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“Pretty much. But to answer your question, no. I haven’t seen anyone other than Eve.” I sigh, awash in sudden sadness.
“So much of touring feels fundamentally incompatible with companionship. You’re in a different city every night. You never know what time it is. You’re living off stale crackers and hummus buried deep in a fridge somewhere. It doesn’t exactly give you the tools you need to build a life.”
Lyndsey looks at me with her eyes full of sympathy. “I know the feeling.”
For an imperceptibly small moment, her hand hovers above mine; she places her palm over my hand. Her palms are rough from hauling gear, but they are warm. She runs her thumb along the top of my hand, and my breath catches in my throat.
She holds the door to the venue open for me, and I slip into the green room.
“You should get your in-ears,” Lyndsey suggests.
I nod. “Good idea.”
That night, I played better than I had in years, fueled by a noxious emotional cocktail of heartbreak and confusion that I poured into my instrument. I anticipated Priya’s every move; our harmonies melded together seamlessly.
Apollo and I grinned as we wielded our instruments, dancing around each other perfectly in sync. This was why I loved playing music, the feeling of perfect synchronicity, of being right where I was supposed to be when my personal life was in shambles. The stage lights pounded onto my shoulder blades.
We decided to close each show with “Mal-Haze,” as the encore. Our label released a special vinyl 7-inch to commemorate it, which was available at the merch table.
I chug a water bottle while Priya thanks Philadelphia and stomps on my loop pedal to prepare for the next song. I strum the opening chord and wink at Apollo, who nods back. We playback-to-back, flipping to face each other just as the chorus hits. We walk, matching our strides to meet Priya at the microphone so we can harmonize as she sings:
It’s just one of those days/
Break me out of this constant/
Mal-haze/
It gets me feeling like my mind is in chains.
I end the song with a power cord and breathe a sigh of relief as the house lights go down.
“Thank you, Philly! We love you!” Priya yells, blowing kisses to the crowd as we run offstage.
Lyndsey stands in the wings and hands us a water bottle, which we all promptly chug. Lyndsey crouches down and helps Priya unzip her boots and step out of them. She grabs the boots and grins.
“I think that was your tightest show yet,” Lyndsey notes. “Y’all were a machine.”
“We had band-brain!” Henry says. He is vibrating with excitement and adrenaline.
“We sure did.” Apollo sighs, high fiving each of us. Lyndsey hands him a towel to wipe the sweat off his head. “You’re the best. Thank you so much,” Apollo says.
“Anytime,” Lyndsey replies.
“Well, I’m glad we made it work, especially with Vince’s little tiff out in the lobby,” Priya notes.
“It wasn’t a tiff! Vince got dumped!” Henry hoots.
“I was the one who broke up with her, for your information,” I say.
“Keep telling yourself that, man,” Apollo says.
“Well, if you broke up with her, you did a shit job considering she flew across the country to see you,” Priya adds.
“That wasn’t my fault!” I lament.
“It did seem like a genuine misunderstanding,” Lyndsey says.
“Thank you, Lyndsey.”
