taylorpart9

My will to live was wearing thin. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to crawl into my bed at
home and hide beneath the covers until everything disappeared and Callie had found
her way back inside of me. But there was no rest, no tranquility, no silence to ease the
noise of disarray and disproportion in my chest.

I drank too much coffee. So much so that my fingers shook so badly I probably could
have played better in my sleep. I was dead, life only evident artificially from substances
such as caffeine and drugs, and until I was confident that Callie would return to me, I
would remain unnaturally alive.

It was generally normal for us to change our set lists each night and play different
songs or rearrange the order. So it seemed normal at first when I asked not to play "A
Song to Sing" and everyone happily complied. I feared I would be unable to complete
the song without completely embarrassing myself and revealing how broken I was
inside. Normally I would call it acting, for shock value, to give the impression that I
really was this tortured soul just grasping for life because I was without love-we are,
after all, performers. But when the acting became just being, it was like walking across
the stage with my mind and body completely naked for all the world to see.

One night, after Callie had said she was leaving, I asked not to play the song. But I had
also been numb all night, performing as a robot, forgetting lyrics, harmony parts,
chords-it was a disaster. But everything was a disaster-my mind, my soul. At the risk
of sounding cheesy, of course, those are the only words I can find. There was this
heavy knot in my throat, pulling my head to the ground, making my neck and shoulders
ache. I could barely stand or sit at my piano. I wanted to collapse, melt, sink into
nothing, into the stage. The lights were garish, caustic, making my skin tighten around
my arms and legs and face.

I looked out before me at the first few rows, praying she'd be there. Every few minutes
I glanced to the side, where the curtains were tied off, and roadies and fans stood
nodding their heads to the music, and hoped I'd see Callie. She had this way of moving
her hips and her arms and her head all at the same time that matched the music
perfectly, as if the music was coming from within her; as if it was inside her soul or as if
she actually WAS the music. Sometimes I got so distracted watching her I'd hit a
wrong note and Ike would glare at me from across the stage. I never screwed up so
terribly we had to stop, but I knew Isaac became upset with me when I lost focus. I
didn't mind though, I'd laugh and keep on going, shake my head and steal another
glance at Callie.

But she wasn't there. There was a fat guy I'd never seen before, a girl I thought was a
guy at first or whatever it was it wasn't Callie. It was then that I began to feel heavy
and my eyes began to water so much I had to keep them closed as the spotlights
seemed to be trying to tear them from my head. Where was she? Had she truly left?
Where the fuck was she? I wanted to shove the piano into the audience--hurt
someone. Inflict the pain I felt on someone else. It's terrible I know, but I needed to
get away from it. I needed to see someone other than myself suffer even more.

I couldn't support my voice anymore. I every time I tried to force sound out of my
throat it was as if someone was tying a rope around my neck. By the last few words I
was whispering. I opened my eyes for a second and felt my skin grow tighter again and
my eyes ache. I knew I couldn't be on stage. I could feel everything falling down, my
entire being fall in on itself and I couldn't risk breaking apart in front of the fans. Before
we finished the final notes I stood up and ran off stage. As soon as the lights left my
skin I cried. I saw Callie against the black of my eyelids and felt Zac or Isaac or
someone grabbing my shoulders, trying to put me back together and get on with the
show but I walked away from them. I walked down a hall and around a few corners,
quickly losing the need to cry. I felt very far beyond crying--it made me feel weak and
did nothing to mend the tear inside of me.

I heard someone walking ahead of me. I hadn't intended to look up or make eye
contact but the pattern of footsteps caught my attention. The pattern I had gotten to
know so well, that I could recognize coming down a hall way from behind a closed door,
that I used for security around people I didn't know--when I heard those steps I knew
the hand was near and I could do or say anything I wanted.

She said my name softly and put her hand to my arm. She let it slide gently to my wrist
and take my fingers in hers. Fire spread through my stomach, settled at the bottom
and seeped slowly into my legs. It began where her skin touched mine.

"You're here," I said and met her eyes for the first time in what seemed like years. She
nodded and I saw her head turn to the side and down towards the ground.

"I never really left," she said with a slight laugh and looked at me again. "I didn't listen
to you, I think I overreacted and I'm so fucked up, you know that. I don't know why or
how you put up with me, I just--"

I took her face in my hands and kissed her before she could finish speaking. I felt the
knot in my throat and in every other part of me fade as I felt the inside of her mouth
and tasted the sugar of her lips once again. My love for her at that moment was so
much stronger than anything I have ever felt in my entire life. It was in my blood, in
every single part of me and every time her hands touched my back or my stomach or
any other place, every time her hair fell over her shoulder and brushed mine, tiny
explosions went off, like stars being born on my skin. There, in some hall way, in some
city, I witnessed the beginning of a universe.