How We Deal With Gravity(80)
“Are you…all right?” Ben asks, his face bunched at the sight of me. I feel really ill, and my body is covered with beads of sweat.
“Yeah, I uh…I suddenly don’t feel very well. God, I’m sorry,” I say, shuffling my feet backward closer to my car, suddenly questioning everything I’m doing.
“You want me to just tell him you stopped by?” Ben asks. I stop and look at his feet, scratching at the side of my face, and tugging at my lip while I think about his question. I could call Mason right now. I could sit here at Ben’s house, or in his driveway, and just wait. Or I could have Ben tell him to call me. But the end is always the same—I’m always…waiting. I’ll be waiting for Mason, just to tell him I’ll keep waiting. And that’s the change I would have to make in my life—to decide to wait on Mason for the rest of my life. Because in my heart, I know that the second he gets on that bus in the morning, his career is going to take off—he’s that good. And I have to decide if I want to wait for those moments he can fit me in between everything else. And I don’t know if my heart can take all of the doubt and worry that comes along with Mason’s success.
“You know what, it’s nothing,” I say, and my pulse slows down as soon as I give in. “I’ll just…I’ll just call him later this week. Really, it’s not important.”
Ben just nods and shrugs his shoulders. “A’right then. Well, see ya when I see ya! Hey, maybe the next time we play Dusty’s we’ll be f*cking millionaires!” he says, tossing the small bag of trash in the can outside and heading back through his gate. All I can do is smile and hold up my hand, a total farce to the self-loathing now kicking off inside. I get back in my car, and I drive home. My dad has gone to bed, and I’m thankful—I don’t think I can handle having him talk me into risk ever again. I’m starting to think regret is just easier, and I resolve myself to learning how to swallow it.
Chapter 22: The Road
Mason
The shows are good. That’s what’s getting me through. That and the way the crowd reacts every time we play some of our new songs. People seem to love “Perfect.” It’s probably because out of everything, that’s the one song I play with everything I can. We did a cool thing during the last show—I talked the guys into letting me play it solo on the piano. My piano playing isn’t the best, but the melody is simple enough. I had chicks in tears by the time I was done.
I think about her every time I play it. We’ve been on the road for a month now. Kevin started us out with this folk rock band called the Tenenbaum Revival. They have a lot of radio hits right now, and I really dig their sound. They’re from Denver, and the lead singer is married to the bass player. I envy their lives, the way they get to be together. It’s easy when your paths are the same, I guess.
I called Avery the night before our first show. She didn’t answer, but I figured she was busy with her shift. But she never called back. I sent a few texts, and at first she’d respond—simple things like smiley faces and “happy for you” notes. But I quit sending things a couple weeks ago. Maybe this time apart has made her start to think that everything was a huge mistake. If she wants to forget me, maybe I should let her.
I miss Max. I found a book at this little trading post in Utah. It was all about rocks from other planets. He’d love it—probably memorize it. I bought it with the intention of sending it to him, but every night I just flip through the pages and think about him and Avery, wondering if she’s working or getting to tuck him in. I wonder if that girl in the playground ever became Max’s friend.
“Mace, we need to do sound check in thirty. You know where Ben is?” Matt asks, popping his head in the green room.
“Probably giving his paycheck to a hooker,” I say, causing Matt to chuckle. “I’ll go look for him in a few.”
We’re in Reno tonight. Probably the smallest show we’ve played. Kevin wasn’t lying, this tour is different, and I really believe there is a recording deal waiting for us at the end of this. We have a couple weeks left before Kevin decides if he wants to tack us on to some more shows.
Ben has behaved, for the most part. Only once or twice did I have to drag his ass to the bus out of some nightclub or bar. He’s had a few flings, probably five or six different girls, but so far he’s kept them out of the bus. I think if we weren’t bunking with the other band, it would be a different story.
I walk out to the lot, and notice a few groupies hanging out over on the other side of a fence where the busses are all lined up. During our first few shows, the women were always hanging around to see Ryan, the lead singer in the Tenenbaums. But they’ve started screaming for me when I walk out, too. It feels pretty surreal, and there have been some pretty tempting offers, not gonna lie. But I keep waiting for that hint of reddish blonde hair in the crowd. I keep waiting to feel something—a pull, I don’t know, something.
The girls scream as I climb into the bus, and I wave once just to show them I appreciate them—and I do. I hope they want more of our songs, want to buy our albums, and come see our shows over and over. But I don’t want to sleep with them. I guess maybe after a while I’ll get over that, and then maybe I’ll want that, too.
“Ben, get your ass up! We tune in twenty!” I say, kicking at the bathroom door, hearing him sniffle and move around inside.