Wait until the music's over

51. Elvis, the beard and Schroedinger's kisses (Pt. 1)

"I'm in love again, been like this before..." maybe I shouldn't have put that one on the tape, too blunt. Well... I just shoved my tongue in her mouth, so I'm pretty sure that it's impossible to be any blunter than that. Just... It's been hours and I can only assume that the stupid grin that's plastered on my face ever since I said goodbye to Angie is still there. I look up and see myself in the mirror, humming like a poor fool. I assumed correctly, fuck. I keep on replayig in my mind all the steps of our conversation from the moment she woke up that lead to us kissing and... and stop, that's all I can do while I throw my things in the suitcase, ready to hit the road and leave this house again, this time with a heavy heart. Yes, because whereas before my house was just some sort of depiction of my frustrations, of my loneliness and everything I hadn't been able to be and obtain, even though I had always wanted it, now it has an added value: the memories, pleasant moments that I've built with the girl I love, the turn of events that has led me to declare my feelings, albeit not with words. There had been many opportunities to do that before: in each other's arms on the sofa, in front of a bonfire at the beach, on the terrace of Pike Place Market, on top of the Space Needle, on that bench of Balboa Park, even the other night on the dancefloor, and all of those situations were certainly more romantic and appropriate; but, even so, I wouldn't change anything about those stolen kisses at the bus station. But it must also be said that, had I made a move before, I wouldn't have to wait a week for the second round. This morning, for a second, I thought about not letting her get on that fuckin' bus and taking her back here at home, but Angie's got university and work and I'm not going to get between her and all the responsibilities she cares so much about. Besides I didn't want to look like a sentimental ass. Not yet.

Somebody knocks at the door. I zip my bag, pull it over my shoulder, take one last look around – trying to memorize as much detail as possible – and then go out.

"You're all set?" Mike flinches a little, maybe taken aback by my quick exit.

"He's all set" Jeff, by his side, answers for me.

"I can confirm, I'm ready to go!"

"And he's happy too" adds the guitarist.

"Yeah" Ament nods.

"Why are you happy?" Stone appears on the stairs.

"Lemme guess: Angie didn't leave!" McCready ventures a comment.

"Is she coming to Oakland with us?!" adds my roommate.

"She's following us for the rest of the tour!"

"God, I hope she's not!" Stone gives Mike a nasty look then wickedly smiles at me "Somebody else thinks differently though, right?"

"The fuck are you talking about? What's with Angie?" I try and play dumb but I bet that if I still had my bedroom's mirror in front of me right now I'd see the same fuckin' smile. So I think I'm failing miserably.

"Where is she?"

"I don't really know exactly, at 7 o'clock in the morning I put her on a bus to Seattle, so I guess she's still there. Well technically it was a but to Los Angeles, then from there she had to take another to Seattle. She must already be there by now. On the second bus. I think" honestly I thought she'd call from there already, I mean, I'd have called her as soon as I could, at the first stop. What did I say about the sentimental ass? Angie's more pragmatic, more practical, she must have thought it was more logic to call further on during the journey, maybe halfway through. Maybe she thought I was resting before leaving and didn't want to bother me. As if it can be possible to sleep after what happened.

"Uh. She left then?" Jeff asks as if he wasn't that convinced.

"Yeah, sure"

"So why are you happy?" Gossard insists, followed by his friend.