The Boy from the Band

New Year's Eve 1983

I do not hear from Rick after we return to the U.S. I know their tour schedule, and he could make time to call me if he wants to--in the past he's always found time. Maybe this is a sign he really means we are over and I can mourn him and get on with my life.

I'm upset, but I try to hold it together at work and school. I put on a smiling face for the patients, hold their hands, listen to their stories. I know what it's like to lie in a hospital bed and it can be a lonely feeling. I appreciate nurses now that I'm becoming one. 

I save my tears for at night when I'm alone. It's worse at night. I stare at the phone thinking maybe he'll call, but it doesn't ring. I wait for the click in the lock and the sound of his boots on the stairs. Nothing.

I have dinner with Kat and Mac, putting on a brave face. I'm fine, I tell them, this will hurt for a while but I will get over him. I'm thirty-one, I'm no longer a lovesick girl in her twenties that fell in love at first sight. I'm a woman and I realize that I've been in a toxic relationship with a married man. Never mind the fact that I was in love with him and he meant the world to me, that he taught me so much that I didn't know. That he's kind and generous and almost everything I could ask for. Almost.

Bill calls, and I tell him that this is a bad time to ask me out—Rick has broken up with me and I'm hurting. To him this is good news, he thinks he's willing to deal with the fact that I'm still in love with another man. Does he want to go out with someone who's upset about the loss of someone they were in love with?" I ask him.

Evidently yes, he thinks so, but one disastrous date is all we have. He's angry with me, I don't blame him but I also warned him. I'll date again when I'm feeling stronger, but not now.

I hear from someone that the Band is taking a break for Christmas, a much-needed break. I hope he'll call, but then again, no I don't. In the old days he'd come over and tell me about the tour, how each date went, which was the best, which was disastrous. Anyway, when the phone doesn't ring, I'm both upset and relieved. I feel like I've dodged a bullet.

December 23: It was a long night at the hospital and I'm glad to hit the bed, but someone starts knocking at my door and won't quit. I pull on my robe and go downstairs and find him standing there, snowflakes in his black hair.

"Invite me in, babe?" he asks and gives me that smile, the one I can never resist. So, against my better judgement, no, that's not true, to my delight I let him in and we dash up the stairs laughing because we cannot help ourselves.

"Merry Christmas," he says and shoves a small velvet covered box in my hand. I stare, looking at him and then the box. "Open it," he insists.

We sit on the sofa and I the little box and find a gold ring with a lapis lazuli stone veined in gold. "I found it in a pawn shop," he tells me. He takes the ring and puts it on my right ring finger, "Do you like it?"

"I love it," I reply, "but you..."

"Something else," he says and shoves a packet into my hand, "We're playing in San Francisco on New Year's Eve. I got you a plane ticket, and a ticket and backstage pass."

"That's smart," I look at him, not pleased, "With Elizabeth there?"

"We're playing with the Dead for New Year's Eve. I figured you could find someone to take care of you."

"You mean Bob Weir, don't you? Isn't that a little unfair, what if Bob has a date?" I'm secretly hoping he doesn't, I'm calling him as soon as I wake up tomorrow. Or rather, today.

"If you don't want to be backstage, don't use the pass. You have enough friends; you should be okay."

"Like I was okay for the Last Waltz?" That's a little unfair, he wasn't happy that I slept with Eric Clapton, maybe sleeping with Weir is different, I don't know.