He jumps on stage right at the front.
The lights hit him.
His hand finds the strings.
And he’s back, late as hell.
The room exhales after waitin’ for him all night.
We know that sound. We’ve made it. Because the basement breathes differently when he’s up there. Just like we do.
The can lights burn a halo around his silhouette.
The stage soaks up his sweat.
The mic reaches for his mouth.
The air carries his sound.
Vice knows him. Opens for him. Moans under him. Holds him every time he scans the room like someone’s missin’.
It’s the same at the end of every night he’s here. An empty stretch of silence between songs, tryin’ to remember someone he never knew.
A face he hasn’t seen yet.
A name he can’t form in his mouth yet.
And it guts him, thenot-havin’of it. Whatever or whoever it is.
Sometimes he sings sideways into the mic, trying to reach her beyond the ceiling and walls, holding the mic close, sweat sliding down the blue vein pulsing in his throat, staring into the dark knowing not ever having her is worse than losing her.
And he plays like he’s searching, hoping if he bends the string the right way, holds the note long enough in his mouth, she’ll finally show. Appear right there in the back. Not that he knows who she is, only that he knows she’s not here. And this hole inside him’s been there a long time.
But it never lasts.
Not the look, or the ache on his face, or the hope.
He always reels it back in, always been good at pretending.
He breathes once, licks his lips, returns to the music to help him forget again. And right before the final track ends, his eyes wander the room, choosing the last girl to settle into.
We all hold our breath. We all want to be the one.
But tonight, it’s her.
Dead center, three feet away. Been there since the doors opened, wearing a mini skirt and a leather jacket.
Her stare’s too wide, with eyes sayin’starve me, feed me, kill me.
He grabs the mic like it’s got her name on it, the music trailing behind him. He holds her gaze, holds her in the music with him, the guitar breathing her in, like he’s gonna make her feel something.
And for thirty seconds, she does.
For those thirty seconds, he belongs to her.
Then he tears his eyes away, ripping Talia wide open.
Her breath pours out like he’d been holdin’ her fuckin’ lungs hostage.
