(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)
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"A week ago you said to me do you believe I'll never be too far? If you're lost just look for me, you'll find me in the region of the summer stars."
Harry | Walking In The Wind
Here the lights were dimmer and the bar was empty. It bore the distinct smell of cigarettes and ammonia and too many warm bodies that were now bygone. An old-fashioned settee upholstered it the same grungy green overlooked the second story balcony from the inside, so it was here we sat, relishing the night breeze and watching the traffic lights turn.
"How's that? Better?"
"Sure." I sighed, setting the bottle of Patron at my foot after refilling our glasses. We toasted to solitude. To peace and quiet. To our acquaintanceship, and to the 'bro-code of confidential inebriation' (as he so graciously put it), before I slumped back in the seat unceremoniously.
"Can I speak frankly?" Joe began.
"Um...sure. Of course."
"You know, Harry..." He ventured, sitting forward with his elbows propped on his knees. "I don't know you very well, but something tells me you're not always this bummed."
I wasn't surprised he'd noticed. Contrary to what I hoped, the more I drank, the more my mood plummeted. But I refilled our glasses anyway.
"Well, Joe, you'd be right." I conceded.
"What's eating you, kid?" It felt like a scene from a movie. He had just asked the quintessential bar question, and although I wasn't looking to be therapized, a small shriveled part of me wanted to rant to anyone who'd listen. Or at the very least: vent.
"It's just not my night, Joe. Y'know?"
"I hear ya. I've been there."
"Oh yeah?"
"Certainly. We all have." He eyed me in earnest, becoming increasingly concerned. "How'd the show go?" I sat up and mirrored his position, resting my arms on my knees and holding my empty glass between my hands.
"Um...it was good...for the most part. It's what happened after the show that's f—ked me, to put it mildly." We chuckled.
"Do tell."
"Ah, it's a bit dicey." I shook my head, taking another shot. "So...um...you've heard of the band before, right?"
"Here and there. Mostly tonight. It's One...One...?"
"Direction. One Direction...don't even ask me why, mate." I grinned. "Anyway...so there are five of us, right?"
"I see."
"There's Niall. He's just the best in my opinion...and the only one who plays a few chords onstage."
"Some band." He remarked.
"Well, we have these musicians who sort of make up for the rest." I deliberated for a moment, then laughed. "F--ks sake, to be honest they do the heavy lifting...make us sound really good, to be fair. There's: Jon, the keyboardist and music director; Sandy with the bass; Dan with the guitar...and then there's Josh the drummer."
"Ah, got it."
"Then there's the rest of uz. Louis is the loudest. Then there's Liam—he used to keep us all in check and now he's just sort of a lad."
"Mm ...that's four so far."
Suddenly, I picked up the bottle and poured another shot. That one went down smoother than I excepted. I think I was becoming numb. Not just emotionally, I think all the shots had literally begun to anesthetize my throat or something. Anyway, after another shot of liquid courage, I went on.
"Then there's Zayn."
"Hmm...I gotta say—and I'm just thinking out loud here—but this Zayn guy sounds like a piece of work already." Joe chuckled, creases forming at the corners of his eyes.
"Fu—k, yes!" I shouted. "Tell me about it!"
"What's the deal with this Zayn character anyway?"
"Everything..." I groaned, rising, stumbling, and pacing. "You nailed it, mate, to be honest. He really is a piece of f—king work, and I never say that about anyone."
"What is he? Slacker? Party animal? Lothario?"
"No...worse." I joked, "He's the quiet type y'know? And, um...like annoyingly clever and self-assured. Vain. Artistic...moody. A real aesthete. The kind of guy you just can't ever figure out, so you're always so desperate to get to know him...or, um, ingratiate yourself or something. Really f--king introverted. Intimidatingly good-looking. Hard to draw into conversation. But when you crack him, I've found that he has so much to say. And um...good sh-t too, not just the average bullsh-t people our age gone on about. He's like...deep, y'know?"
"Sure...I know the type." Joe said, running a hand through his longish ginger hair (probably wondering why I was being so obsessive of someone who was theoretically just a bro or bandmate).
Oddly, I felt safe unloading the baggage collected over the past few years, right here at his doorstep. I wanted everything to go—the things I normally bottled up and allowed to weigh me down and smother me in my sleep. I was ready to give it all up.
There was something about the night, something about the bar, something about the tequila, and something about this quirky man. Ol' Joe Cummings. I barely knew anything about him and probably never would, but in that moment, he represented something beyond himself.
For me, he had become the proverbial bottle in which I was inclined to whisper (no shout) my most appalling truths, and hope someday—maybe years and years later—he would write about them in one of his brilliant books. Hoping he'd just come clean about a wasted singer he met in a bar one night, and reveal in no uncertain terms just how much that male singer loved another male singer. I hoped like hell he would tell the world—or at the very least, tell his children's children's children. Tell anyone, Joe. Tell everyone. I pleaded. And if they don't believe you, then don't worry. I'm perfectly contended knowing that you even tried. But whatever you do...don't die with it. I'm already planning on doing that.
I joined him on the seat again, filling both our glasses. We started talking about how the band was formed and how long we've been at it. He asked about our parents and how they were adjusting to the change since we left home. I must've looked bummed again when I finished speaking, because then he asked,
"You alright?"
"Um, sure. Eh...no, not really." I admitted, taking another shot, nearly choking on the after-burn. When I offered him another he tapped out.
"I think that'll do for me." He huffed. Then, "Speak your mind, kid."
"Um...I don't know, mate. I just honestly don't know what's going on lately. I just have an awful feeling, y'know? About everything." I rubbed my eyes and ruffled my hair, flicking it back out of my face. "I just feel like...for the first time in a while, things aren't going to be ok. Do y'know what I mean?"
"What brought that on?"
"Honestly?"
"Honestly." He nodded, sitting back in the seat. I shifted where I sat, turning to face him and resting my arm along the top of the couch.
"HIM."
"Zayn?" He asked. I nodded. "What's he done?"
"He just..." I swallowed thickly. "I just got the feeling he's walking out. And soon, I think. It's the most f--ked thing to do to a person, y'know? Tell them you're thinking of leaving but not tell them when." I groaned. "I just have this dreadful feeling every time I think of him. Nothing's at ease anymore. I keep thinking I'll wake up one day to news he's gone."
"You think he'd leave without saying goodbye?"
"Mm-hm. I'd be surprised if he said two words to me—or any of uz—beforehand."
"Bit harsh, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but that's Zayn." I shook my head, amazed by how well I knew the ins and outs of him. "He doesn't mean to be harsh, but sometimes he just is. He's just kind of candid, y'know. Or straightforward, I think. And that just leaves no room for bullsh-t. He doesn't like softening the blow, or sugarcoating the facts. And you've got to respect him for it...at the end of the day."
"Why does he wanna take off?"
"He's just different, Joe." I rubbed my face. "He's not like uz. He just wants to be somewhere else right now. He's not really enjoying it anymore."
"What's not to enjoy?"
"Exactly. Anyone would kill for this opportunity, and even if things are stressed sometimes, the highs are high enough to get you through the lows. But he just doesn't see it like that—and that's his truth, and I would never want to judge him for it or try to come in the way of...his pursuing his own definition of happiness. And he doesn't enjoy the style of music as much, I think."
"But you'll miss him if he's gone?"
"I can't begin to tell you how much."
"Have you told him that?"
"Over and over again." I said quietly.
"And what does he say?"
"That he hears me. That he feels the same. That he'll miss me too, but ultimately that he can't take it anymore. He has to getaway."
"You two sound like good pals." At that, I lifted my brows in a sort of shrug.
"Yeah...pals."
"What? More than pals?" Joe puzzled, baiting me for more. I gave him a weary smile, but kept quiet. The room was starting to spin, and although I couldn't be sure of myself if I headed down that road—revealing my darkest stuff to a perfect stranger—part of me was still eager.
"His mom...Zayn's...she, um, gave him some of the best advice I'd ever heard. And it's one of those things where like...it's so simple, but it never occurs to you if you don't stop to realize it. She said, 'If it doesn't make you happy, then just don't do it.' And I thought that was bloody brilliant to be honest."
"How can anyone argue with that?"
"Exactly. She's a sweet lady." I concluded, slumping back and setting the bottle on my stomach.
"You know what my mom told me?" Joe began.
"Wut?"
"Don't come back unless you have a wife and kids." We laughed. "She's been begging for grandkids for years."
"Had any?"
"Never got around to it."
"D'you wants any?" I slurred, gazing over at him, one eye shut. He seemed to contemplate the notion before reaching for the bottle.
"Give me a drop or two of that stuff." I happily acquiesced, hoping he'd catch up to me, although it was impossible. I had utterly out-drank him. He hissed again after this shot, and I could tell it was getting to him when he slumped back in the seat a bit dazed.
"Straight to the head." I said with a cackle. "Love this stuff." I lifted the bottle to the moonlight and studied the label. "Wish I could make it me-self."
"About the kids..."
"Mm-hm." I turned to him again.
"I think I might already have one."
"Wait, you're not sure? Mate...what the hell?" He chuckled to himself, rocking his leg and reminding me of Z in that gesture.
"This chick was nuts. She told me she was pregnant, but that she didn't need me and never wanted to see me again."
"That's nuts. Actually pretty sick, to be honest." I thought aloud. "But why?"
"Because I slept with her sister. She wasn't too keen on that when she found out." He reached for the bottle and I topped us both off.
"Ol' Joe Cummings." I shook my head. "Would never've pegged you for the type." We laughed and exchanged a few war stories about women from our past, although my speech was becoming increasingly less coherent.
After talking about Kendall and Nadine for a while, I realized none of the relationships I'd had recently affected me as badly as the thought of HIM leaving. Then I realized how much he had taken from me, and it started to feel like far more than he had given. And he gave a lot, so that just meant I gave much more than I should have. I gave all. And lately I just felt like his b---h. I never wanted to be anybody's b---h.
By now the bottle was empty and I began to feel loopy. Like my limbs were leaden and my head was full of air. Joe talked for a while about his travels in India and how he'd been bitten by a wild monkey at the Taj Mahal, but it all sort of passed over my head. Soon I was thinking about angry monkeys and what one was supposed to do if one encountered them.
"Nearly took my damn finger off." Was the only lucid thing I heard.
Ahead, the streetlights began to wobble. I saw a few bats wheeling around the sky and worried one would dive through the open balcony doors and latch onto my face. Screw angry monkeys, it was the angry bats you had to watch out for. Eventually a woman came up the stairs and walked about, cleaning the tables and straightening the chairs. It was after 3AM, but Joe assured me Dave rarely closed shop before 5 whenever he was on duty.
"He's just...one of those guys y'know?" I said suddenly, halting Joe's monologue.
"Oh yeah? Who Zayn?" He was beginning to get the picture. "Yeah, I hear ya, kid."
"He has it all." I despaired. "He's so good looking, mate. SO good looking. You oughtta see his face, J-Joe. Joey. Not even kidding when I say, those cheekbones could cut glass. And his eyes...surreal." I cleared my throat. "Good hair, good coloring—that's what my mom always says about him. He just has a way about him... which makes me feel like a sucker, y'know." I poured the last drop of tequila directly from the bottle onto my mouth.
"Attaboy!" Joe chuckled.
"He's got this way about him, y'know? Um...I don't like it when he's not around. When I can't hear...the sound of his voice...or even just to hear him breathe...I go mad. So, whenever he's gone...it's just like he's in my imagination...endlessly. You ever...you ever met someone who feels like summer? Or music? Or sunshine?"
"Sure have."
"How the f--k can someone feel like sunshine? He feels like everything good. I always think...wow, he's better than money, booze, and boobs. Better than fame, mate." I took a deep breath and probably spoke faster than I ever had without stopping, I just needed to get it out,
"Did I ever tell you he smokes? Marlboros. Gold. Keeps 'em in business all by himself. Pack and a half a day whenever he's stressed. And the way he lights them, he does this trick with the lighter—you'd have to be there to see it. But I just have a vision of him on the balcony smoking, that's where he always is. When I wake up, here's there. Making plans without me...we're supposed to be in it together. But he's always stealing away onto the balcony to think about the things that don't concern me. Like engagement rings and wedding dates and carnival birthdays and matching Halloween costumes. Those things don't concern me, so he never lets me ask about them. But SHE doesn't interest him. He goes to be with her just to be seen with her. He's bored of it all, which is why he likes to be alone on the balcony or hang around me when no one else is watching. I'm his secret, I guess. A f—king mistress, mate. I'm his safe place, he says, and he's mine. And when he's good and tired of sleeping, sometimes he'll wake me up and we'll drive around with the windows down, 3,4,5 am, until he feels tired again. When we get home he sleeps on his back. And he sort of sucks his thumb and talks in his sleep but he doesn't even know he does that. Just me. He doesn't speak much when he's upset, so I never know what he's thinking, so I just have to give him some space until he's ready to talk. That's usually never. He just moves on from subjects like they've never happened, no matter how much they might still be hurting you. And now he just wants to move on from everything for good. Like I'm just another one of those subjects he dislikes. He's ready to move on from me." I huffed and shut my eyes. "I'm not ready. I'm not ready, Joe. Don't think I'll ever be, and he's tired of waiting around for me to get a grip. I wish he'd tell me when, or just go now and get it over with so it'd be easier for me. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Either way, the waiting and not knowing is killing me." Joe cleared his throat and I slowly drifted back to reality, realizing I'd barely taken a breath since I started speaking.
"Yeah...I hear ya, man." He paused for a bit, then, "You've had a long one, haven't you? I can tell you're tired. Why don't we get you home, Harry? You'll feel a lot better about all this tomorrow, when you're a little more clear-headed." I had talked so much I couldn't find the energy to mutter another word. I didn't care what I might've revealed, since I knew I'd never see Joe again. It was just the sheer principle of the matter. I had finally said something to someone. I could finally pull my head above water—only barely. But there was still the threat of a tidal wave waiting to crush me in the distance. And it would come whenever HE said goodbye for good.
An hour later I was back in my hotel room and laying across my bed, fully clothed. Someone had taken by boots off and set them carefully at the foot of the bed. I sat up, eyeing the unlit room, watching the shadows dance about me. Suddenly I got up and ran stumbling into the bathroom, vomiting until my knees buckled.
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