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Not for me anyway.
Yet, even as Tarryn ate and chatted about the role that was surely going to be her biggest break, I couldn’t keep my brain from drifting toward him. Every time Tarryn mentioned her attractive costar, Jackson Stark, I thought about Dylan. When she brought up the uncomfortable couch in her hotel room in the city, I thought about Dylan. When she told me she went out for burgers with B. Davis and his wife, I thought about Dylan.
He was plaguing my mind worse than he ever had before. Back when I had just been a fan, before I knew his body with my hands and mouth. I had been obsessed before, but now, I was taken, possessed and powerless, and it wasn’t a good thing. I knew it wasn’t, but what could I do to stop it from happening when I was already this deep into being his proverbial captive?
Later that night, after watchingScreamand eating our weight in jelly beans and chips, Tarryn decided it would be a good idea to reacquaint ourselves with the old swing set in the backyard. It was close to one a.m., several hours after my parents retired to their room. But I was a night owl—always had been—and I more than welcomed a little midnight January air.
So, we tiptoed down the stairs past my parents’ bedroom and through the back door in our wool coats, the way we had done a thousand times in our youth. Back when acting was only a dream for her and life seemed to be chock-full of possibilities for me. We ran over the frosty grass in our pajamas, giggling in the hazy glow of the moon, and clambered onto the swings. As we pumped our legs and gained momentum, I silently thanked my dad for using heavy-duty chains when he’d built the set decades ago. They wouldn’t have held us now otherwise, and we would’ve missed out on many memories just like this.
“I need some music,” she declared, dragging her slippered feet along the frozen ground to stop the swing. She dug a gloved hand into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. Then, tapping along the screen, she settled on something and let the quiet voice of Ricky Martin fill the night. “Oh myGod,” Tarryn said, throwing her head back as she kicked her feet out toward the sky. “Do you remember how much I loved him?”
My eyes lifted to the tree above, its naked branches jittering in the breeze as Ricky Martin crooned about livingla vida loca. I remembered those days when Tarryn had been obsessed with him. She would camp outside the concert venues for hours, waiting for his tickets to go on sale. Twice, I had gone with her to see Mr. Martin's concerts, and while he wasn't my speed, the shows were entertaining enough. The music was fun and catchy, and Tarryn had always had the greatest time, swooning and screaming like a teenybopper, even into her late teens.
But that poppy dance music was never my number one. Sure, I could listen to the Backstreet Boys every now and then, and playing through Hanson'sMiddle of Nowherewas always a good time. And the Jonas Brothers? They were my number one exception.
But nothing made my heart soar the way it had the first time I flipped the channel to MTV and saw Angels of the Silences fill the screen.
“You should come out to the set sometime,” Tarryn said as Ricky Martin faded into Audioslave.
I scoffed, keeping my eyes on the ground. “I wish,” I muttered.
The Breckenridge series was being filmed primarily in Fort Crow, Scotland. There were only a few other countries in this world I cared to travel to, and Scotland was one of them.
“I mean, unless you could fly with me …”
“I could hire someone to fly with you,” she offered, stopping her swing to sit beside me. “And I would. You know that.”
“I know,” I said, then released a sigh, although it did nothing to ease my nerves.
With my lack of sight, it was hard to trust others, and I never traveled alone. Unless it was a very controlled situation, and even under those circumstances, there was still room for error.
Like when I had taken the train into the city to meet Tarryn's agent at Penn Station for the award show. I got lost on my way up to 7th Avenue, ended up on 33rd Street, and nearly got into the wrong car. The humiliation of the situation had been enough for me to swear off tryingthatagain for a while.
“It was just a suggestion,” Tarryn finally said, and from the disappointment in her voice, I knew I'd let her down. “I know you've been wanting to see Scotland.”
“Maybe I can fly back with you the next time you're here,” I offered hopefully.
“How would you get back?”
I sighed again. “I don't know.”
Tarryn didn't push the subject. She never did. She understood it was just the way things were for me, and she accepted it even if it did make her sad. And I understood that. I could only imagine the things that went through her head—the things she'd never say. How small my world was. How much I stunted myself by not venturing out into the bigger, scarier world alone. How I was living in a prison, unable to reach my full potential. And I knew all of those things were likely true, but I couldn't help the boundaries that had been put on me from birth. The boundaries that hindered me from spreading my wings and finding the height of my true ability to thrive in this world.
The melancholy set in, heavy and horrible, and the differences between my best friend and me were all of a sudden too much. Where we used to be so alike, time had changed it all, and I didn't like it. It was uncomfortable and sad and lonely.
And then Chris Cornell turned into the man who had once moaned my name.
“The colors of the night,
Deepen in your wake.
It's too dark for me to see,
Too sad for me to hate.
Where do you go, my dear,
When the world grows dim?
