Mousetrap Heart

When Matt steps off the stage for the final time, the last time he'll be with his psuedo-family of the last near decade, there aren't tears in his eyes. He's not crying.

Except that he is, and for a moment he's alone in a little alcove and then he's surrounded once more, and he's not the only one visibly upset, Alex clinging tightly to him, even Jack looking sombre and standing quietly off to the side.

They understand, he knows they do but it's hard to say goodbye to your best friends, the people you've spent more time with in the world than anyone else, the people you know and who know you better than you know yourself.

And that's why he has to leave. There's no way in hell he's going to hurt his family. It's always been his job to protect them, and if that means leaving and never coming back, that's what he'll do.

He'll miss them. Miss them more than anything, be lost without the never-ending questions or the technical problems and late nights and early mornings. He won't have any issues to solve or people to call or media to organise. It'll just be him, alone in his apartment with the car he bought four years ago and often lamented not getting to drive more.

Maybe he'll have the time now, to cruise along the coastline and rediscover his hometown, suburb by suburb, block by block. Fit out his home with more permanent things that he can leave behind.

He's not sure what else he can do to pass what time he has left.

For a while, he considered writing them all letters to say thank you, thanks for the beyond great times and the grey hairs and all the places he's been privileged to go with them, but he can't.

It's better they don't know until the end, where's everythings written in stone, along with the things he's set aside for each of them.

Jack, the ringleader of trouble and inebriated adventures melded with a heart of gold and a grin that rarely ever faded no matter what, the man who always has a joke and hug whenever you need it.

His extensive movie collection, and the sleek electric blue Gibson he always swore he'd learn to play properly. Some of the more ridiculous tour shirts he's collected along the way, and his stash of fancy liquor that he's never been home often enough to drink.

Rian, often his partner in trying to keep control of whatever shenanigans everyone gets into, the brightest, whitest smile in existence and the sweetest sense of caring and compassion for everyone, even people Matt would have punched had Rian not been at his side.

His CDs and records and tapes from when he thought he was Pittsburgh's answer to punk, his hard-drives filled with tour notes and ridiculous diary entries from all those moments he was sure one of them was going to need them as evidence in a court case. The box of mismatched drumsticks under his bed.

Zack, with his gentle nature and ability to talk anyone into anything and the words of wisdom he'll occasionally share on late, sleepless nights in nameless towns and endless highways. The man who'll carry your bags for you if you're dead on your feet, and come up with the most inappropriate jokes at the most in appropriate times yet make you laugh till you cry all the same.

All his cameras, and all the photo's he's ever had printed. The old video footage of their baby band he'd had converted to VHS, and later, DVD.

And Alex. Alex who's often been a roller-coaster of ups and downs, the one who keeps Matt on his toes, drives him to succeed at his job, and the one who originally demanded that he sing alongside them, still one of the best things that's ever happened. The one he talks with by night, and laughs in exasperation at by day. Alex who wears his heart on his sleeve and yet hides himself so well that even now, Matt's not always sure what's real.

All of his tour laminates, and the binder he started at age sixteen now filled with signatures and little sometimes drunken notes from members of his favourite bands. The ancient acoustic covered in dust in his spare room, and the newer one that resides in the kitchen. His Disney collectibles, all of them, because he knows Alex will know how to split them up.

Danny K, the koolest kid who's always had his back, Colussy, his 2IC and Grieco, Vinny, Evan, Jeff, Nick. Keith.

He'll miss every single one of them.

But the best lie in the world is the one where's moving on, settling down and starting anew.

To his real family, he cannot deny the truth. It's impossible. He can only hope they'll obey his wishes and not ruin everything for the extended family he's carved out for himself, pray that they'll be left in peace.

He knows that there'll be things people want to say to him, but he couldn't bear the weight of having to hear them, the guilt on his shoulders. He doesn't want anyone he's not tied to by blood to cry at his bedside.

For now though, those worries are in a distant, albeit forward moving future.

Right now, he's got load out to organise, after-show food to order, beers to drink, goodbyes to say and as he let's Zack piggyback him towards the bus he knows that three months is way too long.