The Boy from the Band

Jemima Surrender

This should be a happy time for me, I tell myself, Rick is here and there's little chance of discovery by Elizabeth. And in some ways, it is happy for I have Rick to myself--most of the time.

"What did you tell Elizabeth?" I ask as he crawls into bed next to me.

"I'm helping Neil with his album." He puts his arm around me and pulls me close.

"Does she believe you?" I ask. 

"Yes, because she wants to believe I'm not cheating on her. You're in California. For her the fact that you're so many miles away makes her feel safe."

Poor Elizabeth, I think, but then again, not so poor Elizabeth--after all, she and Rick cheated on their previous spouses before they got together. Rick and I have always tried to be discreet, not wanting to rub things in her face. We tend to keep to ourselves, except when he brings me along on tour. I don't know what he sees in her, but she seems to suit him, but then there's me and that's a riddle l have yet to solve.

I see a side of him I don't like—he enjoys seeing me helpless. Because of the concussion, I have been more pliant and yielding, more willing to let him be in control. He was so sweet and protective in the past when I'd been in the hospital, and eager to help once I got out. He's like that now, but he's hovering, coming close to smothering me when I'd rather he'd not. My head's getting better but he tells me not to overdo it, remember to let myself heal when I say I'd rather go for a five-mile run on the beach.

Lately, he's started staying out late at night, which I don't like but on the other hand, is a welcome break. I'm used to living alone; when he first got here, I needed him, both for help and for reassurance. Now the bruises on my face are healing, they've faded from purple to green to yellow and I don't need a nursemaid. I still look awful, but at least I look and feel a little better.

He woke me this morning when he came in--I looked at my clock and it read six o'clock. I don't know where he'd been, I thought he'd been working with some of his friends at Shangri-la, but he smelled of a soap and shampoo that doesn't belong to me.

I want to say something, but I remember the mantra I made when I first started seeing him. "Remember, if he's cheating on her with you, he'll cheat on you with someone else." What can I say? Rick is appealing and he finds it hard to say no to anyone, especially the opposite sex. I don't own him any more than he owns me.

When it comes to moving to New York I'm not so sure, especially since I don't understand why he wants me to. It was hard when he left, we had been together six years and I was so in love that I could not see being with anyone else. But it was starting to make sense, I began to understand that it was good that I was away from him. Sleeping with Bob Weir helped me see that a new beginning was possible and for that, I owe him a debt of gratitude. Rick still holds my heart, but I have had a chance to see that yes, I can live without him.

And now he's back.

I haven't been out at night yet, but I'd like to go to the cantina the next time Rick goes out. I need to leave my apartment; I have been holed up here too long. I'm a social person, not a hermit.

I've noticed that noises and strange lights and shadows make me nervous. Rick seems to understand because he doesn't tease me about it. I've always been fearless, and I do not like this new feeling of being afraid.

He's sitting on the sofa, noodling on his guitar, trying out some chords for a new song. I'm stretched out, resting, trying to forget that I have a headache, but his guitar is soothing me and I'm starting to feel better.

He hits a wrong note and makes a face. I start giggling, I can't help myself, the bad note and his expression are priceless.

"Stop that," he says and swats me on my thigh, but he's smiling.