“Guilty,” Connie said with a blush. “I noticed you when we walked into the bar, so we got the table close to you. I meant to say hi, but then I heard the biphobic shit.”
“Well, whatever the catalyst was, I’m glad we’re talking now.” I smile at her, and I see Lilli roll her eyes, albeit playfully. For a second, I wonder if Connie and Lilli are romantically involved and they’re either laughing at me or unaware that I was flirting.
“Eric, I have a question,” Lilli said. “Dorothy, is she gay? She had the lesbian walk, and I’d like to shoot my shot.”
That answered my question. “She’s very into women, I’ll introduce you.”
“Fantastic. She’s hot as hell.”
7 – Connie – Now
Damn him. Why does it even matter? Our history is just that – past, over, done. He really had a glow-up in the last few years; how could my memory have done him such injustice? It’s like my mind put a filter on his image, the opposite of rose-colored glasses.
Most of the time, Eric keeps Ash company in the front seat—except for right now, of course. Lilli asked to sit up front so she could see everything.
This is the second time she’s done this, so I find myself in my bunk bed, literally hiding from Eric under the guise of a nap. I’ve got my headphones, and I’m listening to Jennifer Lux’s debut album,Cavewoman.
One of my favorite things about Jennifer Lux’s music is her lyrics. I’ve always been more of a lyrical songwriter than a musician. I write music, of course, but it’s always lyrics first with a vague melody. That’s one reason why working with Lilli is so easy: she’s great at layering musical compositions. I’m grateful we can still create some really fantastic songs together, even though I sometimes miss singing them.
She’s a real star, though, there’s no denying that, and I can say it without an ounce of bitterness or resentment, because I know she would love to have me perform again.
It’s my choice to stay off stage. It’s a decision I made, and she has stopped asking me to change my mind. I haven’t been on stage in years. Can a person forget how to sing? There’s a difference between singing in your car or with friends and performing singing. A voice is an instrument, and singing is a skill that takes practice, not a talent you’re born with, although I suppose it could be both. Singing requires work, taking time to strengthen muscles through regular exercise. I haven’t been doing that.
My mind continues to wander as I listen to Jennifer Lux. I don’t know how exactly I ended up as a personal assistant on the payroll. It’s not a big deal, I love being able to help my friend and I’m so excited to hang out with her on this tour. I just wish I felt happier. I want it to be enough. I still feel like I wasted so much time. There are moments when I think of going back out there, feeling the stage lights and being heard.
Until I remember how I don’t measure up to others or even my own expectation of ability. Maybe some dreams should stay dreams. Maybe some things you think you want should be put in a box and forgotten. Maybe, if I can get myself to forget, I can be happy.
That would be a lot easier if Eric wasn’t here, though, reminding me of just another thing I failed to be good enough for.
I tell myself that even if I’m not on stage singing the songs, I’m still writing them. People are still out there listening to my music. I’m still there, living the dream, just adjacent to what I thought. The bottom side of the lucky penny that no one can see.
The bus stops, and I take out my headphones and stretch. As I leave the sleeping area, I literally bump into Eric as he’s coming out of the bathroom.
“Oh, excuse me,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says at the same time, and time freezes as we look at each other. This is the closest we’ve been this whole two-day drive, the closest we’ve been since years ago when we didn’t say goodbye. I want to memorize him: his puppy dog eyes, his stubble, the little healed scar on his right cheekbone that wasn’t there before.
“Alright, everyone,” Ash announces. “I’m going to check us in. Then, Eric and I will escort your luggage and then you to your rooms.”
When Ash closes the door behind him, Eric reminds Lilli and me to pack up anything we want in the hotel with us. I don’t verbally acknowledge him, but I grab my bags. I packed according to plane rules – a carry-on, a checked bag, a personal item. I thought the structure would help me pack responsibly. When I suggested this to Lilli – since all her performance clothes would be kept separate in her dressing rooms – she laughed. She has three suitcases, one for each week. Allegedly, this is to keep her organized. I love the girl, I do. I just think this is silly.
Ash returns with the key cards, and he and Eric load up our bags on one of those bellhop carts. He’s gone again, and I’m scrolling through social media, Lilli and I sending each other memes and silly videos even though we’re both sitting on the same couch.
“So, you’ll each have your own rooms,” Ash explains in what he calls a ‘safety brief’. “Lilli and Connie, your rooms are across the hall from each other. Each of your rooms will have a connecting door to our rooms. Lilli, you’ll be next door to me, and Connie, you’ll be next to Eric.”
Ash goes on explaining that the connecting doors are for emergencies and we have the power to keep them locked, that we are under no obligation to have them unlocked, et cetera. All I can think about is how, in another life, I would have been giddy at my luck to share a hotel room with Eric. Now, it feels like the universe is taunting me just to be mean.
I kind of want to sleep in Lilli’s room just to avoid the whole situation, but that seems wasteful, since Ripple Records might be extending a contract to Lilli. I don’t want to make her seem frivolous.
Eric’s body language is screaming that he’s uncomfortable. His back is straight, his arms crossed in front of him. I know Eric—at least, I knew him—and he only stands like this when he’s stressed out. When Eric is comfortable, he leans against walls or counters or whatever is in his vicinity. When he’s comfortable, he puts his weight in one foot.
This stance, it’s like he’s trying to make himself a wall, like he’s either trying to keep something out or keep something in, like when I first talked to him in the Lemon Drop. I don’t know why, but this is what prompts me to finally speak to him.
“It’s not a big deal.”
His eyes snap to mine, and they’ve adopted a knife-like quality; sharp, hard, steely. “Of course not.” His curt reply is aptly cutting.
Great. Somehow, I’ve made things worse. It’s weirder now that I’ve broken my unofficial oath of silence, and I swallow the lump in my throat that always accompanies that old, alienated feeling. My mind starts to run, telling me that Eric hates me, that I’m dead weight on the train of Lilli’s gown as she tries to fly into her career, that I am a waste of Ripple Records’ resources, and that I’m a logistical nightmare for Ash.
