Scott was not me and I was not Scott.
We’d made a lot of music together, but it didn’t necessarily follow that that was the only way we could do music.
Well, shit.
I told myself to shelve this revelation to examine later. Right now my job was to listen to Gretchen.
“He wasn’t violent or anything,” she assured me.
He wasn’t violent.That was a low bar.
She cleared her throat. “But he was actually the one who inspired me to give up dating.” Her tone was, on the surface of things, light. Almost glib. I could see beneath the surface, though. “Well, that’s not fair. I’d already decided. I guess he was the nail in the coffin.”
“So what you are saying is Scott turned you into a crone,” I said. It sounded wrong, though. I’d been trying not to overreact, but I feared I’d come off like I was making light of what had happened to her.
“Well, remember I’m only an aspiring crone. But yeah. But also, not just Scott. He and all who came before him.”
“For the record,” I said, “maybe your encounter wasn’t physically violent, but it sure as hell sounded… psychically violent.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“I kind of want to get out of this water, hunt him down, and break his face.” It was the truth, but in my ongoing attempt to not overreact, I kept my tone calm, even.
“I assume you know that’s a bad idea.” She chuckled. “Though I do appreciate the impulse.”
“I do know it’s a bad idea.” I paused. “I don’t know if you read the tabloid stuff about me smashing a TV.” I didn’t wait for her to confirm whether she had. “I know probably every rock loser who’s trashed a hotel room has said this, but I don’t know what came over me. I’m embarrassed by it. I’d like to say that wasn’t really me. I’ve been thinking about it all summer,and I guess I have to face the fact that itwasme. It wasn’t like that TV smashed itself. Anyway, my point is that while I say I’d like to break Scott’s face, it really is, in this case, a figure of speech.”
“Maybe it’s Scott. He’s the common denominator in these crappy encounters.”
I wasn’t sure if she was making a joke, but I took the proposition seriously. “He wasn’t always like that.” I paused. “Or maybe he was. That’s the upsetting part. Did I just have bad judgment?Yearsof bad judgment? But anyway, I don’t want to turn this around and make it about me. I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry it happened to you at the hands of someone I used to call a friend.”
“Used to call a friend” because this settled it. I’d answered my previous question about whether I should reach out, try to mend fences. Scott and I were done. Hopefully I’d get to the point where I’d remember the good stuff—the crowded van in those early days when we were so full of hope and ambition, the shared awe of our first stadium show, the addictiveeurekafeeling of nailing a song during a writing session.
“No need to apologize,” Gretchen said. “You’re not responsible for him.”
“I know that, but to some extent we’re judged by the company we keep, you know?”
“I actually did judge you, initially, by the company you kept.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I tried not to, mind you, but then youwerekind of a jerk at the airport.”
I couldn’t deny it. I told myself not to try to explain away my behavior again. She’d heard me the first time.
“But then I realized you and Scott are totally different.”
That was interesting. At the risk of continuing to make this all about me, I asked, “How so?”
“You’re not smooth and charming like he was. You’re a lot grouchier. Less appealing.”
I barked a laugh. “Thank you very much.”
“Initially,” she clarified. “But really, you guys are inverses of each other. He’s all smooth and charming, but he’s rotten inside. You’re all…”
“Go on.”
“You’re prickly on the outside, and you can be an asshole, but inside you’re actually very upstanding. Honorable. Kind, even.”
