing it for the first time. Posters of metal bands lined the walls and slanted ceiling like a claustrophobic cocoon. His bed was directly underneath the largest poster, which appeared to pulsate with flames, Marshall stacks, and men pounding on their guitars. Light from the stage spotlights in the picture bounced off the crotches of their tight spandex pants, creating an almost three-dimensional effect. “Abbey calls it the boogeymen room and won’t come up here.”
“Cripes. I don’t blame her.”
My eyes lingered on the forgotten high school track trophies in one corner and the milk crate full of dusty vinyl albums in another. “My parents never made him clear out his stuff, and now he’s halfway across the country. I should take matters into my own hands. But he’d probably kill me if I so much as breathed on the tape holding these posters up.”
Adrian heaved the small dormer window frame a few inches, lit up, and gazed at the silk Iron Maiden tapestry tacked up above it, serving as a curtain. “Older than you, or younger?”
“Two years younger. Kev lived and breathed Iron Maiden, KISS, Judas Priest . . . all those bands in high school.” I sat on the bed and stared up at the huge Corroded Corpse poster. “He never forgave my parents for not letting him see these guys, though . . . his favorite band. We weren’t allowed to go to concerts until we were sixteen, and the band split up that year, so he never got to see them play live.”
“Hmm, that’s a shame.”
“Sixteen years later and he still bitches about it.”
“My brother is the same age. Well, half brother. We aren’t very close. But he loved Corroded Corpse, too. Gutted when they broke up.”
Adrian tapped his ashes carefully into a small tin ashtray left behind from Kevin’s Marlboro-smoking days. Big Blue, his favorite bong, was still parked behind the old couch on the opposite wall, as if waiting for its faithful master to return and spark it up once more. Kev’s room had been a virtual no-mom’s-land during his teen years. I remember her insisting on a once-annual fumigation, but beyond that, she never stepped foot in there to see what he was up to. Whenever my parents came to visit now, I usually camped out up here and let them have my room; technically, their former master bedroom. No sense in popping their blissful bubble of domestic denial after all these years. Abbey was in my old childhood room. Thankfully, the Pepto-pink walls and Tiger Beat posters had been replaced with a fresh coat of lilac paint.
“So what about you?” Adrian asked, his steel blue eyes twinkling. “Were you a metal chick growing up?”
“Nah.” I absently pulled a curl from my ponytail and twirled it. “I was more of a hippie chick. I liked the classic stuff, Doors, Hendrix, Beatles . . . peace and love and all that.”
“Peace and love, eh?” He had finished smoking and ambled toward where I was perched on the bed.
“Yeah . . .” I watched as he took my hand in his. “Hey, no funny business,” I lamely joked, my heart hammering.
He slowly knelt down in front of me, still clutching my hand. “No, I consider this very serious business. What are you thinking right now?”
“I’m thinking I want to kiss you again, but I’m scared to. Maybe I could kiss you on a safe spot, like
“Yes?” I called. He didn’t answer me right away. “Everything okay?” I hiked halfway up the steep staircase before he came into sight at the top. His black shirt was unbuttoned, and I caught a glimpse of a plain white T underneath. His hand was cupping an unlit cigarette.
“Just curious. Was this . . . your room growing up?” he asked, appearing slightly flustered.
“God, no! It was my brother Kevin’s.” I hopped up the last few steps. “I know it looks like a shrine, but don’t worry, he isn’t dead. He’s just in Oregon.” I laughed, casting a sweeping glance around the room and trying to imagine seeing it for the first time. Posters of metal bands lined the walls and slanted ceiling like a claustrophobic cocoon. His bed was directly underneath the largest poster, which appeared to pulsate with flames, Marshall stacks, and men pounding on their guitars. Light from the stage spotlights in the picture bounced off the crotches of their tight spandex pants, creating an almost three-dimensional effect. “Abbey calls it the boogeymen room and won’t come up here.”
“Cripes. I don’t blame her.”
My eyes lingered on the forgotten high school track trophies in one corner and the milk crate full of dusty vinyl albums in another. “My parents never made him clear out his stuff, and now he’s halfway across the country. I should take matters into my own hands. But he’d probably kill me if I so much as breathed on the tape holding these posters up.”
Adrian heaved the small dormer window frame a few inches, lit up, and gazed at the silk Iron Maiden tapestry tacked up above it, serving as a curtain. “Older than you, or younger?”
“Two years younger. Kev lived and breathed Iron Maiden, KISS, Judas Priest . . . all those bands in high school.” I sat on the bed and stared up at the huge Corroded Corpse poster. “He never forgave my parents for not letting him see these guys, though . . . his favorite band. We weren’t allowed to go to concerts until we were sixteen, and the band split up that year, so he never got to see them play live.”
“Hmm, that’s a shame.”
“Sixteen years later and he still bitches about it.”
“My brother is the same age. Well, half brother. We aren’t very close. But he loved Corroded Corpse, too. Gutted when they broke up.”
Adrian tapped his ashes carefully into a small tin ashtray left behind from Kevin’s Marlboro-smoking days. Big Blue, his favorite bong, was still parked behind the old couch on the opposite wall, as if waiting for its faithful master to return and spark it up once more. Kev’s room had been a virtual no-mom’s-land during his teen years. I remember her insisting on a once-annual fumigation, but beyond that, she never stepped foot in there to see what he was up to. Whenever my parents came to visit now, I usually camped out up here and let them have my room; technically, their former master bedroom. No sense in popping their blissful bubble of domestic denial after all these years. Abbey was in my old childhood room. Thankfully, the Pepto-pink walls and Tiger Beat posters had been replaced with a fresh coat of lilac paint.
“So what about you?” Adrian asked, his steel blue eyes twinkling. “Were you a metal chick growing up?”
“Nah.” I absently pulled a curl from my ponytail and twirled it. “I was more of a hippie chick. I liked the classic stuff, Doors, Hendrix, Beatles . . . peace and love and all that.”
“Peace and love, eh?” He had finished smoking and ambled toward where I was perched on the bed.
“Yeah . . .” I watched as he took my hand in his. “Hey, no funny business,” I lamely joked, my heart hammering.
He slowly knelt down in front of me, still clutching my hand. “No, I consider this very serious business. What are you thinking right now?”
“I’m thinking I want to kiss you again, but I’m scared to. Maybe I could kiss you on a safe spot, like
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