(Even When It's Not) About You

Watching As I Fall

After only a week in Portugal, Rob could feel his spirit starting to center again. The morning after he walked out on the band, he'd taken an Uber to the airport. It still amazed him that he could do something like take an Uber through L.A. and not be recognized. Maybe fifteen years ago it would have been a different story. But 2017 Rob Bourdon was a silent band member in the background, and he took a silent ride to the airport as well. The Uber driver didn't even really look him in the face, and they'd only exchanged token pleasantries when Rob entered and exited the vehicle.

The decision to ultimately wind up in Portugal had been a surprise, the name of the country rolling off his tongue quietly as he leaned over the counter and kept his voice between him and the airline employee. She'd only lifted an eyebrow when he asked which flight combination had a first class seat available at the last minute, and Rob handed over his American Express without flinching when she'd named Portugal as his destination. For the rest of the time he waited on the flight, his backpack between his knees, he sat with a hat pulled low over his eyes and used his new iPhone to reserve a small cottage on the coastline for a week. It had seemed like plenty of time to decide if that was where he wanted to stay indefinitely, and once he'd seen the surrounding area, Rob was sold.

The one bedroom place was right on the water in a more rural location than he'd been expecting, but that was a pleasant surprise. Local markets had fresh produce and meats, and the Airbnb provided the essentials. On the second day he'd taken the train to the nearest city, bought some clothing and visited a surf shop. While he waited a few days for his gear to be delivered, he explored the beach town and found everything still, quiet and peaceful. Simple.

He'd already extended his stay to December, and past that, he'd decide then.

He sat now on the bedroom balcony overlooking the red cliffs and the turquoise ocean, sipping a cup of coffee he'd learned to make in the pour over carafe. Accustomed to making meals for one, Rob found it liberating to have to walk to the market each morning for supplies for the day, since his cottage had only a small icebox in the tiny kitchen. This morning he'd walked down at sunrise, nodding his head at the merchant and thinking he needed to at least learn some simple Portugese. Mike would learn it fast. He's so good with languages.

The thought drifted through his mind and he could clearly picture Mike practicing the various languages of places Linkin Park had performed so he could greet the crowd in their native tongue. It was always a source of laughter between him and Chester, Mike struggling to pronounce each word with perfection while Chester teased him. Rob had watched the two of them more times than he could count from his quiet spot in the corner, warming up on a practice pad. If he hadn't known about their affair, it would have looked like two best friends giving each other a hard time.

I did know, though. It still blows my mind the guys have no idea. Even with how the past few months have gone, they're in the dark. Even after the show, after that song. God, that song. Rob focused his eyes on the ocean and tried to forget the utter heartbreak in Mike's voice when he was singing to Chester. He'd been backstage with the rest of the guys, with Talinda and Anna, Elisa and Heidi and Linsey, and while Anna held Talinda, the rest of them watched Mike in silence, something Rob was particularly skilled at doing. He'd seen Brad wipe away tears and Linsey rub Phoenix's back, all while Mike poured out his heart in front of them. If they didn't get it after that, they never will.

The whole point of leaving was to get away from the constant thoughts of Mike, of Mike and Chester, of where the band was headed. So far he was going longer stretches of time without worrying over those things, but it was hard to completely shut them out. It was hard to not think about Mike and the sharp cheekbones that had been uncovered in the wake of grief. It was hard to not wonder if he was drunk, or high, or simply in bed without the ability to function. Rob felt guilty for leaving him, but Mike hadn't wanted his company anyway, he reasoned. He could have told me. I could have understood. I guess could have told him I knew, and maybe he would have felt better. I should tell him.