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“So if we have fish tonight, you’ll know why,” he says sheepishly after we say goodbye to the Drexel family and head back to the truck.
It’s easy to see why Todd has made his home here. It’s not just the clean air of Taos or the gorgeous blue skies. It’s the friends he’s made—friends who’ve become his family.
It’s a far cry from the island I made myself to be the last two years. Sure, I met up with other #vanlife people wherever I went, but mostly, I was alone. And some nights, I was lonely. Formally adopting Sarge after I found him on the side of the road came naturally. I missed being needed.
We head to town where Todd surprises me with a bag of handmade chocolates that we enjoy with hot piñon coffee on the patio. But if I thought we could enjoy our time together in peace, I’m proven wrong when one person recognizes me, followed by a few others.
They’re polite, but they’ve whipped out their phones; some ask to take photos with me, while others are filming me from where they stand across the street. It’s something I’ve forgotten in the two years since I left Harrison, that feeling of being in a fishbowl.
“We can head back,” Todd says as he collects my empty cup and tosses it into the trash receptacle.
“I’m okay. Really,” I say. “I’ve never been to Taos, and I hate to leave without checking it out, at least.”
“Are you sure?” he asks as another person takes a picture of us.
“I’m sure.” I can’t hide forever. I’m also not going to lie about missing being onstage again or being noticed. I miss the energy exchange from people who get me and my music, the gift of their time for my music.
But I also can’t deny my decision to stay and be stared at is a middle finger to Harrison, who made me believe I was nothing without him, that only because of him did we win those awards or that people would listen to our music. The songs were mine, from the melody to the chord progressions to the lyrics. I’m not going to deny his contributions to the work we created all those years, but to claim that our success was only because of him is wrong.
I organized you, Dev, he used to say.Without me, you’d still be busking at the Promenade for pennies.
I take a deep breath as I push the sound of his voice out of my head. It took me the last two years to unlearn that belief, but I learned it. Now I have to believe it.
“You okay?” Todd asks a few minutes later when we stop in front of a souvenir shop. “Because you’re frowning.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He plops a baseball cap that says Taos on it on my head. “That looks great on you. Cute.”
“Thanks. I might get it.”
“Let me,” he says as my phone rings.
“Let’s not and say you did.” I glance at the phone display. “It’s Carl.”
“We figured out what’s wrong with the camper , and luckily we have the part in stock,” he says. “We can start working on it right now, and we should be done with it by Monday at the latest.”
“That sounds great.” It’ll give me the weekend to spend with Todd.
“I’ll call you when all the work’s done,” Carl says before hanging up.
“Carl says he could get the camper fixed by Monday,” I say. “You sure it’s okay for me and Sarge to stay the weekend?”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to pay for this and get a few things.”
“Go ahead.” Todd takes a seat on a bench in front of the shop. “I’ll stay out here with Sarge.”
I add a few t-shirts to my purchases and check out, grateful that no one recognizes me the moment I put on the baseball cap and sunglasses. With the weekend music festival, I’m sure people are probably assuming that I’m reuniting with Harrison. He’s been quite vocal about being open to working together in every interview while I haven’t granted a single interview, much to Chloe’s disappointment that I set things straight.
She’d been relieved to hear from me last night, even more, determined to get me in the line-up of artists for the weekend. Maybe it’s because I ran into Todd again, or I’m tired of hiding away, but this time, I didn’t even argue with Chloe. If she can get me in, why not? What have I got to lose?
It’s not like I haven’t missed performing in front of an audience. I have. I never stopped writing songs or even recording them, having bought a 4-track recorder before I set out in my camper so I could record every idea that came my way. It took a while—about eight months—but the moment the words came back, it was like coming home again.
Todd sits on a bench with Sarge by his feet when I emerge from the souvenir shop. He looks up from his phone.
“I was thinking maybe we could go for a short hike with Sarge,” he says. “Maybe along the gorge.”
