Listen Through the Wall

'cause waiting for it gets so boring

I was getting really good at my fake smiles.

Somewhere along the line, between being a grumpy 15-year-old who was mad at everyone in sight, and now, I'd gotten really, really good. I didn't even think about it anymore.

Sometimes, at events like this one, I'd have whole conversations with another artist or industry person I'd just met, and realized I couldn't fucking stand them. But the whole time, I'd smiled. I'd gotten along with them. I'd exchanged numbers with them! But I was disgusted.

I hated a lot of the people I met.

My boyfriend sat beside me, schmoozing a producer he'd just begged me to introduce him to. The two of them laughed in an obnoxious, vapid way, and I turned away, sick. There was nothing real here.

I could drink, but that never ended well at these things. I'd had two already, and they left me fuzzy, slow, and sloppy. I needed to clear my head.

I looked around. There wasn't a clear path to the bathroom. I had to walk right down the main aisle of the event venue to get to the bathroom, and risk giving every other person in the room an opportunity to approach me.

My boyfriend reached out and touched my thigh, said someone inane that included both me and the guy he was schmoozing. I smiled, but this time it felt more like a grimace. Sure, I remember that one time on that guys boat. Yes, we're all such good friends. Uh huh, please listen to my boyfriends new single.

I rubbed my eyes and turned away from him, moving my thigh out from under his grip. He didn't even notice.

I used to be tough. I used to tell people like him to fuck off. Somewhere along the line I got... tired. Complacent. It became easier to just smile and not be the Billie Eilish, tough girl musician who didn't give a fuck.

I stretched my neck and again looked to see if I could get to the bathroom unnoticed. It was crowded, a group forming at the bar, with the bathroom on the other side.

I pushed my hair off my shoulders, and noticed a woman noticing me across the room. Great. We made eye contact, and I waited for her to come closer.

She did. With all the confidence in the world, she threw back her long brown curls, and headed right for me. I felt the old familiar smile creeping in.

She reached me, and I took in her short black dress, warm tan skin, and friendly vibe. "Hi! I'm such a fan. Could you sign something?"

It was so abrupt, I stuttered. Besides, this kind of thing just wasn't done at events like this. The gushing was much more formal, and most everyone was too proud.

My eyes narrowed as I stared up at her. "Sure?"

"It's for a tattoo," she smiled. "Maybe we could do it in the bathroom?"

"Oh," I frowned. "Oh, sure."

I turned to my boyfriend. "I'll be back."

He might've grunted in my direction.

The girl took my hand, pulling me to my feet. She pulled gently, her grip warm, but not sweaty, her hands soft. I followed, still feeling fuzzy and out of it, but coherent enough to follow her, to duck my head past other people as we passed them on the way to the bathroom.

We reached it, then she pulled me through the door, down the hallway past groups of girls talking, and into a stall. She locked the door behind me.

She leaned back against the wall across from me, smiling slightly. "You okay?"

I stared at her, blinking again and again, trying to clear my head. "Um... I don't know."

"Take your time," she murmured softly, turning her head away from me. "I can leave."