If it’s over, then it’s over, and I’ve lived the best years I could have ever asked for. It wasn’t easy. There were nights when I wondered why I was even doing it. Things I read online that made me sick. So much hate. But there’s been far moregoodness, far more love, and far more beauty. People coming together. All this emotion. We created this. Together.
And if that’s all we’ve ever done, it’s a thousand times more than I ever thought I’d be able to do. To feel. To experience. I’ll hold this night, and all the others, with me forever.
I thank the band, one by one, and then I surprise myself again. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to make it tonight as I was pretty sick on the way here. So I want to thank the woman who made it possible. To all the medical professionals out there, you’re incredible. This woman has been looking after me for years and caring for the needs of the band and our team too. I want to hear a huge thank you to her!”
The crowd goes wild, clapping and stomping, screaming and cheering. The noise goes on and on, and we leave the stage to the sound of those cheers.
I’m swamped as soon as I get back there, with at least ten different people demanding my attention. I can’t just shake them off. I’ve never paid anyone lip service before. I got as far as I did because I’m honest, and I more than wear my heart on my fucking sleeve. I’m all heart. All sleeve. All the time.
It’s a good thirty minutes before I can detach myself from the crowd and get back to our dressing room.
The one person I was hoping to find is nowhere in sight.
I hurry through showering and getting changed, the other guys buzzing around me but keeping their distance. The same palpable tension that’s been in the air between us for a while now is thick as sour milk. And no one likes sour milk. Unless you’re a cook, or you’re creative and want to make some astonishing miracle cheese, because any cheese made from something that smells like old socks dipped in a septic tank and left out to cure for seven point eight six two years is a miracle.
Carissa is probably back on her bus.
I yank on a fresh set of jeans and pull on one of my favorite T-shirts. The adrenaline still hasn’t worn off. I feel so much better than I did this morning. I was old gym sock milk cheese last night, but this morning, I was just regular old socks. By afternoon, I knew I’d be able to get myself up on stage. I’m not good as new or anything, but I have more than enough energy to get back to the bus to talk to her.
I need to talk to her.
To see her.
To thank her properly.
Why haven’t I ever noticed how gorgeous she is? She’s not just beautiful but truly heart-deep, bone-deep, and soul-deepastonishing.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and am about to walk out of the room and head back to the buses when Matt stops me with a hand on my shoulder. It’s not a friendly touch, and I’m not imagining the hostility in it.
He silently shoves a folded-up piece of paper into my chest. “Good thing this is it anyway,” he sneers before shoving past me out of the room and letting the door bang shut right in my face.
All that rapid-fire adrenaline cruising my veins like it’s a sunset night in a classic car with the top down? It wears off just like that, and I feel like shit again.
Even worse than I did last night when I had my head over a bus bathroom toilet, hoping I wouldn’t poop myself at the same time. Yeah, major life low point right here.
How did it come to this?
The breakup of the band, but more so, the steady decline of a friendship that I thought would stand the test of goddamn time. I’ve done everything I could to not turn into the stereotypical asshole, and things still turned out like this. We’ve held it together for years in a fucked up industry, living a life that can be really hard and navigating the intricacies of fame and success.Up until the cracks started showing, I really thought we were still just two kids, best friends forever through whatever was coming, even if we weren’t going to do this forever.
I unfold the piece of paper. It’s clearly been torn from a notebook, and it also clearly has been read.
I let out a groan to end all groans and sink down into the nearest chair. Bile surges up the back of my throat, coating my tongue with a bitter, foul taste. I’ve had enough of that last night, thank you very much. I don’t want to ever see another gas station or piece of chicken again.
My eyes scan the handwriting. It’s neat but hasty, and I recognize it immediately from the writings in her journal.
Who handwrites anymore? I love that she does. I love so many things about her.
All without even knowing just how much I did and do. It’s a big reality check. I knew I appreciated Carissa, but I didn’t realize just how often I looked for her in a crowd. How I notice her smile first thing, how the sound of her laughter never fails to make me want to laugh too, and how her eyes sparkle, her wit shines, and her kindness shines even brighter.
Also, just how all-aroundbeautifulshe is as a person, on the inside and out.
I know that.
I’m justknowingit in a different way now.
It’s hard not to when someone wraps their whole body around your whole body and holds you like their touch alone can heal you. Without even knowing it, she reached way down into my chest and held my soul.
I scan the page with bleary eyes. There’s something wrong with them. They’re hot, aching, and glistening.
