Rebellion Is Good For the Soul, Amanda Castillo [i wanna iguana read aloud .TXT] 📗

and
he motions to a door next to the closet that I assume is a restroom. I walk into the bathroom, unsure of what to
do. I have no extra clothes and regardless of that they'd probably be soaked through anyways.

"Hold on. Let me get some of my sweats to loan you. We'll put your clothes in the washer then dry them. Is
that okay?"

His voice is soft and smooth like silk; it's so deep I can almost drown in the sound of it. I nod and then sit
down on the edge of the tub, very much aware of the matted mess that is my hair. He goes out of the doorway
of the restroom and I can hear him rummaging through the closet. He comes back with a pair of black cutoff
sweats and an oversized t-shirt advertising some sort of cafe. He's also carrying a blow dryer. He takes in my
appearance more closely then scowls.

"It looks like you could use a shower; You took a few spills onto the asphalt and you'll begin to feel gritty and
gross before long. Are you okay with that?"

I look at him, trying to see some ulterior motive in those hazel eyes; to my surprise I find none.

"Yea I guess it's okay."

He nods then smiles a soft smile. He puts down the clothes on the edge of the sink and is about to close the
door, when he opens it again.

" I didn't catch your name."

I smile at him.

"True, I'm April. And you are..?

"Jasmeil- Jas for short."

I smile as he closes the door and then look at the dry clothes on the sink. I have a feeling this isn't the las time I'll be seeing Jas.. not if I have anything to say about it.
Chapter 2

I stand outside, taking a long drag off my cigarette, replaying the events that just happened in my head. April… she was an odd one, just judging from her appearance. She obviously came from money- the labels on her clothing (all silk) themselves would’ve put me out of a few paychecks. I pull the cigarette out of my mouth and exhale, watching the smoke intermingle with the droplets of water that were still falling.
If April was so rich that she could afford Dior and Chanel, then why was she walking in the rain? Why was she walking at all? I run the hand that isn’t holding my cigarette through my black hair, and shake my head. It’s not my place to be wondering about her. I just met her, and even though she didn’t say anything when she went into my room, I could see her looking the place over. No, it’s better not to get too involved with her- we’re just too different.
I drop my cigarette to the ground, watching as steam rise when it lands in the puddle. Sighing, I look back to the door of my apartment, resigning myself to let this girl go- without questioning her. I step on the cigarette making sure it’s put out and then open the door.
I close my eyes as the warmth coming from the heater engulfs me and quickly close the door, shrugging off the leather jacket I dawned after my parka got wet. Just as I’m hanging up my jacket, the bathroom door opens, and April comes out, looking dwarfed in the sweats and tee, I gave her. I bite my cheek, trying to hide my smirk. My cutoffs reach her ankles and the tee shirt hangs off her. My mom was tall, and so were my grandparents, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise when I shot up in the seventh grade, dwarfing all my peers. Since then, I’ve always attracted a lot of attention because of my height. I feel my smirk become less pronounced as my train of thought attempts to take me back to the past; towards memories that I’d rather never think about again.
She looks at me, her hair still damp, with a sheepish expression.
“Um… So...?”
I wipe the dark cloud of memories from my mind and sit down on my bed, motioning for her to do the same. I lay back and feel the movement of the bedsprings when she sits down, very primly on the edge of the bed. Her expression has changed from meekness to a hard, unreadable mask. I look over at her, and notice that her eyes look conflicted- like a child who is deciding whether to grab the extra cookie that their parents said ‘no’ to. The silence is loud and engulfs the room, even managing to drown out the soft hum of the washer. I sit up slowly, trying not to startle April and move to my bedside table, reaching for the remote to my stereo, which sits in the corner of my room.
My stereo isn’t one of those six hundred dollar flashy deals. It’s just a thirty dollar stereo hooked up to two small speakers that occasionally get hooked up to my amp so I can use my electric guitar, two items that I had to pawn in order to get a head start on the rent. I bite my lip at the thought of my babies sitting in some storage closet… gathering dust. I fight back the feeling of loss with the knowledge that in two weeks I’d be getting them back.
I turn to April, who is staring at me. Not a normal stare, but one of those examining stares- stares that belong to people who are trying to figure a person out. I smile softly at her and motion to the remote in my hand, watching her eyes light up with curiosity.
“Do you mind if I turn on some music?”
She shakes her head no.
“It’s your apartment.”
I press the play button and a soft piano run starts, followed shortly by some soft harmonica. I smile, as I began singing along with the lyrics, my voice soft.
” It's nine o'clock on a Saturday
The Regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sitting next to me
Makin' love to his tonic and gin”
I’m about to start singing the next verse when April’s soft voice takes over. Funny, I didn’t pin her as the type to listen to Billy Joel.
“He says, "Son, can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes."
I smirk and then join in.
“La la la, di da da
La la, di da da da dum
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright”
I get up, feeling lighter than I have in a while, her soft voice complimenting my own substantially deeper one. She tucks her legs underneath her, her eyes bright with joy. I take over the next verse, and April hums softly in the background.
“Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me."
As the smile ran away from his face,
"Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place"
She smiles and we launch into the rest of the song together, the air crackling with something I can’t place. I shrug it off and offer my hand to her, lifting her up with me on the bed.
“Oh, la la la, di da da
La la, di da da da dum
Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the Navy
And probably will be for life
And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinkin' alone”
I offer her my hand when the piano run starts and I twirl her around until the song resumes, a giddy feeling making my chest feel warm.

“Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you got us feeling alright”
She smiles and takes my hand again, this time leading, as we keep singing at the top of our lungs. There is something therapeutic in singing this song with a complete stranger; oddly enough there is a sense of familiarity and I don’t think that the song has much to do with it.

“It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see
To forget about life for a while
And the piano, it sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"
Oh, la la la, di da da
La la, di da da da dum”
We stop dancing as the song winds down, and April looks up at me, confusion blatant in her eyes as I sing the last of the song.

“Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you got us feeling alright”
The song stops and I sink down onto the bed, inexplicably exhausted. The silence has returned and it’s only then that I realize that ‘Piano Man,’ was the last song on my playlist.
“That was… interesting.”
April’s voice is so soft as though she’s afraid to break the silence. I lean back so I’m resting on my elbows and look at her- really look at her. Her short dark hair isn’t damp anymore, and instead of hanging limply like most girls, it’s puffy with volume. Her cheeks are flushed from our singing, and even though her eyes have mixed feelings, a serene smile makes her face light up.
Out of nowhere, a soft rhythm fills the room, and I look at my stereo, wondering where the music is coming from. I don’t recognize the song… but it’s nice. I look over to April and much to my dismay, her smile is gone, and her face has gone ashen. Then a soft voice begins singing.
“My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why
I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window
and I can't see at all”
April gets off the bed, and bolts over