Learning How to Smile

I walk one way; you walk the other.

I know the hotel is this way. When we were here last, I’m damn sure we stayed at a hotel near a Blockbuster and I’m damn sure said Blockbuster is down the street from the doughnut shop we were just standing in front of, but can you agree with me? No! You’re sure that the hotel was closer to the train station we just left, so you’re of course heading back that way.

I don’t even understand why we’re arguing. The hotel wasn’t that great, the doughnuts sucked and this whole town in general isn’t good at all to be walking through, alone, in the dark.

I turn around.

“Stop!” I yell after you, but you only look over your shoulder, without stopping. I throw my hands in the air, trying to convince you to just fucking stop so we can talk, but you don’t.
“You always fucking walk away,” I mumble to myself, fully aware that no one can hear me but me.

I turn, take a step back and sit down on the windowsill of some random store. I place my elbows on my knees, picking at my nails as my hands dangle between my legs.

The buzz from the alcohol is beginning to wear off a bit, making this whole experience less fun and more frustrating. If we could just find somewhere to sleep, this day could just end and we’d be able to move on; get a new start.

I just wanted to get away; not lost. And I brought you to run away with me, not to leave me. I didn’t plan to lose you. I wanted to share this with you.

Everything is falling apart. I wonder if that’s what everyone else is thinking right now. The rest of the band and crew are probably still in Las Vegas, trying to find us. Surely they must think we’ve gotten lost in Vegas or gotten kidnapped or murdered or some other shit like that. They’re probably calling us like crazy, hoping that everything isn’t falling apart.

But things have been falling apart – for a long time now. I’ve been trying to keep it together for everyone, but I couldn’t stop myself from falling apart anymore: the only solution was to run.
I feel guilty, though. Leaving everyone without a single word isn’t fair. I know.

They must be worried.

I sit up straight and pull my phone out of my pocket. I take a quick, but deep, breath before I turn it back on and then wait for it to power up for the first time in…

I have no idea what time it is. My phone is usually my clock. My phone has more or less become my life now.

I stare at the bright screen and try to figure out what time it might be. It’s dark and it’s summer, so it has to be past 9 pm. That means we’ve been “missing” for at least 9 hours, which means we’ve been wandering the streets, lost, for about 3 hours.

My phone starts vibrating violently in my hand, receiving message after message and registering missed call after missed call. Names pop up as if it was my life passing before my eyes. Mikey, the band, the crew, the managers, my wife, your wife and even the guy responsible for our merch have called and texted.

And the thing is; I have no desire to answer any of them. Not even my wife who must currently be holding our daughter and worrying sick over me. Jamia must be doing the same, only with a daughter extra.

I may feel guilty, but my own feelings come first right now. I know it’s selfish, but I just need some space. I just need to feel… unobligated… free.

“Let’s just find some random place that’s open, alright!” You yell out, just before you stop right in front of me. I’m not even shocked by your sudden outburst. Instead, I calmly look up at you and try to figure out whether this was a bad idea. I know that running away wasn’t a bad decision on my part – I needed to get away; I still need to get away – but what about you?

“Are you sure about this?”

You frown at me, ready to give me some smartass comeback telling me how you don’t wanna sleep on the street and want to find a place with a bed, but I stop you:

“Are you sure that you wanna run away?”

You stop; your face going blank and your eyes relaxing so much that no emotion is portrayed in them.

“Are you really gonna run away with me?” I look away from you briefly, gathering the guts and courage to tell you what has been running through my head for the past 11 months:
“I’m not just doing this on a whim,” I explain, looking up at you.

“I’ve wanted to do this for almost a year now. I’ve just gotten fed up. My whole life was just suddenly so ideal that I felt ridiculous every time I got upset over something, because every flaw was so miniscule. I used to get upset over being alone or being without drugs. Those were big fucking things. Not like now. Like,” I say, hating myself for starting a sentence with that word, but quickly discarding that hate because it’s just too ridiculous.
“Yesterday, I got annoyed because I couldn’t delete a damn message off my phone. A month ago, I threw a teddy bear – one of my daughter’s fucking teddy bears – across the room because I couldn’t find my fucking car keys. But the most ridiculous shit I’ve done was when I cried – actually fucking bawled my eyes out – because I got so frustrated over the fact that I couldn’t get a song to fucking rhyme.”

You look down at your feet suddenly, avoiding my eyes.

“Do you realize how pathetic that is? How fucking weak that is?”

I look down the street, spotting a Blockbuster’s. I laugh briefly at the relief that settles in my chest. This whole life is just pathetic. I just need a new start, and going back to that hotel won’t help a fucking thing.

“I used to do drugs. I was an alcoholic. I was alone and stoned and high on anti-depressants. I used to just,” I say, unable to finish my sentence, because this is the hard part. Actually admitting, out loud, what truly made me run away from the safety that my life had finally given me is the hardest part, because it barely makes any sense – except, it does; to me.
“I used to be in control. I know that being addicted to something seems out of control, but not to me. Being addicted was me being in control back then. Being fucked up was me being in control, because I could justify everything that way. When I fucked up, I could blame it on the pills or the alcohol or the lack of control. I had control over the fact that I couldn’t control anything.”

I look back at you. You’re still staring at your feet. I think your face is still blank, but it’s hard to see through the dark.

“I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know I’m being contradictory, but I can’t help it.” I sigh.
“I just need to lose control. I need to…save myself. Again. I need to be saved.” When I’ve said that, I realize that the true reason why I brought you along wasn’t for the company or out of fear of being alone, but for the fact that I know you’ll save me. Again.

You still have your head lowered as you fold your arms over your chest. You sigh heavily, and that is the only sound that I hear for a very long time. It seems like at least 30 minutes go by, and nothing is said or done. You just keep standing like that, swaying back and forth a bit to avoid falling over.

During this silence, I can barely think. I just keep watching you and observing what you’re doing. I have no idea what you’re thinking. I have no idea what I should be thinking or what you should be thinking about, and I don’t care.

“Then let’s go.”