These Are the Fast Times

Butcher

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I’m not so miserable anymore.

Really. I’m not.

I’m different, and I know the guys and Melly notice, even though they don’t question me about it.

It’s nice that they’ve stopped treating me like a fragile time-bomb, though. Even if they all still think I should talk with Lila.

Even Sisky hasn’t mentioned my change of mood, but he’s probably relieved he doesn’t have to tiptoe around my mood swings anymore.

I’ve learned to live without Lila, even if she’s still all I think about.

But at least I can go places that remind me of her without craving a drink and I’ve stopped torturing myself by picturing her and Gabe together.

I guess what I mean is, I’m not so much upset at her as I am at myself.

I’m not happy.

But it’s still better than being unbearably miserable.

We’re playing a local show tonight- nothing big, but we did sell out the venue, so it puts us all in a pretty good mood.

Melly’s running the soundboard tonight, so it’s almost like old times.

So much so that I find myself subconsciously scanning the crowd for Lila on more than one occasion and have to force myself to stop and just concentrate on playing the show.

Because I don’t know what else I can do.

Afterwards, we pack up and everyone goes out to the bar and I go home alone.

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When I get to Melly and Michael’s apartment, it’s a wreck. Piles of clothes lying around the living room, open suitcases scattered on the floor and Melly calling questions to Michael from the other room.

“Um…?” I say, slightly confused at the commotion when the door swings open.

“Sorry, we’re packing,” Michael apologizes, letting me inside.

“Where are you going?” I ask. I know we have about a little less than a month off before we go back on tour. He smiles.

“Home,” he says. “We leave in a few days. Melly’s excited.”

And she is- when she walks into the room, she has this huge smile on her face that almost makes me want to smile even though I have no reason to. They lead me into the kitchen and I take a seat at the small kitchen table with Melly.

“What are you going to do with the time off?” he asks, tossing me a can of beer.

“I haven’t really thought about it yet,” I admit, listening to it fizz when I snap the top open.

Sit around Chicago with William, Sisky, and Mike? Drink? Smoke?

I have no idea.

A phone rings from the bedroom.

“That’s mine,” Michael excuses himself to answer it. Melly takes the chance to lean in closer to me, almost conspiratorially.

“I know what you should do,” she states matter-of-factly.

I know exactly what she’s implying, but I haven’t worked up the courage to consider it yet.
Michael returns to the kitchen, saving me from what was most likely about to turn into a lecture from Melly.

But now that she’s put the idea back into my head, by the time I’m leaving Michael and Melly’s apartment, I’ve made my decision:

I’m going to New York.