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Curtis

Curtis was so tired he nearly wrecked his car twice on the long drive from Colton High School. To be fair, the first wasn’t strictly his fault. A couple of boys had taken it upon themselves to tie a cardboard box to a piece of twine and pull it across the road whenever a car came. He’d been distracted enough not to identify the box for what it truly was, and he’d slammed on his brakes and veered into the other lane. He’d just brushed his shaggy brown hair from his eyes and sighed.

Pranks. It was Halloween weekend, and the town was alive with pranks. Lucky for Curtis, the road leading from the high school was pretty deserted at ten on a Saturday evening. As the boys ran off laughing, he eased his foot off the brakes and made it almost all the way home before braking hard for a deer just before the driveway. It took him a long time to pry his freckled hands from the steering wheel after that. At least the box had spooked him enough to keep one foot on the brake. Otherwise, he might not have missed the deer.

He blamed Seth. The black-haired man with the dreamy, quiet voice was invading his every thought, showing up in the corners of his mind when he least expected it. He thought about Seth constantly, counting down the hours until his husband of two fantastic, perfect, rocky, angsty, comfortable years would come home. He was down to fifteen hours now, if the flight was on time.

Seth had been gone for almost two months, and Curtis was going mad. He had plenty to keep him occupied during daylight hours– he was an underpaid, overworked high school teacher, after all–but when school was finished and drama practice was over and he wasn’t keeping kids afterwards to work on their lines, supervising set construction, or grading English papers, he was desperately lonely.

He felt it the most acutely when he was in bed. It was too large, too empty, too cold without Seth. He’d taken to lying on Seth’s side, just to feel more connected to the one great love of his life. He’d used Seth’s pillows and Seth’s pajamas. He hadn’t even washed the dirty clothes Seth had left behind before he went on tour to play keyboard for some well-known rock band as they toured the west coast.

Seth had been contracted for the Wintering Ink’s last two months of shows after the usual keyboardist died of an overdose. Sam, a friend from their college days, had been childhood friends with the drummer and had all but dragged Seth and Curtis from their new home in rural Iowa to the band’s next venue in Seattle within twenty-four hours of a frantic call. Sam was a musician who knew classical players, and the band’s piano parts had been complicated enough to need someone with fingers that knew how to move in just the right ways. After a few run-throughs with the sheet music and an hour with the studio-recorded track, Sam had pushed Seth in front of a keyboard and convinced him to play as the band’s manager anxiously paced the aisles. Seth had played the first song perfectly, and had been unanimously welcomed to that evening’s performance. The band had even made comments on how much they loved his scar, how his looks added character to the otherwise boring instrument.

Seth had tried to ignore that, and when the contract came, he read it to Curtis, signed it, and had been whisked away by the band’s manager for a little styling overhaul. Curtis had to leave for Iowa– he had classes to teach, after all– before he could see the leather pants. For that, he was still upset.

So Seth had gotten used to draping his hair over his scars and hiding along the back of the stage, pounding out the fast-fingered, obnoxiously catchy melodies that melted into the guitar, bass, and drums. The audience could barely pick out the piano when the songs came together, but without Seth’s speedy keywork, the whole thing sounded wrong.

Curtis thought that Seth could have been the star of his own tour, playing his own music in front of large crowds, but he hated to be the center of attention. He didn’t want fans, didn’t want the publicity. As a part of the ever-changing back-up section of the band, he could play on stage and not be a household name, not have his past dug up and smeared across tabloid headlines. The groupies left him alone, the press could have cared less, and he still got to stand in front of an audience and show the world his heart. After a month on tour, he’d guiltily admitted that it was the best therapy he’d ever had. Curtis could tell how much Seth loved it from the phone calls.

Seth had been petrified of playing, and it took a lot of smooth talking on Sam’s part to get him on a stage just to play back-up. It had taken Curtis days to convince Seth that he was okay with whatever decision the smaller man made about his own future, even after the contract had been signed. Curtis was enjoying his position as English teacher and head of the high school drama department, despite his misgivings when taking the job two years before. He’d invested so much of his own time in the drama department since his hire, earning the high school a new reputation for a growing performing arts program.