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“No. I would never do that.”
A part of me wanted to say, “Tell him I love him.” But I couldn’t.I don’t know what possessed me to check Archer’s website that night. I knew the tour would be winding down soon. The site listed all the past locations, and I couldn’t help but notice that next to Minneapolis, it said: CANCELED. I looked at the date and realized that it was the day I’d ended things. My heart clenched. I wouldn’t know for sure, but my gut told me that Griffin was too upset to perform. Given that he was the quintessential professional, that really spoke volumes about what I’d done to him.
I noticed that tomorrow night was the Los Angeles concert. I remembered Griffin saying that there would be a live feed available of that show that could be viewed on the band’s website. It was a gift to their fans around the world who couldn’t attend one of their concerts. I knew it would be incredibly painful to watch, but a part of me needed to know he was okay. I needed to hear his voice and see his face, even if it killed me. I looked down at the tattoo on my inner forearm. I could hear Izzy’s words from her yearbook message. “You’re fearless.” That was her impression of me and had nothing to do with the current reality . . . but I could at least try to live up to it occasionally. Watching Griffin tomorrow would be a true test of strength for sure.The following night, my heart had never beat so fast. I wasn’t ready for this, but I would never be ready. A message on the site prompted me to click on a box to watch the Los Angeles concert live. I must have been early. It said it was set to start at 8:00 Pacific time, so that meant there were still ten minutes or so to go. My hands were clammy and my knees were bobbing up and down.
The wait seemed like forever until the screen suddenly changed. My heart sped up. The show was about to start. I heard the sound of thousands of people screaming as the lighting changed. Then a camera slowly zoomed in on the stage. There was Griffin sitting on a stool with a spotlight on him. He began to sing a cappella, and it immediately gave me chills. My heart came alive at the sound of his crooning. Then the instruments eventually joined in. It was a song I recognized as being one of their more popular tunes.
An enormous amount of pride built in my chest. God, you’re amazing, Griffin. His gritty voice never sounded all that much different from the recorded versions of their songs; he was so good live. I found myself totally glued to the screen, captivated by him, as if I were merely a member of the audience. How I longed to be there. How I longed to feel the energy of that room, the heat, the vibration of the music. How I longed to be watching it all from just backstage, to leap into his arms and tell him how proud I was of him when the show was over. My eyes welled with tears. The longer I watched, the more that inexplicable feeling that had been whispering to me lately grew louder. I had described it to Doc as apathy, not caring whether I was living or dead, but now it seemed I understood exactly what it was. Nothing matters without him. If someone had asked me a year ago what the worst thing that could happen to me was . . . I would have told them it was having a panic attack and dying. If someone asked me today, my answer would be different. The worst thing to happen to me had happened. It was having to live every day knowing Griffin was out there and not being able to experience this life with him. He’d asked me if I believed love was enough, if I would be willing to experience all of the negative things in order to have him in my life. At the time, I truly didn’t know the answer. Now . . . it seemed clear to me. Love is everything. It matters more than fear, more than death. It transcends time. I would literally do anything to have him back in my life, even if it killed me.
Even if it kills me.
That realization was huge.
To truly overcome any fear, you had to be, at least on some level, willing to die for what was on the other side. I was most definitely willing to die for Griffin.
I didn’t know what to do with this revelation.
The beginning notes of “Luca” began to play, and I remembered Griffin telling me how strange it was to sing it after we reunited, since the song had been written out of anger. I was sure it had even more painful feelings associated with it now. The camera focused in on his face, and I noticed him shut his eyes tightly before he began to sing. It was as if he had to gear up for it, to prepare himself to utter those first words and start. I could only imagine what it felt like to have to sing about me over and over when I’d hurt him so much.
