When Vinyl Vibes, page 21
But I can't fight my battles,
Because they're all holding my sword.
Pre-Chorus:
I love him like blood, (like blood)
But I love you like air, (like air)
And I’m drownin’ tryin’ to prove that both loves are fair. (Both loves are fair)
(Tell her how to fix this, tell her what to do)
(When she's losin’ someone, no matter who.)
Chorus:
Now he's isolating me from what I know (what she knows).
If I had to choose, I’d choose him (she'd choose him, him alone)
But I never wanted to (never wanted to)
Didn’t ask to be the reason (be the reason)
That somebody had to lose.
(If love is war, then tell her why.)
(She's standin’ here alone, caught in between.)
Verse 2:
One hand pulls me backward, (He has to learn)
One hand leads me on, (He has to learn too)
And no matter where I turn, I’m in the wrong, (Turnabouts fairplay)
It's on me to escape or embrace. (It's her escape or embrace to make)
Verse 3:
One heart beats beside me, (He has to learn)
One heart fades away, (He has to learn too, it fades away)
And no matter what I do, someone breaks. (Someone breaks, from undeserved pressure)
Every step I try to take leaves me paralyzed.
Pre-Chorus (2×)
Chorus (2x)
Bridge:
If I walk away, does that make me strong?
If I hold on tight, am I holdin’ on wrong?
I never wanted sides, never wanted war,
But now I’m standin’ at a locked door.
Outro:
Brother, don’t hate me, I never meant to choose,
Lover, don’t leave me, I don’t wanna lose.
I can’t stand still, but I can’t break free,
Lord, help me now, I’m caught in between…
(soft fade-out, humming last line)
***
I’d been in fights before. Stupid ones. Drunken dares, schoolyard scraps, dumb spats over music, money, or girls that never mattered in the long run. But this?
This was different. Because I was looking at Marcus, my best friend, and for the first time, I didn’t recognize him. Or maybe he didn’t recognize me. He stood rigid before me, jaw tight, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. We weren’t in a ring but we were circling, waiting for the next hit to land.
"You should’ve told me." His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was anything but.
"I was going to," I admitted. "Lena was, too. But we knew you’d react like this."
He scoffed, shaking his head. "Like what? Like a brother who doesn’t want his sister used up and discarded?"
The words hit me like a fist. "You think that’s what this is?"
"Tell me it’s not."
I opened my mouth, then shut it because I shouldn’t have to tell him. He should’ve known. "I love her, Marcus."
His laugh was hollow. "You don’t know what love is."
My chest burned. "I know I don’t want to live without her."
"Yeah?" He took a step forward. "And what happens when you do what you always do? When the rush wears off, and you’re chasing something else? When my sister is just another name in your rearview?"
"That’s not going to happen."
"Why? Because you say so?" He let out a bitter laugh. "Caleb, I know you. I know how you are with girls. You play, you win, you move on. My sister ain’t a game piece."
"I know that!" My voice shook now. "I know that more than anyone! You think this is a joke to me? Do you think I don’t lie awake at night wondering how I got here? I know how badly I could mess this up?"
Marcus stayed silent, so I pressed on.
"I get it, alright? I get why you don’t trust me. I’ve been careless. I’ve hurt people. But not her." I swallowed hard. "Not Lena. I would rather lose everything than hurt her."
His expression didn’t soften. "I don’t believe you."
It was a gut punch, but worse than that? I could see in his eyes, he didn’t just mean me. He meant Dustin. He meant the band. He meant all of us. "You think I’m that deplorable?"
He didn’t answer. That was answer enough.
I let out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair. "I’m sorry, man. I am. But I’m not walking away from her."
Marcus stared at me. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away. I watched him go, my chest tight, my pulse hammering. We didn’t fix it. We didn’t even shake hands.
twenty-five
Caleb
Moore Records gave off the scent of aged vinyl and wood polish, wrapping around me like a heavy coat. Mr. Moore was behind the counter, sorting through a box of records, his expression unreadable when he looked up and saw me.
"If you're looking for Marcus, he ain't here," he said, placing an album on the shelf. "Took off about an hour ago."
"Do you know where?"
He hesitated, then sighed. "Jay's Barbershop."
I nodded, but something in his tone made me pause. He set the last record down and met my eyes, arms crossing over his chest. "Before you go running off, we need to talk."
I exhaled, leaning against the counter. "Yeah. Figured."
Mr. Moore studied me for a moment, his face giving nothing away. "You know, Caleb, when you started hanging around, I didn’t think much of it. I figured you were just another goofy boy from Marcus’s circle passing through. But now? Now I hear things about you. Things that tell me maybe I shouldn’t have given my permission."
My chest tightened. “I won’t make excuses.”
“Good. ‘Cause I wouldn’t listen to ‘em.” Mr. Moore folded his arms. “You regret anything?”
Caleb didn’t hesitate. “No.”
That answer lifted Mr. Moore’s brow, but he stayed quiet, waiting.
“I don’t regret loving her,” I clarified, voice steady. “I don’t regret wanting to be better for her. But I know she deserves better than what I’ve been. I don’t know how to get there yet, but I know what it isn’t—it isn’t hurting her.”
His gaze remained firm. "And Marcus? You hurt him, too."
"I know," I admitted. "I hate that I hurt him. I hate that I made him feel like he couldn’t trust me. I won’t ask you to forgive me for that. I just," I dragged a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words. "I’m not asking you to forget who I was. I’m just asking for the chance not to be judged by it, for Lena's sake."
For the first time since I walked in, Mr. Moore’s expression softened, just a fraction. He gave a slow nod. "That’s a hard thing to ask, son. But alright. You’ve got that chance. Don’t waste it."
Relief and something sharper, heavier, settled in my chest. "I won’t."
He glanced at the clock. "You’d better get going."
I didn’t waste any time, pushing out the door and heading for the barbershop.
The bell above the barbershop door jingled as I stepped inside, and immediately, the smell of aftershave, warm clippers, and something fried from next door filled my nose. The place had the same feel it always did, half debate club, half therapy session, just with a sharper edge today. Conversations quieted, then picked back up in lower tones.
I spotted Marcus before he spotted me, reclined in the second chair from the back, his head tilted slightly while his barber shaped up his fro. When he finally caught my reflection in the mirror, his jaw tensed.
“Of all the places,” he muttered.
His barber, a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a steady hand, smirked. “You bringin’ guests now, Marcus?”
“He’s not a guest,” Marcus said flatly. “He’s lost.”
That got a chuckle from a couple of guys sitting along the wall. One of them, a man with gold-rimmed glasses and a deep voice that commanded the room, leaned back in his chair. “That the White boy who started all that mess?”
Laughter rumbled around the shop, a few patrons shaking their heads. I didn’t flinch, but I didn’t step further in either. I spotted Marcus near the back, arms crossed, unreadable.
“You need somethin’, son?” another barber asked. “Or you here for a fresh cut?”
I exhaled. “Yeah, actually. Clean me up.”
That earned a few surprised looks, even a low whistle. The older man seated in the corner nodded, approving. “Then he’s either stupid or serious.”
The barber snorted. “Probably both.”
He dropped into the seat, and let the clippers hum near his temple. The air was thick with judgment and curiosity.
I exhaled and leaned over. “Marcus, man, I just need to talk.”
Marcus didn’t respond right away. His barber tapped his shoulder, tilting his head to the side to keep shaping him up. Only when the razor glided back down did Marcus speak.
“Talk about what?” he said, voice even. “How you went behind my back? Lied to my face?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “I didn’t want it to go down like that. I should’ve told you. I should’ve given you time to—”
“To what? Give you my blessing?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, Cal. It’s not just that it’s my sister. It’s you.”
That hit different. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He held my gaze in the mirror. For the first time, I saw something raw, and bitter. “It means I thought I knew who you were.”
I gripped the back of an empty chair, knuckles white. “I’m still me, Marcus.”
"Ain’t much to say then, is there? You did what you did. You knew how I’d feel about it. And you did it anyway."
“You really datin’ a Black girl, huh?” a man in the waiting chairs asked, arms folded. “That's why you're here?”
Caleb stilled under the scissors but kept his expression even. “I’m here for Marcus.”
That wasn’t a good enough answer. Another guy scoffed. “I dunno, man. This whole thing’s messy. Ain’t no reason to mix oil and water like that.”
More murmurs. More opinions. Then Marcus' voice cut through the noise, sharp and unimpressed. “Y’all talking about my sister.”
Silence.
Marcus’s stare was unyielding, his posture tense. “This ain’t a debate. Ain’t a casual barbershop conversation. That’s my blood, my family. So unless y’all wanna start talkin’ about your sisters and who they should or shouldn’t love, shut it.”
The man in the corner chuckled, tipping his cap. “That’s wisdom.”
The owner clapped a hand against his chair. “A’ight, back to business. Man came here to talk, let ‘em talk.”
The shop reset itself, murmurs shifting to someone else's 'trifling sister' that a customer had no qualms with putting on blast. The conversation shifting to someone getting pregnant on purpose with a high roller that turned into a bum.
Marcus exhaled, shaking his head. “Say what you came to say.”
"I didn’t plan for it to happen like that," I admitted. "I should’ve told you. I should’ve given you the respect of hearing it from me, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love her."
Marcus let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Love? You and Dustin throw that word around like it doesn’t mean anything."
"It means everything," I shot back. "I know you don’t believe me right now. Maybe you never will. But I do."
Marcus finally turned, his expression unreadable. "I looked up to you, man. Even when you were at your worst, I still thought, I still hoped you had it in you to improve. But this? This makes me wonder if I ever knew you at all."
That one hit different. I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I’m not Dustin, and I’m not the guy you used to know, either. But I get it. I get why you’re mad and why you don’t trust me. I won’t try to talk you out of it. I just, I don’t want this to be how it ends."
He exhaled, long and slow. "I don’t know, man. Right now, it kinda feels like it already has."
Silence stretched between us. Then he returned to the mirror, jerking his chin at his barber. "You done yet?"
The man smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Go cool off."
Marcus stood, brushing off his shoulders, but he didn’t look at me as he headed for the door. He paused only once, long enough to say, "I need time."
And then he was gone. I let out a breath, feeling like I’d just lost a round I didn’t know I was fighting.
"Well," the older man with the cane muttered. "Could’ve gone worse."
I paid the man and left.
The moment I stepped outside the barbershop, the sun hit like it had been holding its breath for us. I caught sight of Marcus and jogged to meet him. Marcus stopped, jaw tight, eyes sharper than I’d seen all day.
“I cleaned up Dustin’s mess, you know,” he said. “The girl he cheated with, while he was still with Tammy, got obsessed. She wasn’t just some rebound. She called the house, showed up to gigs, and slipped notes in his jacket.”
I blinked. “I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, because I handled it. Talked her down. Blocked her from getting close to Tammy. You know why she went nuts? Because he told her everything she wanted to hear to keep her on a string. Told her he loved her. Told her Tammy was temporary. All of it lies. Then dropped her cold.”
My stomach turned. “That’s messed up.”
“It’s malicious,” Marcus snapped, eyes locked on mine. “That ain’t harmless flirting or a mistake. That’s selfish, cruel manipulation and calling it dating. You wanna know why I came down on you so hard? Because I’ve seen that same spark in you. The charm, the sweet-talking, the let-me-slide-past-consequences grin. But you got my sister’s heart in your hands now.”
I swallowed, words stuck somewhere between my pride and my guilt.
Marcus stepped in closer, voice lower. “You don’t get to mess this one up. If you want to be better, be better. But don’t pretend your past ain't nothing for me to worry about.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He just turned and walked off down the sidewalk, like he’d delivered a sermon, leaving me standing in the altar call.
Maybe he had.
twenty-six
Lena
There was something sacred about a Saturday morning with the girls. Put your hair in rollers, sip half-full icee cups, and listen to Motown humming in the background. Roxy’s room was in chaos, but it was a familiar chaos.
Roxy’s bedroom smelled like coconut oil, pink lotion, and burnt hair. Scents that wrapped around you in equal parts comfort and heat damage. I sat cross-legged on the floor, stiff-backed, trying not to flinch as Tammy pulled the hot comb through another section of my hair.
“Girl, if you don’t sit still, I’m gonna sizzle your ear clean off,” Tammy warned, voice sweet but full of menace.
“I told y’all I didn’t want to straighten it,” I muttered, eyeing the plug-in comb like it was plotting against me. “It’s gonna puff up the second I step outside. All this for nothing.”
“That’s what edge control is for,” Evie chimed in from Roxy’s bed, half a roller dangling from her fingers as she focused on the back of Roxy’s head. “Just carry some in your purse like a real one.”
Tammy snorted. “Says the girl whose hair defies humidity laws.”
“Genetics, baby.”
Tammy was deep in her element, wielding a hot comb like Excalibur. “Y’all see this?” she said, parting a section of my hair and holding it up for judgment. “This ain’t heat damage. This is rebellion. Her strands have been out in these streets unsupervised.”
“Please focus,” I muttered, flinching as the comb passed too close to my ear. Again. I rolled my eyes. “This is why I never let you touch my head.” My unsupervised curls were returning right after this festival, probably during it.
“And yet, here you are,” she sang.
She wasn’t wrong. I’d said no for years. Whenever she’d asked to do my hair, I’d dodge like it was dodgeball championship day. But this was her last summer before she left for college, and she was starting to get that look. The one who said she was cataloguing goodbyes in advance.
Plus, I knew Remy would be having a hard time today. Switching up her routine, letting someone else touch her curls, and not going to a salon. So when Roxy pitched the idea of a girls-only glam session before the summer festival, and I said yes. Not because I wanted to. But because sometimes solidarity looks like sweat, smoke, and singed edges.
“Roxy,” Tammy yelled across the room. “I know you ain’t tryna lie to God with that kitchen. Gone let Evie part it before it parts itself.”
“First of all, disrespectful.” Roxy sat up straighter in her vanity chair, scowling. “Second, I see you ain't doing anything with your hair, straight and silky.”
Roxy sat on a stool in front of her mirror, a towel draped around her shoulders, her usual sass muted today. Maybe it was the rollers or the quiet tension under her jokes. Her room, usually pulsing with music, was silent now except for the soft snapping of combs, occasional cackles, and the low whir of a box fan in the corner.
“You know,” Tammy said, squinting as she parted another section of my hair, “I thought for sure you had a standing appointment at Queen B’s. What’s got us doing bedroom salon realness today?”
Evie looked down, curious too.
Roxy was quiet for a beat too long.
Then she exhaled hard and blurted, “Neither of my parents is working. We’ve gotta be conservative.”
