I Was a Bird & You Were a Map

"Jesus Christ, you made it!"

The first time I met him was in the midst of absolute chaos in 2006. The label got a call just before noon saying Jon Walker had broken his leg and was in no shape to play the show that evening. An hour later I was on a plane leaving my New York apartment behind, a carry-on in hand and my bass in the cargo hold.

I landed in Vegas five hours later and arrived at the venue Panic! at the Disco was playing just before the show began. When their tour manager, Zack, spotted me sprinting across the parking lot to the back entrance doors, he breathed a sigh of relief and ran a hand roughly down his face.

"Most people call me Harley," I smirked, hiking my bag up my shoulder. "But ask and you shall receive."

I had heard about the frenzy surrounding the band despite being fresh faces in the music industry and I wasn't disappointed. The second my bag touched the dressing room floor I was devoured by a tornado of make-up brushes and bobby pins, juggling the change of clothes that were shoved into my hands, and coughing through all the aerosol fumes.

Off to the side, I recognized Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie under the piles of paisley waistcoats and feather boas; they smiled and introduced themselves as they slipped on vests and held still for the hair stylists.

“Welcome to the shit-storm,” Brendon joked, motioning to the flurry around us. “I don’t think the label covers therapy under your benefits.”

Ryan chuckled beside him. “We won’t take offense if you request to never fill in for us again.”

“What?” I grimaced, my head tugged backwards by a section of hair being prepped for heat styling. “And miss all this star treatment?”

“Fifteen minutes!”

“I hope we can all still be friends after!” Brendon called to me as each of us got pulled away from each other. Brendon stood on his tip toes to give me a thumbs-up before being engulfed by a make-up team. Ryan chortled somewhere to my left.

I was completely unaware of my surroundings for a long time after that, my vision blocked off with the fleeting faces of the backstage crew. Muffled curses escaped my lips every time a safety pin jabbed into my side, the seamstress throwing me one hasty apology after another but continuing to pin down the extra fabric of my corset without pause.

“Ten minutes! Let’s get it together, guys!”

The costume crew that had descended on me finally dispersed. I tugged on the tight beige slacks that were handed to me before carefully slipping my feet into the boots that were tossed into my lap.

"Wow, Ryan, you're looking really...elaborate."

"You're just jealous, man."

"I truly am."

My eyes caught a glimpse of Spencer Smith between the clutter of elbows and parasols. He was calmly buttoning up his white shirt in front of one of the lighted mirrors while someone clipped suspenders to his black slacks. I glanced down at myself and frowned; his costume was definitely the most conservative out of the rest of us. I didn't remember being given options.

“Three minutes! Three minutes!”

Just when his startlingly blue eyes met mine through the reflection of the mirror, a hand slipped under my jaw and turned my head away until I was face to face with an impatient make-up artist. He clucked his tongue and pressed a tube of wine red lipstick against my mouth. "Hurry up and pucker up, honey. We don't got much time."

I closed my eyes as a fog of hairspray descended over my head.

“One minute! Let’s wrap it up!”

A dozen brush strokes and safety pins later, I was ushered out of the dressing room down a seemingly endless white hallway. Someone had shoved the set list into my hands while my face was getting powdered down so I mentally recited bass lines as I staggered along behind the band.

"Has Jon texted you?"

"Yeah, he said he would do the next show in a wheelchair or on a crutch or something."

"Who the fuck breaks their leg riding their bike? What is he, 12? Doesn't he drink milk?"

"He said some kid got in front of him so he swerved to avoid hitting her. I bet his flip-flops got stuck on the pedal. He hit a power box, apparently."

"So he's missing a home show because of flip-flops?"

"Well, flip-flops and kids."

"Pretty sure Jon’s from Chicago, Bren..."

"Whatever, Ryan. Fuck children."

I silently loosened the olive bandana tied around my neck as Spencer, Ryan, and Brendon chattered among themselves. Once we reached the immediate backstage area I instantly went in search of the techie that had my bass. She handed off my instrument to me just after plugging it in and I slung it across my body, relaxing into the familiar weight.

"Hey, duct tape this down, will you?" I was practically yelling over the screams of the waiting crowd and still my voice was drowned out. After the third time I repeated myself, she grabbed a roll of tape from a nearby speaker and finally anchored the plug that connected my bass to an amp.

To my left, Ryan was mapping out the chords of the first song with his fingers across the fret board. Brendon stood in front of me gargling Dr. Pepper.

When I looked over my shoulder I was met with Spencer's curious stare. The drumsticks he had been steadily drumming against his thigh came to an abrupt halt as he held my gaze; Spencer was the only member of Panic! that I had yet to exchange any words with, but I couldn't find anything relevant to say to him through the adrenaline filtering through me . It was difficult to think with my heartbeat thudding in my ears.

After a moment he threw me a small smile and a nod before busying himself with adjusting his in-ear monitor. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding as I spun around to watch the houselights dim.

The crowd began chanting for the band.

"Alright guys, Jon's not here so we have a shot at making this the best concert ever." Laughter ran through the small circle we had formed as Brendon gave us the briefest pre-show pep talk I had ever been part of. "Okay, but really, let's rock this joint! May the crowd be loud but our band be louder!"

A smirk stretched its way across my painted lips while I raised my hand for the round of high fives.

"Think you can handle what's about to go down?"

I shot a sideways glance to the owner of the voice and found myself smiling slyly up at Spencer. He raised his hand for a high five, beaming as our palms collided.

"Can you?"

We both peered through the parting in the curtain at the stadium packed with screaming fans. It was hard to see much in the dark but the energy radiating off of them sent a shock of nerves through my body; even after three years of playing for different bands the pre-show jitters hadn’t worn off.

Spencer and I looked back at each other with raised brows, the challenge hanging over our heads.

"Show time!" Zack announced, commanding a hush to fall backstage. Ryan and Brendon fell in line behind us. The dancers made their way to the microphone to announce the band’s arrival.

I turned to Spencer one last time before they doused the lights, easily returning the smile that was already waiting for me.



The only thing I was aware of was that Ryan was close behind me when we all stumbled off stage for the intermission. The crook of my neck ached where the strap of my bass had dug in and my fingers were throbbing and dented with imprints from the strings.

"This crowd is insane," Ryan breathed, grabbing the nearest bottle of water and slugging it back. We had approximately 8 minutes to gather ourselves before we had to head back out to finish the show.

"It's so crazy out there!"

Spencer slumped against the wall I was leaning on and nudged me playfully, eliciting a whine of protest from my lips. We watched Ryan choke on the water he was chugging and scramble off to the washroom.

Spencer elbowed me again and I sluggishly shifted to face him. "Are you even human? How the hell are you still alive?"

"What do you mean?" My chest was heaving. I wiped the sweat from my neck and face with the fresh towel he handed me and rested my head against the wall.

"He means you're nuts out there," Brendon cut in hoarsely, looking something between impressed and confused. He glanced down to where my bass would have rested before looking back at me with a knowing grin. "Is that what the duct tape is for?"

I nodded. "I'd be unplugged within seconds if it wasn't there. I had to learn that the hard way."

"Well you're fucking crazy for cramming in cardio and playing bass lines in that sauna."

"Is it ruining your show?" I asked worriedly, gathering my hair to one side of my neck. My hair probably looked like an oil spill across my skin, wild and clingy from hairspray and sweat. "I can stop if you want. I'm only here to fill in, not distract from your band."

Brendon and Spencer were already shaking their heads before I finished my sentence.

"You’re a fuckin’ riot and the crowd is eating it up," Brendon insisted, grimacing when he noticed the extent of his sweat stains. “I gotta get out of these clothes.”

We watched him hurry back in the direction of the dressing room.

"Honestly, I'm just surprised you haven't killed one of the dancers yet," Spencer said, fixing me with a look once I shifted my attention back to him. "When you jumped off my riser in the middle of Time to Dance I thought for sure you were gonna give Dusty a concussion."

"It’s happened," I admitted with a chuckle, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor with my legs stretched out in front of me. Spencer followed suit, looking amused. "I've doled out concussions to some people in other bands I've filled in for. Injured myself a zillion times. Probably knocked out a fan or two stage diving-" I paused, realizing I sounded insane.

"I'm trying to be more careful," I tacked on sheepishly.

"Yeah," Spencer snorted. "It shows, you android."

I raised a brow. "Android?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, shooting me a lazy grin. "'Cause you're, like, unreal. You look human but you play like a beast even though you dance like a maniac out there. I mean, it’s okay if you won’t admit you’re actually a bass-playing robot. You probably run on rocket fuel or something," he finished decisively. "So. Android."

Of all the comments I had heard about my performances, his was by far my favourite.

I stared down at our splayed legs, beaming. "Cool."

"Cool," Spencer repeated, nudging me in the side again with a broader grin.

We listened to the intermission act in companionable silence before Zack herded us back to the stage. I laughed uncontrollably at the sight of Spencer’s red ears and flushed cheeks when the dancers announced suggestively that he knew how to keep a beat. My snickering was met with a playful shove.



"We owe you one, Harley," Zack said, clapping a hand over my shoulder. "Tell David I'm thanking Moses and all his biblical pals that he chose you out of all the replacements in his stupid rolodex to fly out to us. If you ever wanna play a show with these idiots again you just let me know; I'll gladly break Jon's other leg and request home base send you to us personally."

I chuckled and kneeled in front of my bag on the floor, feeling lighter after washing away all of the make-up and sweat from my skin. Most of the venue had already emptied out and I was left last to grab a shower before heading off to the airport. "Y'know, I also play drums so you can break Spencer's arm if Jon evades you."

"I object to that idea." I peered over my shoulder to find Spencer standing beside Zack at the door, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

Zack laughed and left us to make sure no equipment got orphaned at the stadium, bidding me goodnight and a safe flight.

I ran a hand through my still-damp hair. "So where are you guys off to next?"

Spencer leaned against the doorframe while I sat back on the carpeted floor. "We’ve got three days to stay here and check in with our families and stuff before we head out to D.C."

I covered my mouth as a yawn escaped me, glancing at the time on my wrist still synced with New York; I was going to get back at some ungodly hour of the night. "I gotta be honest with you, tonight was probably the most fun I’ve had playing for a band. I like you guys.”

“You do?” A pleased smile stretched across his face. “Thanks. I expected everyone to hate us ‘cause our music isn’t very...conventional.”

I shook my head as I laid back on the floor, cracking my sore knuckles. “That’s what makes it good. No one got anything cool done by being conventional.”

Spencer stood silently at the doorway for a moment, smiling as he mulled over my words.

“Brendon and Ryan left like an hour ago,” I noted, attempting to rub away the sleep that was beginning to settle in my eyes. “And I’m pretty sure the Vaudeville cirque left too. Why’re you still hanging around here?”

“I can leave if my presence offends you,” Spencer replied, crossing his arms over his chest and dramatically turning his nose up in the air. I huffed in amusement and he shot me a lopsided grin. “I just wanted to see if you needed a ride to the airport. I’m gonna drive passed it when I stop by Hannah's place anyway so I can drop you off."

"Actually," I pulled out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans just as it went off. "Zack already called me a taxi and I think it just arrived. But thanks for the offer."

“Are you sure?” He paused when I yawned out a weak ‘yeah’. “Okay but you seem really tired and my mom wouldn’t mind if you crashed at our house tonight. You can catch another flight early tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” I waved off, slightly stunned by the kind offer. “I’ll just sleep on the plane.”

He finally nodded acceptingly as I stood up and hauled my only bag over my shoulder. "Hey, I never got to thank you for flying out here for us at the last minute."

"Don't mention it. I’m just glad your band was worth it. Some bands can be such a drag."

We made our way through the deserted hallways to the exit, our voices bouncing off the walls as we exchanged tour stories. Spencer shoved me childishly when I openly laughed in his face about the cops mistaking him for a hooker the first time he tried on eyeliner and walked out of a gig in San Francisco; I told him about the time I knocked into Greta Salpeter during a performance in Salt Lake City and landed on a kid in a wheelchair when I fell off stage. Needless to say I was banned from ever filling in for The Hush Sound and Spencer was howling to the point of tears even though I kept pushing him into the walls.

We both breathed in as the fresh air hit us, our conversation and chortling trailing off into the night. I turned to him when I spotted my taxi, the laughter still in our eyes. "I guess this is where we part ways."

"Y'know, Harley, you never told me where you're jetting off to."

I thought of the empty apartment waiting for me and instantly hoped I would have another band lined up to fly off to once I touched down. "I'm heading back to New York. I live there when I'm, uh, not on the road filling in for crippled bands like yours."

"You’re a crippled band," Spencer shot back lamely, giving me a weak shove. He looked back at the stadium behind us before hesitantly facing me. "So this is goodbye, huh?"

I paused, contemplating the odds before shaking my head. "I'm sure we'll bump into each other on tour somewhere on the map."

He stared at me for a moment, his endlessly bewildering eyes searching mine before turning steely with determination. The corners of his lips slowly tugged upwards.

Spencer stuck his hand out in the space between us. "Guess I'll catch you later then, Android."

It sounded more like an extended challenge than parting words. A dull ache kicked hard against my ribcage and I let the foreign feeling of content wash over me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew we would make good on the unassuming promise we were making; it felt like the truth was written in my DNA, twined into the fibres of my skin.

Instinctively I knew I would spend the rest of my life running into Spencer Smith.

So I nodded, grinning as I took his hand and shook it. "You bet."