Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
All that rapid-fire adrenaline cruising my veins like it’s a sunset night in a classic car with the top down? It wears off just like that, and I feel like shit again.
Even worse than I did last night when I had my head over a bus bathroom toilet, hoping I wouldn’t poop myself at the same time. Yeah, major life low point right here.
How did it come to this?
The breakup of the band, but more so, the steady decline of a friendship that I thought would stand the test of goddamn time. I’ve done everything I could to not turn into the stereotypical asshole, and things still turned out like this. We’ve held it together for years in a fucked up industry, living a life that can be really hard and navigating the intricacies of fame and success. Up until the cracks started showing, I really thought we were still just two kids, best friends forever through whatever was coming, even if we weren’t going to do this forever.
I unfold the piece of paper. It’s clearly been torn from a notebook, and it also clearly has been read.
I let out a groan to end all groans and sink down into the nearest chair. Bile surges up the back of my throat, coating my tongue with a bitter, foul taste. I’ve had enough of that last night, thank you very much. I don’t want to ever see another gas station or piece of chicken again.
My eyes scan the handwriting. It’s neat but hasty, and I recognize it immediately from the writings in her journal.
Who handwrites anymore? I love that she does. I love so many things about her.
All without even knowing just how much I did and do. It’s a big reality check. I knew I appreciated Carissa, but I didn’t realize just how often I looked for her in a crowd. How I notice her smile first thing, how the sound of her laughter never fails to make me want to laugh too, and how her eyes sparkle, her wit shines, and her kindness shines even brighter.
Also, just how all-around beautiful she is as a person, on the inside and out.
I know that.
I’m just knowing it in a different way now.
It’s hard not to when someone wraps their whole body around your whole body and holds you like their touch alone can heal you. Without even knowing it, she reached way down into my chest and held my soul.
I scan the page with bleary eyes. There’s something wrong with them. They’re hot, aching, and glistening.
You did the one thing I asked you not to do. It wasn’t the song. It was the betrayal after it. I know you didn’t mean it. You were just trying to do something good. I’m taking a cab and heading back home. It’s unprofessional, but please let this serve as my resignation. Though I’m not sure it’s needed, since we both know this is the end of more than just the tour.
Please don’t look me up. Don’t show up at my house. People know you. They’ll follow. I don’t want that. I’m only sort of annoyed, and I’ll get over it. You’ve always told people that they’re perfect the way they are. Dig down deep and find the roaring spirit that the rest of the world loves. Find your fearlessness. Find your passion. You think you’ve given the world everything already, but you’re wrong. You have so much left. So much untapped talent and wonder. No matter what changes, you’ll be fine. I made up your bunk even though you’re not going to be on the bus tonight. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for there, if you’re looking for it at all. As I said, it’s yours.
It was always yours.
She didn’t sign it. She didn’t have to.
I barely resist tucking my head between my legs and doing the recovery breathing thing. I’m more of a rip off the bandage, stumble into the great unknown, face the world with my head forward and down, charge like a bull type.
It suddenly hits me how tired I am. Not just tired, but utterly exhausted.
I find just enough energy to fold the paper up into little squares and jam it into my pocket before I head out of the dressing room. Security flanks me from the hallway all the way back onto the bus.
I don’t know where everyone else is, but I’m the only one in the spacious tour bus. It’s actually quite shocking how huge the thing is. A home away from home.
Has home ever truly felt like home?
Have I put any effort into making it feel that way?
Was I always focused on leaving, focused on my next move, and focused on the outside because I didn’t truly want to venture into the inside? The world says if you’re too much inside, you’re up in your head. If you’re too sensitive, you need to grow a thicker skin. Too honest and too yourself, you must be putting on a front because everyone lies and everyone hides. If you’re energetic, you’re too much. If you’re hardworking, you’re too ambitious.