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Smiling, Jelly hugs me with one arm, and I feel like she understands what I’m trying to say. I am better, and many things in my life are better. And I’m spent, but also oddly energized to take on the world.
Dummy.
Laurel’s chiding sounds loving in my head, as if somehow she’s here with me, watching me shed my old ways and mistakes. I heave an enormous sigh to release the pain that has spread through my chest. She could’ve been here, but I made sure to rob myself of that.
“That’s right,” Jelly murmurs. “Keep breathing.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out. It’s a text, and the sender’s name kicks my pulse into high gear. I tap it open.
The Fox: Last chance, kid. I need an opening band for a show in Seattle on Dec 13. Are you in?
Son of an amp! Disbelief floods me. The universe is giving me a second chance. I must’ve done something right at last.
I send a reply—We’ll be there. I will no longer fight an army of music superheroes on my own. If Vincent deems me worthy of a boost, I’ll take it.
“Hey snakes,” I say to the Vipers as I show Jelly the text conversation. “Prepare to be left in our dust.”
The Project Viper members give me a variety of confused looks, but Jelly reads the texts and jumps to her feet, hooting, arms high above her head. Any second now someone from the hospital staff will come and tell us to shut up, but I laugh anyway, drunk on the swing of events and the upward momentum that’s taking over my life. Wait for me, Laurel. Just a little bit, but please wait for me.
Track 38
Some Wimpy Reunion
Laurel
(13th of December)
I lasted two weeks, then another two. Then Dad “forgot” to keep looking for someone else. I threw up after our first three shows from pure tension, but no one saw it. I cried all night after the first gig, desperate to hop on a plane and go right back to Portland, conflicted about abandoning Dad like that, and disgusted with myself. How much longer would I be terrified of faceless masses? So I stayed and adapted one night at a time.
The bus takes me to our second to last performance this year. Seattle, Washington. Most of the shows have been private parties, but to not waste time, Dad’s manager filled gaps that were longer than four days with public concerts. Much to my relief, he hasn’t booked a single stadium. All the venues have been smaller, between three and seven thousand bodies per evening, but three thousand avid fans of The Fox are still a frenzied crowd to me.
They don’t scare me as much anymore though. I’m not free from the wariness caused by being in public, but I hold my ground when it demands the entirety of my headspace. The anxiety says hello, and I do my best to say goodbye as quickly as possible. I stay in Dad’s shadow and let Hal draw some of the attention.Wow! The nephew of The Fox!I dyed my hair, and I wear my glasses and a face mask. Progress through baby steps, whatever they entail.
Jace reached out to me two weeks ago, asking if ACD could record our song. Hal told me they haven’t discovered yet who leaked it, and his sources at The Label claim they’ll keep looking, but I don’t care much anymore. I told Jace yes, he can do whatever he wants to withhissong. That call made me so glad to have a few small personal victories under my belt. I felt strong while I talked to him. It was easy to tuck away the pain that still singes my heart. I’ll let myself feel it some day after the tour ends. Perhaps after the holiday season runs through. Valentine’s Day sounds like the best time to air out my heartache and let it consume me again. Or to burn it and scatter the ashes.
Scanning the schedule one more time, I notice something curious. “Who’s our opening band?”
“What?” Mom asks from the seat in front of me. “It doesn’t say? Somebody tell me that has been resolved.”
Dad has been going through a series of unfortunate events this tour. Even The Fox is not immune to cancellations, accidents, and some crime-ridden drama. The original opening band for tonight’s show had one of their members arrested for drugs a few weeks back, so Dad’s manager had to hustle to find someone else. I don’t really blame him for forgetting to fill out one line on our agenda. I don’t blame him, but it’s strange and a little unprofessional all the same.
The bus rumbles slowly into the venue’s parking lot. This minute, where the driver has to navigate the tight space with extra caution, always heightens my anxiety. Facing my challenges in slow motion like this threatens to paralyze me, but I force in a breath, then another, and the suffocating weight starts to abate. By the time the bus doors open and Dad hollers, “Living the dream,” I am able to bounce out of my seat and follow him with a somewhat eager expression on my face.
He waits for me by the bus. “You are still here.”
I strap the mask onto my face. “I am just as surprised.”
“I’m not.” Hal bumps my shoulder as he tumbles out of the bus right behind me.
Passing through the venue doors, I catch my hands trembling and stick them in my jacket pockets. My fingers brush against a tiny aluminum case with anti-anxiety pills, another baby step. I don’t take them all the time. Knowing I have them is often enough. Like right now. I thread my arm through Hal’s and congratulate myself a little. I’ve managed a mini-tour after four years of fear.
The equipment is all set up, but the techs keep fine-tuning, continuing the prep until the last moment before the doors open for all. We have about half an hour left before the show. I loiter around, slurping a protein shake and getting in Hal’s way. He’s helping with the sound check, and I’m sitting in the middle of the stage with my back turned to the auditorium, playfully heckling him. He’s new on the job and for once a little nervous. The rest of the crew seems to be getting a kick out of our banter and Hal sticking pieces of grip tape onto my face.
My thoughts detach from my surroundings for a few moments. The opening band should’ve arrived by now. When we got here, I tried to check the venue announcement boards, but there was no information there either. Whoever we got must be so last-minute we’ll surprise the crowd. Hopefully in a good way.
What if it’s ACD? That’s unlikely. Jace already turned my dad down. If it were, though, then I… In my mind’s eye, I see myself running. I’m still that girl. But my heart flares with indignance.Don’t run!it shouts.If you see Jace again, tell him he’s an idiot for sacrificing what you had together for his stupid music. Tell him he’s an idiot for leaving you.And then, in a quiet whisper,Ask him if he still likes you. If there’s something you can be for him after all.
