Free dissonance. (a Böhme novel) by Sarah Buhl Page A

baby. I could not ask my mother to help me. She had given so much of her life to help my brother with his child.
    I had to break the cycle that obviously afflicted my family—get pregnant or get someone pregnant at a very young age, raise them and lose your life. It was a selfish thought. But I couldn’t do as they had. My mother had given up so much in her life, having me at a young age. The best thing to do was give my daughter to someone with an intact family. My fractured family was no place to raise yet another child.
    The only way to move forward was to not think of her and to close the door on that part of my life.
    I threw the letter in a drawer, and taking a deep breath, turned to my closet. I needed to spend time organizing, because organizing something—no matter what—always helped.
    A knock struck the wall before Conall poked his head through the barely opened door.
    “Come in,” I said with a quick glance in his direction.
    “Hey, you going to Karl’s thing tonight?” he asked. Conall thought the world of Karl and followed him everywhere. When Karl left for the military, Conall was only fourteen and he dreamed of joining him there. I’m not sure what changed his mind, but his sticking around to go to school lessened the stress of watching him grow older.
    “Yeah, I am. How come?” I asked.
    “I have to play there tonight with my other band and Elizabeth quit—you want to sing with me?” he asked with a big grin. He knew I hated singing in front of people. I didn’t have a problem singing at home with him when he needed to practice, but on stage hiding behind drums was more my forte.
    “I don’t think so big guy,” I said, as I turned to pick through my dresses. I pulled a black one out with a neckline that reminded me of the 1950s and Conall whistled behind me.
    “You going to wear that, Auntie? I thought you warded off men.” He gave me an annoying smile. “Does this have to do with that smiley guy from last night?” he asked.
    “Just because I want to wear a dress doesn’t mean I’m trying to attract someone,” I said. Okay, maybe it does.
    He smirked and I gave him a dirty look. “Okay, I will let you off on that one. I won’t push it. But you’re going to sing with me tonight,” he said, and I started to open my mouth in protest, but he raised his hand to shush me. “Can you give Jess a ride since I have to be there early?”
    “Of course buddy,” I said as I gave his cheeks a squeeze that bordered on abusive. “Oh, and stop calling me auntie. And don’t you ever fucking shush me again,” I said with a gentle slap to his face.
    __________
    As much as I tried to prolong it, Jess and I still managed to arrive at the Böhme early. I parked around the side of the building. and as we walked in I noticed another work from the notorious graffiti artist across the street. They chose an old coffee shop to place their message. What are you hiding?
    We both walked toward the painting without suggesting it to the other. It occupied Jess as much as me.
    The characters were androgynous. Their identity lost, as the identity of the artist lost to the vastness of the city. Nothing mattered but the pie sitting between them, and I assumed nothing mattered to the artist except his paintings between him and the city. Who was going to make the first move? Who was willing to take the first piece of the pie?
    The painting made me uncomfortable. It was an odd sense of understanding that came with it. They each waited for the next move of the other person, as each of us wait in life—waiting for someone else to make the first step. We hid from ourselves and each other but were desperate for the same thing. Yet, sitting in silence, neither is ready to move forward.
    “Why do you think they do it?” Jess asked. I turned to her with a smile. She was a tall, strong blonde, who had been with Conall since they were thirteen. They were perfect together. Neither had a wish to be with anyone else; they