Good Boys Don't

Nate didn’t know the faces of the Desert Crows, because they were hidden under layers of stage makeup, and he’d barely gotten to listen to a couple of their songs last week, but he was already invested in the dark image of the band. In their only video, the lead singer performed tucked into an open pig carcass inside a slaughterhouse, and while the very idea of it revolted Nate at first, he ended up watching the performance over and over, morbidly fascinated by the raw nature of the lyrics.

“Nathaniel! Please play for us.” Paula smiled at him and grabbed his elbow to pull him closer.

Nate had asked her so many times to not use his full name, but it wasn’t sinking in. Paula had told him that ‘Nathaniel’ sounded more ‘mature’, and there was no arguing with that when she made up her mind.

Nate smiled at her despite wishing to be at the Desert Crows concert already. He would have to sneak out of the hotel and get to the nearby nightclub to attend, but until evening, he would play his good boy part, If his parents knew that he’d begged to come with his church group to a Christian youth music conference, not because he was interested in inspirational songs but to listen to death metal, he’d be getting an exorcism, not approval.

So he wore a perfectly ironed shirt, buttoned up despite the heat, combed his hair with a tidy side parting, and he’d play for Paula if need be. He couldn’t have even a shadow of suspicion on him.

“Sure, just let me get my guitar.”

The hotel clientele was a mixed bag of business travellers and people who’d come to see one of the music events happening over the weekend, and while Nate would have to lie in order to see the band that would have given his mom a heart attack, he was ready to do all it took to experience something that didn’t feel like a PG-rated version of the world.

With a heart full of hope, he exchanged a God-bless-you with a group of girls in identical T-shirts and rushed through the lobby, toward the bus where he’d left his guitar. As he was about to cross the road, dying to be back inside where air-con made wearing clothes bearable, a motorcycle sped right in front of him.

His gaze followed the biker to a parking space nearby. His tattooed arms were on show, and despite his anger at the reckless rider, Nate still bit his lip, suddenly thirsty. But there was no time for ogling a biker and his long, flowing hair. He didn’t want to be spotted doing so, since the guy looked like he could pack a punch.

By the time Nate was out of the bus with the guitar case hanging on his shoulder, the buff stranger was gone. Nate sighed. Only a couple of months now. He would soon leave his family home and start college in LA, and once he was out from under his parents’ watchful eyes, he could ogle all the guys he wanted… within reason.

Maybe he’d even do more. Maybe he’d spend his first night in a new city in one of those clubs for gay people and get his first kiss out of the way?

He daydreamed about his future all the way back to Paula and the other girls, shy about being watched by a group so large. Had she called all her friends over? They’d even brought him a chair, and some of the girls sat on the carpet for this impromptu show. Paula tossed back her golden hair and smiled, tinkering with the small cross pendant at the collar of her shirt.

“Nathaniel has such a beautiful voice,” Paula’s friend, Vivian, said, only giving Nate more stage fright.

As if it wasn’t enough that regular hotel guests, who were not at all connected to the Christian rock event, started taking notice. He was glad Paula hadn’t decided to organize this in the main lobby.

“Right? Its tone carries so much meaning. It’s one of those voices you hear, not only with your ears, but also with your heart,” Paula added, touching her manicured hand to the center of her chest.

Nate had better start playing, or this nonsense would never stop!

The first notes felt awkward, but once he got into the rhythm, the soothing melody flew from under his fingers, and he leaned over the guitar, comfortable to have this physical barrier between him and the spectators.

In the privacy of his bedroom, when his parents were away, he played Nirvana and Cannibal Corpse, but he knew the religious songs by heart, too. He rarely sang though, instead preferring to stay as background for a choir or vocalist. He had a voice of his own that he wanted to present, but the words felt like lies in his mouth.