Save the Day

Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. Days dragged on forever. I saw no one; left alone just like Uncle John said. I was running out of things to do. I didn’t have any more books to read; the internet and TV only held my attention for so long. Playing music was the only thing that occupied my time. I played until my fingers were sore and my voice was raspy. Then I would rest and sit on the couch, staring at the door, praying that someone would walk in; Nick would walk in.

It never happened.

The only way I saw concerts was from a Jonas Brothers website that gave live updates and from YouTube videos the day after the show. Every concert there was only one thing that stayed constant (besides the set list): fans reaction to Nick. I read comment after comment that said he seemed ‘upset’ or ‘he wasn’t himself’. I noticed it too. He was singing and playing just like he always has, but something was missing. His eyes were dull and lacking of emotion; his smile never reached his eyes.

He wasn’t himself and I was to blame. If it weren’t for me, his performances wouldn’t be suffering. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be in trouble (whatever it is). If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be suffering. It was all my fault.

For days this repeated and for days I tried to fight my old habits, my old self. But every day, more and more of my old self, my self-doubt overtook me.

Too bad there was no one around to notice.

***

“Alright,” Uncle John said, barging into my bus one day. “We’ll be home in a few hours. Be ready.” He told me, placing a single bag of McDonalds onto the counter; my lunch.

I tugged at my sweater and nodded silently.

He sighed, “Morgan, I’m really sorry. The Jonases and I were talking and we think we punished you a little too severely. The past week was really hard on both of you, and I am really sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I said in a small voice. “Can I get ready and pack now?”

Uncle John nodded and smiled sadly at me. “I really am sorry Morgan.” He said before walking out.

“Too late,” I mumbled and walked to my bunk, leaving the food on the counter untouched.

I walked around the bus, checking that everything that was mine was packed away in the bags that sat in the front room. Thing is, I didn’t see things (I knew there wasn’t anything left), I saw people, events. I realized a lot has happened on this bus, on this tour, this summer. I saw the countless days I spent in the recording booth working on both the Jonas’ stuff and my own. I saw Nick and I cuddling in my bunk every night the week he stayed on the bus. I saw Joe kissing me in the front room.

Every memory from this summer, good and bad, changed the way I saw things. The way I saw myself.

But then I saw my loneliness from the past week. I felt the shame, disappointment, anger, sadness, pain all rush over me once more. It reminded me that nothing is forever and what I felt once, back when I was seven, will be the way I feel for the rest of my life. No matter what I do, or who tries to help me, I’m still that seven year old girl who was abandoned by her father. That was never going to change.

With a final glance around the bus I accepted that, pulled down my shirt sleeves and tugged my luggage off the bus, exactly where I started a few months ago.