Etched Into My Skin.

Have you ever had one of those inspiring life experiences where you come to the realization that you’re actually one of the lucky ones? That you were fortunate to have what you do now? That there were some people that had real problems, and made the struggles you faced and dealt with every day seem like nothing compared to what they had to go through?
I had one of those experiences a long time ago. It was simply astounding just how much someone someone can go though and be able to live to tell the story.
~
When I dropped out of college to join the band, I hadn’t told anybody. Not even my close friends. The only ones that knew were the guys in the band itself.
I was too afraid to tell my family because I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me. The last thing I wanted to do was let them down.
But this was my decision, and I was sticking to it. Music mattered more than anything to me, next to the people I cared about so dearly. And I knew in the end, they would support me, no matter what.
There was a man I met one day when the Maine went on their first tour. My emotions had been all over the place because one, I was nervous to be on an actual stage and sing in front of people, and two, the homesickness was even worse now that I was no longer in Arizona. I missed my family and friends, and just home in general. I was in a whole other state, and I felt oblivious to everything. It felt like everything I came to know was ripped away from me.
After the very first show, I remember running outside to get some air because I honestly thought I was about to puke. I’m surprised I hadn’t during our set.
"You alright there, boy?"
I jump at the sound of a gravelly voice. I look around, until my eyes land on a man sitting near the dumpster, bundled up in an over sized trench coat. His face was smooth yet rough, and didn’t look a day over thirty. He must have been homeless.
"Uhh, y-yeah," I mutter, standing up straighter and breathing in the cold crisp air. The man grunts and nods. "I heard you in there. You’ve got something goin’."
My eyes widen. “R-really?”
He nods again. “Yeah. That voice has got potential.”
"Th-thank you," I tell him, shocked that he thought I was good. I let myself lean against the wall, feeling relieved. "I don’t think the audience was all that into it."
"Fuck the audience," he chuckles. "Let me tell you somethin’, son. Don’t listen to what others have to say if it’s anything short of supportive. Don’t you let anyone tell you how to do things, because the worst thing you can do is start to believe them."
I raise an eyebrow, curious. “You seem to really know what you’re talking about.”
"That’s ‘cause I do," he mutters under his breath. "Wasn’t too long ago that I’d gone up on that stage. Five years, maybe."
He crosses his arms and grins up at me. “It’s one hell of a feeling, isn’t it? Your stomach fluttering to the point you wanna throw up, the adrenaline pounding in your ears, your blood running through your veins at fifty miles a minute? But you’d do it over and over again, am I right? It’s that rush of excitement that’s so exhilarating, and you just want more of it.”
I feel myself staring at him surprise. I’ve never heard anyone sum something up so accurately. He really did know what he was talking about.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"Name’s Bill," he replies. "You?"
"John."
"John. You’re pretty young. Hell, you still look like a kid. But that’s always a good sign. It means that this is what you truly wanna do, am I right?"
I nod. He sure seemed wise.
"Five years ago, I was up there for the first time, too. I was a bit older, though, and maybe a bit more influenced by others. I let them boss me around and tell me what sounded good, and what would be a hit. And they were right. For the most part.
"I turned into someone that was nothing like the real me. I let them change me. Eventually, I became what I never wanted to be. It was never how I started out, and I never expected to get so…detached from myself. I can only hope that doesn’t happen to you, kid."
I look at him, confused. “Well, what happened? What did you ‘turn into?’”
He heaves a heavy sigh and starts staring off into space. “When I first performed on that stage, I was nervous as hell. I was worried about everyone who’d judge me or not like me. They ended up loving me. Record labels fought for me. I thought it was the greatest thing ever at the time. I felt like the most wanted man alive.
"The vision I had for the music I wanted to make isn’t what they wanted. My idea about the music business changed entirely. I was nothing but a puppet, going through the motions that they made me do.
"And I went with it. A part of me hated it. But when I saw just how much attention I was starting to get, I stopped caring."
He chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “Man, the ladies loved me. That’s how I met my wife. I loved her with all my heart.”
I feel my hairs stand on end. His use of the past tense had me thinking that the moral of this story was about to sink in.
"She didn’t deserve all that she had to put up with," he says sadly, melancholy in his voice. "I would hurt her over and over. Why? The fame got to me. I slept around with other chicks, drank to the point I passed out. I’m surprised she didn’t just leave me. She should have, she really should have."
My throat tightens, and I swallow thickly. “Where is she now?”
He shakes his head. “Six feet under. And it’s all my fault.”
I wince at the raw emotion in his voice. She as dead?
"I’d just gotten back from a party," he continues. "I was fuckin’ wasted. She had to come and pick me up. But me being the idiot I was made her lose control of the car." His voice cracks. "I should’ve been the one to die that night. She was so sweet. She could’ve moved on with her life. She could’ve left me and I would have been okay with that because I know that I didn’t deserve her."
"You couldn’t have known," I try to comfort him. He didn’t deserve the guilt he was living with. Nobody deserves that weight on their shoulders. The burden of knowing someone else’s life was lost because of them…I couldn’t even imagine what that felt like.
He takes his hair in his fists and starts to breathe heavily. “I never should have listened to them. I wouldn’t have turned into such a horrible person. They fucked me up. I fucked up.”
I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. He starts to sob, so I rub his back. It hurt seeing him so miserable. Although he was a complete stranger, I knew that his heart was good. He never meant for those things to happen.
"Promise me you won’t turn into that, kid," he sighs, calming down. "This may sound like the corniest shit, but stay true to yourself, alright? Fuck what anybody else says. Just do the right god damn thing."
I nod. “I promise.”
Later that night, during my phone call with Livia, I told her all about the man in the alley, and how he’d lost his wife and the guilt these so much for him that he threw away always all of his dreams. She couldn’t even believe it.
"That’s quite a story," she mumbles when I was finished.
"I know," I whisper sadly. "He was so nice. And pretty young. And now he just lives behind a a venue. I feel bad for the poor guy."
She sighs on the other end, unsure of what else to say. There was nothing to say; Bill’s story had rendered us silent.
I stopped dwelling about my petty problems after that, stopped living in regret. What did it matter if the crowd didn’t like us, when somewhere out there in the world, people were dying, or starving, or hurting? My every day concerns seemed much less significant after hearing everything Bill had gone through.
Because some people had real problems.