For the past three days, she had been figuring out how to hate him.
And it hadn't worked.
She'd toss and turn after each performance and eventually awake at 2 in the morning to count all the ways he had been selfish. She could enumerate every instance of his being cranky. Of all the times he pushed her too hard. All the songs where he would go offkey.
Still, she couldn't hate him.
The final stop on their tour finally came. An anticlimax of a bar, called the Robin's Nest, in the middle of New Jersey. The kind of place that held the midnight of a drunkard's soul at 2 in the afternoon.
"We finally made the big time!" he shouted as he put his battered guitar case down on the sticky floor. He looked to her for a smile. She hesitated, but offered to share his ironic enthusiasm.
"I always knew that you and I would go places; I just never thought we'd end up here,"
They should have been doing the vaudeville circuit; it suited their personalities better. This was the beginning of the end. The last time they might perform together. Never again would she have their entire set to look forward to. The camera in her head kept trying to keep every image. It did't work.
Before they knew it, the show was over and they were packing up. They lingered over the sound cable they had laid out only 6 hours before.
"You sounded great tonight."
"So did you."
"No, I mean it. You have quite a future ahead of you, if you want it."
"It only happens when I dance with you,"
Their eyes met. It was a fleeting, overly sentimental reference to a song from a Fred and Ginger movie. Something they had seen in a hotel in Wisconsin, during a blizzard, when both of them were sick and miserable. They had been living off hot cocoa and dried soup mixes, from her emergency kit in the back of the van.
"Did you call that guy?"
"I will, I just haven't gotten around to it,"
"He wanted to book you, you know,"
"I know, next summer, that festival. You sure you can't do it?"
"Gonna go back into retirement. Shlepping from town to town, I can't do it anymore."
"I know. That what you said this time too."
There. She could hate him for giving up. Especially when he still had plenty of mileage left. Maybe in a few months, he'd change his mind.
She walked away, carrying the guitar to his van. Making sure to finally divide their belongings. She was getting a ride in the other direction from Joe, the drummer. Maybe if she stole his guitar, he'd have to come get it. He'd have to come by again and if he did, she could talk him into another round of touring.
Suddenly, he surprised her by hugging her from behind. He whispered her favorite line into her hair. They both looked up at the bright cold midnight stars visible through the industrial haze. They weren't the type to cry on each other's shoulder, or to kiss, or to make long speeches. So they just stood there,letting the tears fall, but not letting go.
"Darling, Be Home Soon" by the Lovin' Spoonful
And it hadn't worked.
She'd toss and turn after each performance and eventually awake at 2 in the morning to count all the ways he had been selfish. She could enumerate every instance of his being cranky. Of all the times he pushed her too hard. All the songs where he would go offkey.
Still, she couldn't hate him.
The final stop on their tour finally came. An anticlimax of a bar, called the Robin's Nest, in the middle of New Jersey. The kind of place that held the midnight of a drunkard's soul at 2 in the afternoon.
"We finally made the big time!" he shouted as he put his battered guitar case down on the sticky floor. He looked to her for a smile. She hesitated, but offered to share his ironic enthusiasm.
"I always knew that you and I would go places; I just never thought we'd end up here,"
They should have been doing the vaudeville circuit; it suited their personalities better. This was the beginning of the end. The last time they might perform together. Never again would she have their entire set to look forward to. The camera in her head kept trying to keep every image. It did't work.
Before they knew it, the show was over and they were packing up. They lingered over the sound cable they had laid out only 6 hours before.
"You sounded great tonight."
"So did you."
"No, I mean it. You have quite a future ahead of you, if you want it."
"It only happens when I dance with you,"
Their eyes met. It was a fleeting, overly sentimental reference to a song from a Fred and Ginger movie. Something they had seen in a hotel in Wisconsin, during a blizzard, when both of them were sick and miserable. They had been living off hot cocoa and dried soup mixes, from her emergency kit in the back of the van.
"Did you call that guy?"
"I will, I just haven't gotten around to it,"
"He wanted to book you, you know,"
"I know, next summer, that festival. You sure you can't do it?"
"Gonna go back into retirement. Shlepping from town to town, I can't do it anymore."
"I know. That what you said this time too."
There. She could hate him for giving up. Especially when he still had plenty of mileage left. Maybe in a few months, he'd change his mind.
She walked away, carrying the guitar to his van. Making sure to finally divide their belongings. She was getting a ride in the other direction from Joe, the drummer. Maybe if she stole his guitar, he'd have to come get it. He'd have to come by again and if he did, she could talk him into another round of touring.
Suddenly, he surprised her by hugging her from behind. He whispered her favorite line into her hair. They both looked up at the bright cold midnight stars visible through the industrial haze. They weren't the type to cry on each other's shoulder, or to kiss, or to make long speeches. So they just stood there,letting the tears fall, but not letting go.
"Darling, Be Home Soon" by the Lovin' Spoonful
No comments:
Post a Comment