Page 81 of The Comedown

The pounding is amplified by the screaming and chanting now, making it hard to focus.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. I just…got worried. Why didn’t you answer the first time I called?”

“We were out back watching David cook pizza in their new outdoor pizza oven.”

Even through the madness of whatever’s happening outside, my heart still aches at the mental image that one sentence creates. A stable full-time home with a loving, hands-on father—things I wish I could’ve given Holter, but didn’t.

“You’re still coming for dinner, right?” he asks, and I shake my head even though he can’t see it.

“Something came up and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away now. You guys go ahead and eat without me, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m at the casita, in case you decide you want to sleep there instead.” The casita we rent is a guesthouse on David’s estate. He was the only producer that’d work with me after my fallout with Bodee, and for as long as we’ve been making albums together, our families have been close. David and his wife, Kim-ly, became good friends when I had none, and our boys, only three months apart in age, basically grew up together. Living a driveway away from each other, they’re more like brothers than best friends. Although I’m eternally grateful for all of David’s help—he’s done so much for not only me, but Holter as well—sometimes living so close to him and his family makes me…sad. It makes me envious. Extremely envious. And I’d never admit this to anyone, but it makes me ashamed—ashamed for not being able to achieve the same setup for my son, ashamed for even being envious in the first place, just ashamed overall.

“Hey?” I swallow down some of my nerves. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom. Will you tell Julian I finally beat the level we were working on yesterday?” He says something away from the phone, then, “Fine. Tai and I beat the level.” I can practically hear his eye roll.

Again, I shake my head without him seeing, but say, “Yeah. I’ll tell him.” I don’t even think Julian and I are speaking right now. We left on bad terms—again. I need to kick my habit of dramatic exits already.

I need to find somewhere worth sticking around for first.

We hang up and I stare at the closed door, listening to the ruckus outside grow louder and louder.

Why is Julian doing this? Even with an impromptu concert, we still have to give out refunds for tonight’s cancelled show. I played my set, sure, but the headliner didn’t. At the very least partial refunds will be given. So, why bother with a free concert? And a dangerous one at that?

With my phone still in hand, I plug in different hashtags, finding what I’m looking for after only three, and someone’s livestream of what’s happening just outside fills the room instantly. Standing on top of his bus is Julian. No, not Julian. It’s Julez up there. I can see it in his eyes even with his hair partially covering them. He’s shirtless and soaked, pointing at the crowd below, encouraging them to rap his lyrics along with him. His lips are moving so fast, they’re a blur on the screen, and for a moment, I forget I’m mad at him and get caught up watching him like a fan would.

Julian’s songs may not be all that impressive, but the way he delivers them is. He’s quick and accurate when he raps, and when he’s sober—or at least partially so—he could charm the gown off a nun with his charisma alone.

I was busy touring with another artist at the time Julian’s label wanted our song recorded, so we had to do our own separate parts individually. I’m glad it worked out that way because the lyrics of our song…they were written for market. Right now, that’s what sells and sells well—sex, individuality, and answering to absolutely no one in the pursuit of both. After getting to know Julian better, I don’t think that’s the song I’d write for us now. I’d write something much more personal, more meaningful. A slower, raspier melody about the constant juxtaposition between the Julez everyone else sees and the Julian I see, and how undeniably jarring it is when the side of the coin flips to reveal one extreme personality to the next.

While most of today was Julian in his best form, tonight was all Julez. Drugged up, harsh, pissed off at the world. I don’t blame Julian for being pissed off, just how he handled it. Or more accurately, how he chose not to handle it. Today was just a lot. A lot of emotions, with no real resolutions.

He found his resolution—escapism via drugs. He got to disassociate while I was left on my own, feeling…helpless. I felt so helpless today, not only at the children’s hospital but also with Julian. Being helpless is a feeling I hate with a passion. A feeling I took back fourteen years ago and fight like hell not to lose myself to anymore.

Faced with that helplessness again, I retreated to my safe place the only way I know how—alone. Pushing Julian away earned back some control, but then when that wasn’t enough, I lashed out. Facing off against Julian onstage like I did wasn’t my smartest idea, especially using those lyrics. People already think we’re fucking. I didn’t need to fan the flames stoking the rumor mill. Not those flames or the ones brewing between me and Julian because there is something there. Something even I can’t deny. If there wasn’t, he wouldn’t get so damn angry at just the idea of me having a date. The only date I have tonight is with my own bed. A bed I would’ve tossed and turned in thinking about Julian, worrying the whole time about what I’d be coming back to in the morning. If there’d even be anything to come back to.

And that was before this whole concert-on-top-of-a-wet-bus situation.

“How close can you get us to the other bus?” I ask Antonio, tucking the smallest folding pocketknife I own into my front pocket on my way up the aisle.

“Less than an inch,” he says confidently, so I have him do it, helping guide him through the tightly packed crowd to close the several feet separating the buses.

We work together to open the emergency exit window in the roof, then before I pull myself up through it, I tell him to lock it after me so no one can get in. It’s not like anyone can actually climb the bus, but just in case.

Once on top of the bus, I stay perched down, scanning the massive crowd of drenched fans singing, dancing, and drinking in the rain. Everybody’s having a genuinely good time and I can understand why Julian did this, because sometimes people just need to let go and have fun in the simplest of ways. Money isn’t everything, and although it helps make life easier, it definitely doesn’t make you happier.

Surfboards and inflatable boats—some empty, some with people in them—all gyrate aggressively as they’re shuffled between different hands over people’s heads. I shake my own head, getting lost watching it all. They’re fucking crazy.

We’re all fucking crazy. I should’ve left when I had the chance.

With Julian’s back to me, I remain still, secretly watching him as he continues rapping acapella.

He’s why I stayed. Even now, I can’t leave.

I can… I just don’t want to.

Slowly and carefully, I push to standing, smiling when the crowd thunders even louder than the rainstorm overhead.