You Are The Only One

It had been seven years since Marco moved back to Italy. Though we kept in touch, distance was a relationship killer. Sure, as an adult, I could, in theory, fly over to be with him. But part of being an adult meant having to be careful with money. How was I gonna be careful and save up when I earnt next to nothing? I would need a truckload of cash to get out, and the only truckload we had in our small rural town was cattle.

I made money when I performed. I performed when the pub needed me. Sometimes, I would lend a hand with the cattle farms in the area, though my tiny frame meant I was petty useless. Other than farming and performing, there was nothing else to do, no other money to be made. It was a place that you never seemed to be able to leave. So, the chances of ever seeing Marco again were slim. I just wanted to cradle in his arms, long for his touch. The fantasies I have had for his companionship when I cuddle up to my pillows, the evenings alone.

My only reprieve from the daily struggles of living in such a remote part of the world was the annual Solstice Song contest. I could see the parts of the world I had only ever dreamed about. As a musician, there was no dream bigger than this.

But alas, I am a nobody from a place nobody even knows exists. Not to mention, Australia has only competed for a few years, and we always select internally. As much as it would be a dream come true, it would never happen to me. I’m just some punk growing up in a remote rural town in outback Australia. How could I perform at Solstice if I can’t even afford to see Marco? Being so far away from everything sucked. It made our relationship nearly impossible.

But I can’t let that keep me down. I had a performance to prepare for. I sat in the empty pub, waiting for my band members to arrive.

Darcy, my best friend and our band’s makeup and costume artist, came running into the pub, her blonde hair bouncing as she did so.

“Blake! You won’t believe what just happened!” she signed to me.

She was born deaf. We initially connected through school, both outcasts. We hit it off pretty quickly, and soon, I learned sign language, Ausland, to communicate with her. Sometimes, I would sign my songs so she could enjoy them, too.

“What is it?”

“They just announced Auditions!”

“Auditions?”

“For Australia’s representative at the Solstice Song Festival!”

No way. They’ve never done auditions; it has always been an internal selection.

“Are you serious?”

“Do you really think I’d joke about something like this?” She signed back, frustrated by my doubt.

That’s true; she would never lie about this.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered out loud.

“What are you damned about?” Noah asked, stepping into the pub. Luca and Greg followed shortly behind.

Noah was our band’s drummer, Greg was our guitarist, and Luca was our bassist.

“They’re holding auditions for Solstice.”

“Really? That’s awesome. Are you thinking of writing a song for it?” he asked.

“I was hoping we could.”

“Sounds good,” Luca commented, sitting on a chair to get his makeup done by Darcy.

“Sounds like fun. I’m in,” Noah added.

“I’m out,” Greg sighed.

Are you serious? No? Who would turn down this opportunity? Besides, we can’t perform without a guitarist.

“How come?”

“I have to work on the farm.”

“Why?”

“Dad’s injury.”

Greg’s father had a tractor accident a few months back and couldn’t work on the cattle farm. Greg had to do everything to support the family. It was noble, but it also meant we had no guitarist. There goes our dream of performing at Solstice.

“I want to remind you that there’s another guitarist who’s better than me. You should ask him.”

I bit my tongue, even though I hated the idea. My desire to get to Europe and see Marco, along with my desire to perform on stage, outweighed everything else.

“Fine, I guess I’ll go pay Jet a visit.”

“Don’t be long. We still have to perform.” Noah called.

“Don’t worry, I will leave as soon as possible.”

Inviting Jet to join our band was not something I had wished to do, yet the reality was that this might be my only shot at finding a guitarist before the deadline.

I arrived at his front door and knocked as hard as possible, imagining his stupid face. After a few moments of hushed voices and hurried movements, the door swung open to reveal a woman I didn’t recognise, dressed rather provocatively.

Who is it?” I heard the familiar voice of Jet.

“I don’t know.” She called back.

“Jet, we need to talk,” I yelled through the gap in the door, completely ignoring the woman.

I heard a heavy sigh, followed by some movement inside. It sounded like someone hurriedly putting on their pants. A minute later, Jet stood at the door wearing only jeans, showing off his incredibly toned body. His long dark hair was dishevelled as if someone had been running their hand through it.

The woman glanced over at Jet, whose undivided attention was on her.

“I might go.” The woman told Jet.

“Alright,” he replied.

“Make sure to call me when you’re ready to see me again.”

“No worries, Sabrina.”

“It’s Samantha.”

“Yeah, sure thing, I’ll call you.” He said with about as much sincerity as a snake oil salesman.

He had earned a reputation as a notorious womaniser. He was open about not being serious, but I couldn’t shake the pity I felt for the countless girls captivated by him, only to be left high and dry once he was done. No doubt Samantha was just another one of his playthings.

Once she left, his gaze finally shifted toward me, and a teasing smile crept across his face.

“So, what are you doing here, shorty?”

“Don’t call me short, you prick!”

“Alright, I’m shutting the door,” he shifted to close it.

“Hold on! I’m sorry, I’m short. I have a short temper. That’s why you should forgive me and hear me out.”

“I was going to do that anyway. I just wanted to see you squirm a bit. It’s very entertaining,” he chuckled.

I bit my tongue to suppress my frustration; otherwise, I might have killed him. Greg was undoubtedly correct—Jet was the most talented guitarist in town. Not only was he skilled, but he drew people in, especially women. In other words, he was extremely hot.

“I’m auditioning for Australia Selects, and I need a guitarist. Would you join my band?”

“What about Greg?”

“He already turned me down,”

“So I’m second choice, huh?” He did a melodramatic weeping gesture.

“Shut up. Are you in or not?”

He paused to think.

“If you’re not interested, I’ll put up an ad for a guitarist. I think Pete down the road plays guitar.”

“Pete’s like sixty.”

“So?”

“You’re in a crossdressing band.”

“I think you underestimate how desperate I am for a guitarist right now.”

He sighed. “I can tell you’re not joking. You must be pretty desperate then.”

“Why do you think I came to you?” I shrugged.

“Is that cute girl you’re always with going to be there?”

I immediately figured he meant Darcy, the only girl I frequently spent time with, and yes, she was undeniably cute. “Of course. Who else would I entrust with our makeup?”

“Well then, I’m in. Don’t be mad if everyone says I’m prettier than you.” Jet teased. “So, now I’m part of this band; what’s it called again?”

“Jane Doe and the Cadavers.”

“Ah, that’s right. Have you got a song yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You should probably get on that.”

“You think?” I replied sarcastically, but I thought to myself, I must not kill him.

“So when’s practice?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

“Cool. See you then,” he said, shutting the door.

With one problem solved, I now had a performance to give.

What would Marco say if he knew I would audition for Solstice? I’m sure he would be glad. Glad to see me. This was the beginning of my Solstice journey. For a song contest with the slogan “Bridging Cultures,” I didn’t know at the time that my relationship with Marco would be taboo and cause a geopolitical storm.

─── ༻ ☼ ༺ ───

End of Chapter 1