I Was a Bird & You Were a Map

Nearly a year passed before Spencer and I crossed paths again. It was the tail end of 2007 when I was dispatched to cover for Jon Gallant after a nasty case of food poisoning, arriving in Tokyo for the Pins And Needles Tour with my single carry-on and bass in hand.

"Harley, I swear to God if you knock me off stage again I'm gonna make sure I bring you down with me."

I snickered and patted down the strips of duct tape plastered over my bass. "Yeah? You and what army?"

"Harley!"

"I'm kidding!" I held my hands up, watching Ben try to hide a smirk through his own complaints. "I'll control myself. Scout's honor."

"I bet you weren't even a scout," Ian pointed out with a chuckle, starting the round of high fives.

“Wait, you actually have to be a scout to say that?”

"Dude, like a zillion tiny hands tore my shirt apart last night when you pushed me," Ben whined as he raised his palm to Aaron. "It was my favourite shirt!"

"It belongs to the people now," I said solemnly, earning laughter from everyone in our pre-show circle. "Sorry. I'll buy you a new one."

"My mom bought me that shirt.”

"Did she also tell you to match that shirt with those shoes?"

"Look, I can love my mother at any age!"

"Harley?"

My ears prickled at the sound of my name being uttered by such a tiny, bewildered voice. When I spun on my heel I was met with startlingly bright eyes.

"Hey, remember me? I'm-"

"Spencer?" The smile that inched its way across my lips was instantly mirrored back as I squinted through the dim backstage lighting. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

He pulled down the hood of his white sweater to let me have a better look. Spencer had done a lot of growing up since I played for Panic!, his once shaggy hair cropped short and his rounded jaw noticeably more angular, though he still retained some of the fullness of his cheeks. On top of growing into his features, he seemed to also have grown half a foot taller, now towering over me with ease.

"We're playing this venue in two days," Spencer answered, blinking away the surprise from his face. "But I wanted to see the show. I didn't know you were touring with Billy Talent."

"Their bassist got sick," I replied, my voice rising to counter the cheering fans as Ben and Ian bounded out. "But he's feeling better so this is my last show."

"Harley, it's time to go!"

I signaled an 'okay' to Aaron before turning back to Spencer. He stuck out among the older stage crew members that I had gotten familiar with in the last week but the stark contrast of him made me smile. "I'll catch you later?"

Spencer nodded frantically, giving me a light push towards the stage. "Yeah, yeah, go! I'll be here."

I grinned at him over my shoulder before springing out of the shadows and into the embrace of the spotlights. The roar of the crowd was deafening.



“Two months ago in Idaho a guy came up to me while I was buying lunch at some sandwich shop and said his daughter was a big fan of my band, 30 Seconds to Mars,” Spencer recalled, leaning against the pane of glass. “I said ‘thank you’.”

I cackled into my palm. He and I were perched on the window ledge of my flight’s lounge area watching the planes take off one by one. “You didn’t correct him?”

“How could I? His daughter thinks I have the voice of an angel,” Spencer said defensively.

“Glad he didn't ask you to prove it.”

“I may or may not have also signed my name as Jared Lego.”

My laughter rang out, merging seamlessly with the cacophony of noises around us. The terminal was crowded with babbling nervous fliers, corporate suits making hasty phone calls, babies crying. Suitcases and backpacks made up 80% of the floor and people were practically shoulder to shoulder in every direction, all elbows, sharp angles, and impatience.

Bands I had toured with generally broke out in hives at the idea of overpopulated gates and slow boarding calls but I was always in love with the opportunity to fly in any direction. Despite the little bubbles of chaos all around us, there was something about being in an airport that made me feel at peace.

I shot Spencer a lopsided grin. “Yesterday someone told me to say hi to Tupac for them after they handed me a bottle of lotion to sign. Wasn’t sure if it was a threat or something just got lost in translation but I got really scared.”

“Oh my God.” Tears of laughter slipped from the corners of his lashes before trailing down his cheeks and disappearing into his jaw. He wiped at them with the heels of his hands. “I think we're in the horrifying, awkward level of 'famous'.”

“Yeah.” I feigned a longing sigh. “But maybe one day we'll meet people who know who we actually are.”

“My mom already thinks I’m Beyonce-famous even though I'd argue I'm more Michelle Williams.”

"Who?"

"Exactly."

Spencer watched with amusement as I tried to smother the sounds falling from my lips with my palms, the smile across his face only widening the longer I went on. “Speaking of moms, what are your plans for Christmas? Mine wants me back home in Vegas. I think she’s getting lonely now that my sisters have moved out."

My eyes wandered to the trampled carpet beneath us as I rested against the glass. The feather-light feeling left behind by our stories lingered in my lungs. "I’m not really sure. I’ve spent the last couple of Christmases on tour so I’m not in the habit of making plans.”

“You’re not gonna spend it with your family?”

I shook my head. “We aren’t really on speaking terms.”

Spencer nodded slowly but didn’t press for details. He drummed absently against his knees as he told me about his two younger sisters before musing over the past holiday horrors he had managed to get himself dragged into.

We watched three more planes take off, the lights under their wings looking fittingly like ornaments against the night sky.

"...so Ryan and I smuggled a carton of eggs, milk, and my dad's vodka into my room after school and, long story short, that is not how you make eggnog and the fear of salmonella isn't real until you're up at 3am wrestling over who gets the toilet and who has to diarrhea into a garbage can."

I rubbed at my eyes with the back of my sleeves. "That is so vile."

"That is the essence of Christmas."

As if on cue, my phone buzzed in lap, setting off my text tone and an sharp twist in my chest. I didn’t have to look at the screen to know who it was from but I still spared my phone a glance before pushing it into my carry-on unanswered.

I practically mangled my bottom lip as Spencer watched me with curious eyes, the nagging topic of festive plans steadily unravelling my resolve. The sinking weight that had latched onto my ribcage back in New York made my bones ache even though I was millions of miles away. I had forgotten all about it until now, and I didn’t know why I felt compelled to say anything to Spencer, but the pressure I was hauling around finally gave out under his gaze.

“This guy I’ve been seeing is going home to his family for the holidays in Jersey. He mentioned taking me along to meet his parents before I got called out here, but I don’t know. I've never done that kind of thing before..."

A corner of Spencer’s mouth lifted as he knocked his shoulder against mine. “Meeting someone’s parents isn’t all that bad. I say this knowing that when I met Hannah’s parents for the first time it was a total nightmare, but I was 17 and an idiot back then.”

I forced out a smile but I knew Spencer had seen through it by the way he raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to acknowledge or abandon the thread of conversation. I sighed. “I know it’s not a big deal but it just seems very...final.”

“You’re not a fan of commitment?”

“It’s not that. It’s-- when I was in highschool someone told me that all I'm ever gonna be is someone's housewife.” I recoiled from the words, the sound they made ugly and abrupt. I had never spoken them aloud before but I found their sting to be no less shocking and nauseating than the first time I had heard them. A dry laugh pried itself from my throat. “I don’t want that.”

When I snuck a peek at Spencer he was frowning at me. "I hope you told whoever that was to go fuck themselves."

"Would you expect anything less?"

"Not from you, Android, and that's why that's all crap." The confidence in his voice was startling though I couldn't help beaming at the nickname. "Look, you're in Tokyo and you just finished touring with one of the biggest bands in music today, and you've told me about other gigs you've filled-in for for equally famous musicians all across the map. I've seen you in magazines like AP and Bass Player. I've heard you play. I know what you're like on stage. You really think that you're in any danger of only amounting to being some dude's wife when you've already accomplished more than anyone our age?"

I rubbed the back of my neck, chuckling uncertainly. "You're really laying it on thick."

"I just don't want to see you miss out on life," Spencer said thoughtfully, visibly turning over his words. "And I don't want to hear anyone giving you shit. Being a girl doesn't make you any less capable of making something of yourself than a dude, and being in a steady relationship doesn't mean anyone can ask you stop living for yourself, including you, Harley. Sometimes you just need someone to anchor you when you’re too busy working - especially with what we do, waking up to a different city every day. So, y'know, it doesn't have to be the end of anything if you don't want it to be and you shouldn't have to live alone to make a point or punish yourself for being a girl and wanting your own life. Touring can get lonely and being alone for a long time is really hard - it’s easy to just... float away if you're not careful.”

I shook my head. “I don't want to use people as crutches.”

“You don't have to see them as crutches, Android. Caring about someone doesn't make you weak. Everyone needs somebody, and that’s okay.”

The gravity of Spencer’s sincerity bore down on me and I wondered if he spoke the truth about loneliness so cleanly because he had experience living with it too. A dull ache pulsed somewhere in my lungs as I thought over what had been said. Though I had figured out the reality on my own after years of building up my resume and missing opportunities with potential loves, there was still residual doubt that festered and bloomed behind everything I did. It was different having someone speak the truth outloud with the intensity and honesty that Spencer delivered; to know that someone else could see the flaw in the life sentence I was given was reassuring.

“I bet you’re glad to be going home to Vegas to see Hannah, huh?” I teased. My hand quivered as I ran it through my hair. If he noticed the impact of his words on me he didn't give any indication.

"Funny thing is she's mad at me right now," Spencer smiled absently. "I have to remember to call her later 'cause she's upset I flew out here a few days early to catch the last Billy Talent concert." My eyebrows arched and he elaborated. "I'm not gonna be home when they hit Vegas and I know they're heading back into studio for awhile after so..."

"You're joking."

Spencer laughed sheepishly. "I'm really not. I ditched my girlfriend to fly out to you by accident. Funny how things work out, huh?"

I scoffed amusedly. "You're ridiculous, Spin."

“’Spin’?”

“You have a habit of spinning your drumstick between your fingers when you’re excited about stuff," I shrugged. "You did it a lot when I played with you guys last year, and when you were creeping back stage tonight,” I tacked on smugly. "So. Spin."

“I was not creeping,” Spencer protested, though his grin made his whine flimsy. “I was looming.”

“Yeah, that totally tones it down.”

As we watched another plane take off, he fixed me with an easy smile that put the world back in a quiet haze.

"To be honest, I'm kinda mad that food poisioning doesn't last longer," I sulked, earning a languid chuckle. “Did you know I hardly saw Tokyo in the four days I’ve been here? I always wanted to see this city and it feels like such a waste."

“So stay,” Spencer suggested, bumping his knee against mine. “You don’t have another band lined up, do you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then stay,” Spencer repeated, turning to me with a grin that rivalled the brilliance of the landing lights. “This is the city that never sleeps, right?"

"I'm pretty sure that's New York."

"Well, this city looks like it doesn’t sleep either so how about we get outta here and roam around all night and all day tomorrow? I’ll break our Jon's leg again and it can be a happy coincidence that you’re here to fill in. You can even hold him down while I get creative.”

I held back a smile while Spencer snickered at his own plan.

For a fleeting second the shock of our effortless friendship derailed me. I wasn’t used to people wanting me around outside of my musical skill, and I had forgotten what it was like to talk to someone who wasn’t doing so just because I was backing up their disadvantaged band. Though the comfort was foreign, something about it felt oddly familiar. We had only met twice but spending time with Spencer while I waited to fly out to my next mark on the map felt like something I had been doing all my life.

Spencer leaned his forehead on my shoulder as his laughs dissolved into little hiccups. Another companionable silence fell over us before his voice broke in, muffled by my arm. “So after you left last year we played a show in Texas and for, like, the two days we were there we lived off of deep-fried everything. I convinced Brendon to eat a deep-fried crayon. It was yellow but the box the vendor guy had said ‘non-toxic’ so it’s not like I poisoned him. He got sorta nauseous but he's still alive so it couldn't have done any real damage, right?"

"The only thing that matters is he's still breathing."

"Exactly. We also found some dude pedalling deep-fried crow. Jon bought that one but he kept it as, like, a pet for a week, which was kinda messed up 'cause he'd caw to it and pretend like it was still alive. I threw it out the bus onto the freeway while he was asleep on the way to New Mexico. I bought some pretty sweet Nike’s in Texas too.”

“Were they deep-fried?”

Spencer pushed his face against my arm and let out a dramatic sigh. “I wish.”

I patted his head in mock sympathy, feeling him relax against me. My fingers skimmed over his short shock of hair as I recalled the more amusing the things that had happened since I last saw him.

“After I left you guys I played a few shows with Good Charlotte and accidentally kicked Billy Martin in the balls during the encore. I think we were in Montana.”

“You kicked that scrawny dude in the balls!?”

“Accidentally,” I repeated, putting heavy emphasis on the word. “It’s not like I planned to do it.”

"Did he die?"

"What? No! I didn't kick him that hard, it was an accident. "

“Yeah, your leg just decided to sack him all on its own, right?”

“I ...slipped.”

Spencer's warm laughter filled the space between us. “So are you banned from playing with Good Charlotte now, too?”

“No, thankfully. I don’t think I’ve ever left a stadium to get to an airport so fast. I mean, Billy recovered in time for the hook so no real harm done.”

“Tell that to his future foot-shaped babies.”

"Only if you own up to Brendon's future jaundiced children."

“Flight 651 now boarding.”

I turned to Spencer, who had straightened up after hearing the announcement over the intercoms. His sleepy eyes darted away from the ticket sticking out of my bag. “I guess this is ‘catch you later’?”

I took the opportunity to cast one final look out the window to the city lights beyond the landing pads. The smile on my face was marred by the thought of leaving. “Hopefully 'later' isn't in another year, Spin. ”

One side of his mouth lifted half heartedly. “Try not to miss me too much, Android,”

“How do you expect me to manage that?” I joked, throwing my arms around Spencer as he reached out and pulled me in for a parting hug.



About a week later I was staring down at a small, rectangular parcel on my kitchen counter, eyeing the plethora of foreign stickers and stamps covering the beige wrapping. I carefully tore the paper off and lifted the lid of the box, picking up the postcard that laid on top a bed of pink packing peanuts. My eyes grazed over the photograph of Tokyo Tower lit up in gold against the vibrant hues of the setting sun.

I flipped the card over, grinning instantly at the writing on the back.

Android,
I know you were bummed out that you couldn’t spend more time in Tokyo so I thought I’d send you something to remind you of the bit of time you did get to enjoy there. Offer still stands if you want me to break Jon’s leg.

-Spin

P.S. I got your shipping address from FBR.
I am not creepy. Don’t call the po.

Underneath the styrofoam bed was a miniature replica of Tokyo Tower, the figurine an exact match to the beauty in the photograph. I marvelled at its delicate porcelain and intricate detailing, laying its gentle weight carefully in the palm of my hand.

I placed the two inch tower gingerly on my bedroom windowsill and headed out to my flight to Tennessee, the grin still on my face and the postcard tucked neatly inside my jacket pocket.