I leave my sweaty stage clothes in a heap on the floor and change into jeans, a fresh hoodie, and my worn-out Vans in record time. Opening the app on my phone, I order an Uber. Ted, in a red Toyota Prius, is on his way.
The knocking and the edge to his voice are evolving into irritation, a villain transforming into super villain. As one of the most successful music executives in the world, he’s not a man familiar with losing. People eat out of his hand. I should know, naively, I was one of them not so long ago. “Do you know how many people would sell their souls to trade places with you, you ungrateful little bastard? We gave youeverything.We made you,” he spits the words.
Pulling the bill of my hat low over my eyes and my hood up, I take a deep breath and open the door. I’m not the type of guy to use my size to intimidate, but when I tuck my chin to look down at him, it’s the first time in a long time I haven’t felt small in his presence. “You set expectations, and I bled out exceeding them. My contract’s fulfilled, now kindly and respectfullyleave me the fuck alone,” I growl.
His face reddens, but to his credit, he steps aside. The look on my face and the tone of my voice are enough to advertise I amthe last personhe wants to mess with tonight.
“We’ve got you by the balls, boy. This isn’t over,” he threatens as I walk away.
Head down, fists stuffed into pockets, I navigate the hallways of the underbelly of the arena and exit through the first exterior door I find. Fans fill the street outside, and dressed in all black like most everyone else, I ease effortlessly into the flow unnoticed. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’ll never regret the mask and the persona it created, because it makes this, anonymity, possible.
Crossing the street shoulder-to-shoulder with the crowd, my hoodie clings to me uncomfortably. Despite the cool night air,I’m beyond sweaty. Ninety minutes on stage under the lights will do that. Normally I would’ve showered, but tonight I didn’t have time. I said my thank yous and goodbyes to the crew and the session musicians I tour with before we went on stage, so I could make an immediate escape after the encore.
When I climb into the backseat of the Prius waiting for me in the ride share lane, the driver, who’s probably my age, asks, “Did you go to the concert?”
I nod as I buckle my seat belt, and say, “Yeah.” I almost apologize for smelling rank but roll the window down instead.
Pulling into traffic, he says, “I’m so jealous. I tried to get tickets, but they sold out in minutes. How was it?”
I’m exhausted physically and mentally, but I engage because he seems genuinely nice, and though I was accused of it not long ago, I’m not an ungrateful bastard. “It was good. The crowd was unhinged.” It’s true. Twenty-eight thousand screaming along with me to every song, and not just the new songs but the older ones too.
We’re stopped at a red light, and he’s talking to me in the rearview mirror. “Right on. There’s chatter in the fandom that Raven is done, and this could be the last show for Treachery’s Riot. Damn, I hope not. You think there’s any truth to it?”
Raven is my stage name, my real name and identity concealed. The band has always been shrouded in secrecy. Outside of the music label, my management, and the musicians I tour with, the man who raised me is the only person who knows about my alter ego. The label is going to officially announce the breakup to coincide with an upcomingRolling Stonecover and article, so the world will find out soon enough.
“I don’t know, man. Lots of fodder to fuel the rumor mill these days. I do think Raven is tired.” So goddamn tired.
Changing lanes, he sighs and agrees. “Fans are crazy. Honestly, I don’t blame him for wanting out if half the stuff Iread online is true. The stalking and harassment must be scary.” He pauses and unexpectedly his voice hitches, “But…”
I wait as he composes himself, thankful we’re almost to my destination. I’m having trouble with my own emotions at the moment; I’m not sure I can take on his too.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “It’s just…his songs saved my life. I went through some shit two years ago, and if I hadn’t found his music…I wouldn’t be here.” He signals and turns into the lot of the storage facility where my van has been parked for the past three months I’ve been on tour.
As he shifts the car into park, I’m not sure what to say. Unfortunately, the toxicity of fame has overshadowed the purity of true connection, and I’ve withdrawn. I’ve been so desperate to get out and salvage and reconstruct my sanity that I never considered that gaining my freedom might be someone else’s loss. Maybe I am an ungrateful bastard after all. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out some bills and hand them to him.
He tries to turn down the money. “No, you already paid with the app.”
When I insist, he takes it.
“If Raven was here right now, he’d tell you you’re the reason you’re still here, and he’s glad you decided to stay. Hang in there, Ted.” I open the door and exit before he can respond.
When I get to the door of my van, he rolls down the window. “Dude, it’s way too much! I can’t take this!” he yells.
“You got me here in one piece, you earned it!” Little does he know he assisted in the equivalent of a prison break. And he just reminded me why I started writing music—to feel. And to be felt.
“Thanks!” He waves, and as he drives off, relief, fear, loneliness, and peace are all battling for supremacy within. My head is a mess.
When I open the door of my van, it’s musty. It’s been locked up for months. I know I’m not supposed to sleep in here whileit’s parked in this lot, but I’m too tired to drive somewhere else, and I need to steal a few hours of rest before I get behind the wheel.
The bed feels so damn good when I crawl under the sheets. Forget platinum albums and sold-out arenas, I’m home. Its peace hands me over to dreams better than Ambien or edibles ever do.
The sunrise glowingon the horizon makes the rock formations look like they’re backlit by fire. It’s my favorite time of day because the slate’s clean and possibility reigns. At least until reality creeps in. I’m on the highway headed east out of Phoenix. Windows down, hot coffee in the cupholder, an antidepressant waltzing through my bloodstream, and the new Deftones album blaring through the van’s speakers—the combination quiets the noise in my head.
The manufactured calm screeches to a halt when the music cuts out, and my cell rings. The ringtone is triggering until I glance at the screen and see it’s my brother, Jesse. Our relationship ebbs and flows, but lately we’ve been texting and calling weekly. I answer without hesitation.
“Hey.” My voice is deep and scratchy from sleep.
“Hey, Ev. I didn’t wake you, did I? Adjusting to the time zone change is kicking my ass.” He was living overseas but is back in the States now. His entire life, he’s never been one to coast. He’s full throttle without a kill switch and unpredictable. Where I’m more measured and cautious, he’s never been afraid to try anything. I’ve always admired that, even when it gets him into trouble.
