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“The opposite actually.” He grins like a boy getting a surprise visit from his idol. “Come upstairs with me. I want to show you something.”
Hope and curiosity galvanize me forward. The first place he leads me is my office.
I look around the room. Nothing has changed. I turn to him with a questioning tilt to my brow.
“Other than your sketchpad, I can’t remember what you needed.” At my blank look, he rushes to my side. “I know it’s been a while since you asked and even more days since I said I would give you a proper response, but I’m ready to be your model drummer now.”
I take the sketchbook and stare at it instead of Cameron’s earnest features when I ask, “What changed?”
“A lot and not enough, if I’m being honest.” He leads me to my office chair with a press to my spine. He sits and pulls me onto his lap and encloses me in his embrace. After a deep exhale, he says, “How do I even start?”
That’s a question I often ask myself. I keep quiet to let him work through his thoughts.
“When the thing a person loves becomes their waking nightmare, how are they supposed to get back to that feeling? For months I haven’t been able to look at an instrument or think about playing again without my body rebelling. I couldn’t breathe anymore and I didn’t know how to return to that place where everything felt right.” Cameron squeezes his arms around me, but I doubt he’s conscious of his actions.
I rub at his arm in an attempt to infuse him with my sympathies and caring. “It sounds like coming to Escondido Bay was the right move for you then.”
“No, meeting you was the right move.”
Of all the responses, I’m not expecting this one.
“Don’t believe me?” He twists my face so I can see the sincerity in his emerald gaze. “If you hadn’t told me you wanted to sketch me drumming, I never would have been able to push through my crisis. That and the night you spent at Jazzy’s really put me in a fragile state.”
“You’re saying I pressured you?” Guilt churns in my stomach. Although I haven’t pushed Cameron for an explanation, maybe I somehow let the sentiment slip. Whether through a look or unconscious remark, have I been making things worse for him?
“I’m not saying that at all.” Cameron presses our foreheads together. “The pressure was all my doing. I want to be a man you can depend on, someone who can make your wishes come true. And when something, on the surface, seems simple and I can’t follow through, I go to a dark place. I start thinking if I can’t do the small stuff, how can you depend on me when shit counts. Then my thoughts go to the parts of my psyche I thought I’d outgrown. Like, you’re going to leave because we’re still new and I haven’t proven that I’m worth keeping.”
Cameron’s explanation leaves me stunned and wrenches at my heart.
“Please, stop,” I whisper.
He swipes my cheek where I register the wetness for the first time. “I didn’t say all that to make you cry.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
I push away from him and scrub my face. “You’re wrong. Don’t you see? I made you feel like your birth parents did. Is it because I didn’t say the words back to you? Because I—”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Don’t say anything because you feel sorry for me when I don’t feel sorry for myself.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him with all my strength. “You are worth more than you know,” I whisper, wishing I could say more.
“I’ll accept that. Why don’t we set up the other room for what you need… That is, if you still want to draw me.”
“If?” I push at his shoulder then retrieve my special sketchbook, different from the one Cameron knows about, and flip it open. “Can you see this and question my interest?”
Cameron takes the book and flips through various images of him that I drew from memory or when I woke from a restless sleep. On those nights, watching him helped silence my turmoil, at least temporarily. I gather the things I need. Every so often I peek at Cameron to gage his response.
He pages through the book with slow, deferential movements. “Whenever I see myself through your eyes, I’m always left in awe. If you can part with one of these, I’d like to have a Kenya Collins original.”
“I’d rather give you my best work, not something I do as a stress reliever. Come on.” I take his hand. “I’ve got everything I need.”
In the music room, I nod towards the drum set. Cameron settles himself and holds the sticks in his hands. “So, how do you want me?”
“First off, to get the best picture, this won’t be a one-off. I have to get some of your gestures down. Can you hold a pose for fifteen to thirty seconds?”
“No problem.”
