Chapter One: An American Girl

Bridgeport
Present Day
Branna Kavanagh


Well she was an American Girl
Raised on promises
She couldn't help thinkin'
That there was a little more to life somewhere else..

Another day, another dollar, as my Gran would put it. Although for me, at this point it was pretty much pennies. But I suppose that's what I get for wanting to make a career in music.  Still, I wasn't really complaining. I was just happy to have a job doing what I loved. Gran always told me that.  "Do what you love, and the money will follow."

It hadn't yet, but I tried to remember everything she told me. Stricken with Alzheimer's, she didn't really say much of consequence anymore. Most of the time she thought I was her sister Aileen, who died over sixty years ago.

After all it was a great big world
With lots of places to run to
And if she had to die tryin'
She had one little promise she was gonna keep...

As I showered, I thought rather guiltily about the fact that I didn't visit her as much as I used to. My parents got on me about it pretty regularly, but I just couldn't bring myself to go more than a couple times a month.  It's something I hated myself for, but couldn't seem to make myself change.

When I got out to the living room, my best friend Richard Hades was already out there, taking in the morning light for his painting. Richard, or Ricky as most everyone called him, had been my closest confidante since high school, when we had done an extremely low-rent school production of "Les Miserables." I was Eponine, he was Marius.  We used to joke that we bonded while I died in his arms. 

Ricky was an artist and sculptor, and a damn good one. He got regular gallery showing and was commissioned to do work all over Bridgeport.  He also wrote a monthly art and culture column for the Bridgeport Style Journal.  Between that and gigs that Under The Radar, our cover band played, he was kept plenty busy.

"Get into your workout gear, sweet cheeks. It's time for some training," I told him. He had told me a couple weeks before that he felt like he wasn't in as good of shape as he could be, and asked me to help train him. It was like pulling teeth.

He put down his paintbrush and sighed. "Isn't there a way I can become a perfect physical specimen and still remain a lazy pig?"

"Nice try, Tiny Dancer. Go get dressed."

"Come on, show me some fucking spirit, man! You're not gonna get any stronger if you don't put the work in! Now go faster!"

"So...help...me...Flaky...if I die...on this thing...I leave you....nothing...in my will."

Flaky is the nickname Ricky gave me years ago. He said the name Branna made him think of bran flakes. I suppose it could have been worse. He could have been calling me Muffin.

"It's a chance I'm willing to take. Now come on, let's see some energy, baby! You gotta eat lightning and crap thunder!"

My older brother Sean walked into the kitchen then, texting as he walked. "I just love your ways of motivating, Bran."

"Hey, I like to stick with what works. Look, he's moving faster already."

"I want to...crap thunder...goddammit." Ricky huffed.

Sean laughed and went to the fridge for a protein shake. Gross stuff, but he drank one every morning.

My brother Sean is an interesting study in contrasts. He definitely got the best of both our parents' traits and was quite sought after by all the ladies as we were growing up.  Sometimes girls pretended to be friends with me so they could get to him. After the first couple times that happened I pretty much stopped attempting to have many female friends.

So yes, the contrast thing. Sean is ridiculously good-looking, and a jock in every sense of the word. A lot of the guys he ran with in high school and college were the typical meathead type, but not him. Sean is intelligent, bookish, very sensitive, and probably the most caring and compassionate of all four of the Kavanagh kids.  He's the one who goes to see Gran twice a week and holds her hand and talks to her even though she doesn't recognize him.

Ricky and I teasingly call him "The Reluctant Casanova," because while women flock to him, he tended to act almost scared of them. Not that I blamed him, a lot of them could be incredibly aggressive.  He wanted to meet someone special, but it was hard to sift through the "Sex and the City" wannabes who tended to approach him.

This is pretty much how Sean spent most of his free time at home.

"So what's on your agenda after you're done flogging Rick?" he asked me, picking up the most recent George R.R. Martin novel.

"I have to run into work for a few hours to help set up for a concert and then I'm gonna meet Bronson at Eugi's." I replied. He looked up from his book and gave me a raised eyebrow.  "I don't know why you're dragging that out, Bran."

I raised my shoulders in a small shrug. I'd been dating Bronson Littler for a couple of months, and while I liked him well enough, I didn't like him as much as he did me and didn't picture it becoming anything long term. I had told both Sean and Ricky this one night after a few drinks.  "I plead guilty, okay? Mea culpa. He's a nice guy, and he's cool to hang out with."

Sean tilted his head and looked at me thoughtfully. "That's fine, but it's not so fine when he thinks there's the possibility of more and you've already mentally 'friend-zoned' the poor bastard."

The timer went off on the treadmill then, giving me merciful escape.

As I made my bed, I reflected on what Sean said. He was right, of course. I didn't think of Bronson as someone I wanted to spend my life with, but he was a good distraction.  He was cute, smart, and funny. He was a good kisser and considerate in bed.

Unfortunately he wasn't the one for me and I knew it.

I'd done a fair bit of dating over the years, but never really had anything serious. I guess I've always had the philosophy that I'd know it when I saw it.  I had yet to see it.

"Bye, Cameron." I gave the poster on the wall a small wave and headed off to work.

Oh yeah, all right
Take it easy baby
Make it last all night
She was an American girl

When I got home from work, I showered, and got ready to go out. Not that I was a gigantic primper. I learned early on the basic amount of makeup I had to wear in order to look presentable and thankfully had pretty manageable hair, so it usually didn't take me all that long.

Bronson was at Eugi's, right on time, as per usual. He greeted me with a hug, but he seemed a little preoccupied. I chatted him up a bit, talking about the day, training Ricky, any other minutiae I could come up with to fill the silence that was enveloping us.  When an old Prince song started playing on the jukebox, I asked him if he wanted to dance.

As we danced, he smiled, but it was an uncomfortable, tight smile. It was weird, because Bronson was usually very cheerful and upbeat. Now it all came off as really forced.

Finally, I grabbed his arm to stop him. "Bronson, what the hell is going on? You're acting like I have some kind of communicable disease or something."

He heaved a sigh reserved usually for the most world weary and bowed his head a little. "Branna, I guess I've just had a hard time coming up with exactly what to say...but...I don't think we're gonna work out. I think we should stop seeing each other."

It was kind of like karma had basically just told me to go fuck myself.  "You don't?" I asked him.  He reached over and took my hands in his. "Branna, I know you don't feel it. I guess for a while I thought maybe if we just spent enough time together, maybe you would eventually, but...I know that I'm not the one for you."

"Bronson, I'm really sorry," I told him. "When I say I think you're a fantastic guy, it's not a line of bullshit; I really do like spending time with you. But yeah, you're right. I don't feel it like you do. I'm sorry."  He smiled sadly, but he also looked a little relieved too. "It's okay, really. I like you, Branna. A lot. But when I'm with you I always get the feeling that you're wishing I were someone else, but I don't think you know who that is yet, just that it's not me."

We ended the night with a hug and a promise to remain friendly. I hoped he wanted to do that eventually, because I genuinely did like him as a person.

And for one desperate moment
There he crept back in her memory
God it's painful when something that's so close
Is still so far out of reach

"You're early," Ricky observed when I walked into the apartment. He was sitting at the counter, drinking a plasma juice.

I shook my head and looked at the wall. "Flaky, what's up?"

"Bronson dumped me," I informed him.  He sighed and went to put his juice box in the trash.

"Your empathy is touching, Ricky."

He turned from the compactor.  "Flaky, you weren't into the dude, he must have caught on. I'm sorry you feel bad honey, but it's not like you were grievously wronged here."  I sighed. "You're right, I know you're right."

"Dammit Ricky, why did you have to be gay? We're like, each others soulmates."

"Babydoll, I can't help the way the Creator made me," he said with a chuckle, "I guess we just end up platonic soulmates. You can still die in my arms if it comes to that, Eponine."

 

"Don't you fret, Monsieur Marius, I don't feel any pain..." I sang lightly, causing us both to chuckle.  "I know this is for the best, but yeah, I guess it's just the ego blow. I'm a delicate flower."  Now he laughed uproariously. "You, my sweet, are anything BUT a delicate flower. Now, let's hug it out and go to bed, because I must slumber, per se."

 "I love you, Flaky."  

"And I love you, Ricky. Never change."

Maybe he wasn't my Mr. Right, but at that point there wasn't a better man in my life than Ricky.

And that was cool.

Oh yeah, all right
Take it easy, baby
Make it last all night
She was an American girl

Song: "American Girl" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Note: Many thanks to the lovely Vuppiih for the use of Richard Hades!