The Boy from the Band

Third Time's Bad News

Rick came back from the tour, all ADHD bounce and enthusiasm. The crowds were enthusiastic and receptive so the shows must have gone well.

I knew how important this would be to him. He'd told me once that the stage was the only place where he truly felt safe. I thought that rather odd, it seemed to me he should feel safe when he was with Elizabeth and the kids, or with me. I didn't press him for details, but I wondered what he meant.

I had another trying night at work, one of those where I wondered why I wasn't trying to find a new job. Working with the public is tricky, it can be either an amazing high or a horrific low. The bad nights made me feel like I wanted to kill everyone when I got off work and I hated feeling that way.

The good nights, though, are an adrenaline rush. Being told I was wonderful, being thanked, actually being able to help the customers and feeling appreciated is a high, I imagine that's the way it feels for Rick when he's on stage in front of a receptive audience. I had a musician friend explain it to me this way, audiences generate a tremendous field of energy that gets reflected back to the performer who absorbs that energy. It's almost as good as cocaine he told me and laughed.

Rick comes in my room and pulls me, half-asleep, out of my bed. He picks me up and spins me around, laughing as I cuss at him while I struggle to free myself. When he calms down he lays me on the bed and kisses me.

"Miss me?" he asks me, and I'm tempted to say "no" out of spite even though I have missed him dreadfully. This is the longest we've ever been separated.

"Yes, you know I did, I miss you when you're not around, I get lonely. How did the tour go?"

He lets me go and rolls over, "It was great, not like the old concerts when the band toured, these were smaller and more personal. Taping the Sound Stage show went great and we had a good time. It was strange knowing I was on TV again, haven't done that since the old days. I'm going out again in a month, Harp and I are talking about touring, too, we'll hit the bars around here see if it works if it goes well, we'll do some gigs out of state. What's wrong?" he asks, he must be reading the look of dismay on my face.

"I was just hoping you wouldn't go out again so soon, but I understand, or I'm trying to understand. It's like when we first got together, the old days all over again. Either you're in the studio working or rehearsing, or you're out on the road and I never know when I'll get to see you."

"Yeah, I know I'll be leaving again soon, but it's how I make my living. Weren't you the one who told me about musicians being assholes?"

It's a quote by John Lennon, "Musicians are assholes and the Beatles were the biggest assholes of all." And yes, they can be assholes. There are times when I am glad I am not in his girlfriend's shoes. He loves her, but it doesn't stop him from being with me too. And in addition to being an asshole, he's an addict and an alcoholic. In my more sympathetic moments, I genuinely feel sorry for Elizabeth.

"Yes, you can be an asshole, no one knows better than me, but you're a lovable asshole so you get away with it."

"Oh, be quiet," he took me in his arms, kissed me, "I don't have all that much time and I don't intend to leave without fucking you."

He was home barely a month before he left again. He had time for only one rushed visit with me a week before he left, but at least he made time to see me.

He came in carrying a guitar case that I didn't recognize and I can see that the book he's carrying under his arm is a chord book.

He smiles and sets it down. "Since you're always fooling around with my Takamine, I got you one of your own—and a chord book so you can teach yourself some chords. If you can't learn on your own, take some lessons, I expect you to be able to play something for me when I get back."