Adrenaline

34 | moments and tides pt ii

About three weeks into Brendon's LA summer break, I find out there's a running bet for how long it'll be until we announce we've moved into the next stage in our relationship.

Part of me wants to crawl into a ball and hide from all of them when I find out, but I realize it's a likely conclusion on their part and I don't entirely blame them for it. Even if I hate it. Especially since, according to Everleigh, I'm not someone to bet against, and I think that applies to me falling head over heels like the toad I am (the non-Mario Kart variety).

Most of my nights are spent over at his house, though, admittedly, aside from that first night, we spend most of them apart. Either we both fall asleep on the couch—separately—while adding another movie to my Letterboxd 'watched' list or I wake up to find him carrying me upstairs. The latter involves me scolding him because he should not be lifting my weight up any set of stairs, and he'll just laugh when he drops me onto the bed.

Brendon comes back one day from a farmer's market run to find me lying upside down on the couch in the living room. I haven't changed out of my pajamas and it's already noon. He doesn't even flinch at the cheese sauce stain on my pants from the nachos we made for a midnight snack last night.

"You alright there?" he asks.

        I hold a thumbs up above me. "Yup."

        Brendon quickly puts the groceries away before walking over. I feel his hips lean against the couch where my feet are propped up. "Is this what it looks like to see a songwriter in action?"

"Lauren used to write books in high school. This applies to those nerds too."

"Good to know." A pause. "What's that?"

I lift my head to get a better look at him, but his eyes are gesturing toward my tote bag haphazardly dumped on the end of the couch. "My...bag?"

"The book," he corrects as he walks around. Brendon picks it up, flipping through the pages. "You're learning American Sign Language?"

I'd forgotten the book was still in my bag. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that."

"Does Maverick know?" He slides in back inside the bag.

"No," I answer while pulling myself up. As much as Brendon doesn't have any bad angle, I prefer not looking at him upside down. "Thought I'd surprise him once I learned a fair amount."

Even though I've only known Maverick for a few years, I can honestly say he's my closest friend in the industry, not including my own band members, and someone I imagine to be around for the rest of it. Growing old is a little less terrifying knowing I have someone like him by my side.

But he's been losing his hearing for some time now and will likely lose all of it at some point, hence why he's been learning ASL himself already. I try not to get sad thinking about it because Maverick isn't someone that needs to be babied or treated like a glass vase with a fragile sticker slapped over him. He's had time to process what it will mean when it does happen, and even though it still isn't the same as actually living through it, I know the best I can do is be there for him.

From elementary school straight through the end of high school, I was a certified band geek, on top of being what I considered one of the slightly less unhinged theater kids (sorry, classmates). My way of thinking is molded by classical music and playing instruments.

By the age of forty-four, Beethoven went almost completely deaf. And it didn't stop him. Not even during the decline, where I imagine I would have the most difficulty processing the change if it was to happen to me. Even as he was losing his hearing, he adapted the way he wrote music, using lower notes that were easier to hear, and holding a pencil between his teeth and touching it against the soundboard of the instrument so he could sense the vibrations of each note. He kept performing, persisting through the challenges, and even smashing his piano keys when he couldn't hear the notes because music was not something so easily taken away from the great maestro.