“You know who you look like, right?” one woman asked, her eyes rounded balls of wonder. No matter how I answered the awkward query, I always sounded like a douche. But I couldn’t ignore her.
“Um… I have a pretty good idea.”
“So you are…” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Him?”
I nodded, adding a grin. Cue the douchebag.
Several other mommies squealed their delight and chattered amongst themselves. But there was one outlier—there was always one—who felt the need to question.
“Wait, who is he?” she asked, rubbing her belly. She was the type of pregnant that created shade for those below.
“Bodhi Beckett,” came the resounding response from her friends.
The expectant mom glanced me over critically. “No, I don’t think so. Bodhi’s got long hair. You got ID on you?”
I shook my head. Even if I had an ID, I wouldn’t show her. It wasn’t up to me to prove my identity. Running my fingers through the locks in question, I watched as the two moms traded barbs over who had a better eye for pop stars.
While I waited for the verdict, I took the opportunity to glance over at Breeze, who’d been especially quiet during the exchange. We locked eyes and hers were doused in guilt. I grabbed her hand in a silent bid to reassure her. She wasn’t responsible for this, I was. I could have kept our day low-key. But it was a trade-off I was willing to give. Besides, this was an everyday occurrence. And let me tell you, lactating mommies were the least of my problems. In the white water rapids of fame, this was just a dribble.
But being that this was Breeze’s first experience with my lifestyle, I wanted to make it a positive one. Maybe if she saw that having an enthusiastic fan base could still be worked into the fabric of her life, she might be willing to take a chance on me. Draping my arm over Breeze’s shoulder, I nuzzled her hair. There was no mistaking her importance and the other women took notice, awarding her the respect she deserved.
* * *
After our brush with the fans, Breeze and I decided to bypass the picnic in the park and opted for dive-bombing seagulls on the beach where the asshole birds forcibly removed food from our hands. Because of the chilly temperatures, we didn’t linger for long. A hastily built sand castle, a toe-dip in the frigid Northern California surf, and half a sand dollar plucked from the sand concluded our beach adventures.
Safely tucked inside our stolen vehicle, I made one last request of my companion.
“Please don’t make me have any more fun today.”
Although ‘Bucket List Tuesday’ was arguably a rousing success, after taste testing being a kid, I could objectively say that shit was exhausting. I now understood why naps were built into the ecosystem of childhood and why tantrums were a real and constant threat to public safety. Hell, I was one Nerf gun war away from a full-on nuclear meltdown.
* * *
With Breeze, it was easy to forget the world I came from. As we went about our day in near obscurity, I could have been anyone— a college student on winter break, a soldier on leave, a young lover spending quality time with his girl. Of course, I knew it was all a mirage, and that life would return to normal in a few short days, but that didn’t dim the light flickering inside me. After today, I was convinced there was more to my story than a teen idol shuttled from one venue to the next under the protection of burly security guards. I wanted a life away from the crowds, the screaming, and the cameras. I wanted to live in this parallel universe where people were fully in control of their senses and went about their daily lives with nary a passing interest in those around them. I could see myself here blending into life as an equal… with Breeze by my side.
But as the old saying goes, all good things must come to an end… and it did… in crushing fashion. Item number twenty-eight on my bucket list. It hadn’t been there at the start of the day, but I’d added it on our way back to Breeze’s house, having a sudden hankering for an ice cream cone. Of course, she’d wanted to take me to her favorite local place, but what we hadn’t factored in was the ice cream parlor was near a high school, which had just been let out for the day.
It started innocently enough with a group of three, a boy and two girls, spotting me despite the dark glasses and baseball cap. It was that inevitable moment of contact, eyes meeting mine, yet still I thought I could handle the situation. But kids with cell phones were a far cry from moms with breast pumps and, before I knew it, they’d called in reinforcements.
The three multiplied into six, then those six mutated into twelve and that was before the mitosis began spitting out carbon copies of teenage girls all wearing Uggs and sipping on Strawberries and Crème blended Frappuccinos. Within minutes, we were fully surrounded.
“One at a time,” I pleaded, trying my best to appease the crowd bearing down on us.
“Bodhi?” Breeze scooted closer, her confidence in my ability to handle the situation seeming to waver. I got her concern. I was starting to feel overwhelmed myself, and that usually signaled the onset of stage four fangirling. As more bodies crammed together in the small space, the oxygen level decreased and I had an eerily similar feeling to being caught in the middle of the firestorm. Having been in this position before, I’d seen things spiral out of control. Even with security, it was always a harrowing experience.
I grabbed her hand. “Stay close.”
Abandoning our ice cream cones, we pushed our way toward the exit. Like concertgoers in a mosh pit, bodies jostled against us, hands ripping at my clothes, scratching my skin, and pulling Breeze’s hair.
“Don’t let go,” I warned as we made our way down the sidewalk, the mob of bodies propelling us forward.
“Bodhi?”
Something had changed in Breeze’s demeanor. We’d escaped a firestorm, driven through a wall of flames, but even then I hadn’t seen this look of panic in her vibrant eyes.
I should have warned her or, at the very least, prepared her for such a scenario. But instead I’d faked who I was because I didn’t want her to see the real me. I was the guy who’d grown up in a bubble and who couldn’t go for a walk with a dog, or dash into a grocery store for a carton of milk, or get a damn ice cream cone without the threat of being mauled by a large subsection of the population.
I’d purposely deceived her because I knew damn well that me thriving in Breeze’s world was entirely different than her thriving in mine.
