Authors: Alice Severin
He came a bit closer to the bed. AC looked pale and blotchy, like he’d been crying.
“Tris. I just can’t. The last night.” He coughed again. “Lils, it’s lonely out there.
But say no if it’s too weird, ok? You’ll tell me the truth, right?”
There was something in his voice that brought back everything I’d been thinking. I
couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t speak. So I lifted up the covers next to me. Catching
his eye, I managed a little choking laugh. Then I moved my hand so I was holding up
the covers next to Tristan.
Tristan flung down the covers all the way, exposing his long legs against the white
sheet. “I guess it’s all decided then. Get over here.” And AC climbed in next to Tristan,
who lay back down against the pillows and pulled me next to him, his other arm circling
AC, who was clinging to Tristan like he was a life raft. We settled in, small adjustments.
AC’s arm was next to mine, and he moved it so it was pressing against me, gently.
Tristan was breathing softly beneath our skin, nearly asleep, holding us both up.
I thought of how different AC’s skin felt, and how strange it was to feel them both
at once, comparing. I remembered a picture from a book I’d had as a little girl, showing
three lost children trying to sleep, leaning against a big tree in the middle of the
forest, the dark line of the tall tree bisecting the triangle of their heads, huddled
together for warmth, praying for protection. I hadn’t thought of that book for ages,
but I could see all it now, the fraying blue cloth cover, the faded gold embossed
printing on the cover, the picture of a cottage on the front, gripped in my hand as
I felt asleep. Right before I fell asleep I realized I was holding someone’s hand
tightly, and they were clasping mine.
* * *
The next morning and the wake-up call found us all occupying our own sections of the
king-size bed, but the bleary looks we all gave each other once we realized where
and who we were filled with a kind of contented understanding. A knock at the door
made AC jump out of bed. He retrieved the coffee and croissants that Tristan had arranged
for the day before, and between getting ready and packing up the guitars and suitcases,
there was no time to talk. It was probably just as well. I wanted to think, to feel.
I didn’t want to have to explain anything. I had a feeling that none of us wanted
to break this strange fragile thing we had created.
Then the car was waiting outside, and I took another look around the room. To me,
there were traces of magic in all the corners, across the unmade bed, its white sheets
still shaped in the pattern made by our bodies. I was sure if I looked closely enough,
I’d even be able to see the imprints of our warmth on the carpet where we sang together.
I blew the room a kiss and shut the door. Nothing was the same, and never would be
again.
We said goodbye at the airport, under the eyes of the staff of TSA and the check-in
desk at AC’s flight, and anyone else who might have noticed or cared on the way to
getting their own flights. Tristan watched him head down the steel box ramp. AC turned
and saw us looking, and a big smile illuminated his face, and made him seem bright,
very bright indeed next to all the early morning passengers rushing to get space for
their carry-ons, and he waved at us, and was lost in the flood of scurrying heads.
I squeezed Tristan’s arm. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
Tristan looked down at me, his eyes slightly red. “Jesus, I hope so Lily. I fucking
hope so.” He kissed me. “Come on, we’ve got our own flight to take.” His mouth moved
close to my ear. “I didn’t think I could love you more.” He grabbed my hand, and we
headed off to our gate. We were nearly there, when a fan came up to us, wanting an
autograph. It was the first time I’d seen Tristan say no, even if it was with an apology
about being about to miss a flight. We hurried on. At the gate, Tristan gave me the
tickets, and put on his sunglasses. “I might as well enjoy the perks of the cliché.
I’m really not in the mood. Do you mind, Lil?”
“Not at all. Gives me something to do. Let me.” I took the whole shoulder bag with
all the ID and info in it from him. He still had his guitar, which would go in the
carry on in first class. We checked in, and went through. I had one hand on his back,
the other arm out keeping people away, I suddenly realized, in bodyguard stance. It
amused me to think I’d been watching that closely, that I could just step into the
role, despite needing at least another foot and a hundred pounds of muscle to really
make a difference. Still. Don’t fuck with the mother bear. On the plane before take-off
I texted Dave and asked him to get us a person to get us through and a car. “Tired”
was the only explanation I offered. Let him make of that what he wanted, I thought.
We didn’t really talk during the flight. Tristan fell asleep for a while, his head
against the plastic wall of the plane. I tried to tuck a pillow in by his neck. I
stared at the map of our journey, looking at the outlines of the states, wondering
how you could come so far, and then go even further than you’d expected. I tried to
write a postcard to Hank. I’d gotten his name and address from the bus company. I’d
never said goodbye properly, but I figured he knew why. I hoped he’d be pleased to
know I still thought of him. Except I couldn’t think of what to say. I wanted to tell
him everything, everything that had happened, but I knew I couldn’t do that. Even
if he would have understood. I wished there was someone I could tell all this to,
but there wasn’t. I put the card back in my bag. For later. When I could remember
how to talk about things that didn’t cut quite so deep. I asked the stewardess for
two glasses of cava when she came by on her regular round to stare at Tristan. I figured
if I asked for two, I had a better chance that she wouldn’t spit in it. She looked
at him again. “He must be tired,” she said quietly.
Quietly, or not, I didn’t want her to wake him up. “That’s right,” I replied. “Thanks
for getting the drinks.” I tried to smile. So did she. Neither of us looked very convincing.
When she returned with the two glasses, I had my own set of sunglasses on. “Thanks
again.”
I looked at the map. We were about to go through Ohio. Another hour or so. I sipped
at the cava. Tristan was starting to wake up.
“You ok?” I handed him the glass.
“Thanks.” He drank the entire thing. “That’s better. Can we get more? I’m all right.
Bloody exhausted, I guess.”
I waved at the stewardess, and whispered to Tristan. “She wants you. Autograph?”
“Sure,” he squeezed my hand. “Hi,” he read her name tag. She stuck her boobs out a
bit more. I didn’t think now was the time to mention to her that if they were any
closer to my face, I’d have trouble breathing. “Maryann.” He held out his hand. “Nice
to meet you. Thanks so much for looking after us. Can we get some more of whatever
this is? And we’ve got a CD in here, if you want one.”
She beamed. “That would be great.” She was back in moments with four of the little
bottles of cava. She opened two and poured them, and gave the others to Tristan. She
gave him a big wink. “Don’t tell on me now.”
“As if I would.” He was signing the CD. “To Maryann. Thanks so much, sweetheart. Really
appreciate it.” He blew her a kiss. I thought she was going to faint.
We sat there, plastic cups in hand. “That was nice of you.”
“Not really,” Tristan said laconically. “Going through the motions, to be perfectly
honest.”
I didn’t say anything, but he took my hand, and pointed out the window. “Above the
clouds,” he hummed.
“It looks pretty from up here.”
“All the nonsense, down there. And then… Are you sorry you came along?”
I looked at him, wide-eyed. “Never.”
Tristan smiled then, for real, but his eyes were intense. “No going back once you’ve
been on tour.”
“No going back. I wouldn’t want to, anyway. Even if I could.”
He intertwined his long fingers with mine, and raised our hands to his lips, and kissed
my fingers where they were linked with his. “Stay with me, Lily.”
“As long as you want me. Maybe longer.”
He kissed the tip of each finger. “No matter what.”
“Everything matters.”
He turned to look at me. It was the first time I’d ever seen real uncertainty cross
his face. He studied me, as his eyes hardened again, ever so slightly. “It does.”
He took in a gulp of air, dropped my hand, and looked away, out the window. It was
almost as though he was talking to himself. “There’s more to this. I know that. I
won’t ask you to do what you can’t.” He shifted his entire body until he was facing
me. “But I will ask you to be honest with me.”
It hurt to not be touching him. But I knew what he was doing. I would have done the
same. “I can’t lie to you. I don’t want to either. I’ve…” I stopped. Just words.
“What?” Tristan’s face was serious. “Tell me.”
I shut my eyes. I couldn’t keep all my thoughts straight, with him staring at me like
that. “You were there. You know.” I grabbed at the cup, and sipped at the contents.
Tasteless. It could have been anything. I forced my eyes open and stared back at him.
“The song. Singing. Sharing the bed. It meant something to me too. Whatever it is.”
His eyes were endless. “And AC?”
I smiled. “You want words. That’s so unlike you. Wouldn’t you rather hear me now and
see if I keep to my word? That’s what you’ll do anyway.”
Tristan couldn’t help the twitch that teased at the corner of his mouth. “My god,
Lily. You weren’t supposed to figure me out like this. Ok, fair enough. But now I
want words. Tell me.”
I drank some more, and tried to think of what to say. Everything coherent was gone
from my head. “Tristan. I’d love to say this beautifully.” I swallowed. “But we’re
on a plane, and I can’t think, and oh, fuck. I don’t know. Tris. I love you. For real.”
I felt my voice drop to a whisper. “It scares me a little. A lot. Fuck.” I looked
at my hands around the empty cup. “Now it’s a speech. I want you to be happy.” I lowered
my voice even more, until I was practically breathing the words. “Fuck it, he needs
you. I need you.”
He repeated his question. “And AC?”
I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. “I care about him.”
“That’s all?” That piercing look had returned. There wasn’t a place to hide from that.
“I…he…understands you.”
“And does he understand you?”
“Sometimes. Maybe yes. It seems that way.”
“And how do you feel?”
“About him?”
Tristan inclined his head. I was about to speak when the announcement from the captain
came over the speakers. We were on our final descent into JFK. I peered around Tristan
to look out the window. Only ocean. I’d barely noticed that we had been losing altitude.
The stewardess came around to check we were following the instructions, and we gave
our bottles to her. She tried to touch Tristan’s hand. He smiled, politely, raising
an eyebrow at me after she left. We adjusted our seats, returned everything to its
original position, buckled in. I leaned into the seat back, trying to pretend I liked
flying. Or this part of it.
Tristan’s voice was a low whisper. “How do you feel about him?”
I shut my eyes again.
His hand was on my arm. “Tell me. I need to know. Please. No lies, ok?”
I took a deep breath. All this could have remained unspoken. At least for another
day. But Tristan was there, breathing steadily, his hand firm on my arm. My heart
was racing. The plane was moments from landing. Putting it off now would be worse.
“I…he…I don’t know. Yes. He is. Strangely fascinating. There.”
I looked over at him. Tristan’s mouth was turned up at the corner, a look of irrepressible
glee removing a tension around his eyes that had been there. For a while, it suddenly
struck me.
“Well?” I put my hand over his.
Then the grin spread across his whole face. “I was convinced you didn’t like him.
Thought you were putting up with all this for my sake.”
Now I was smiling. “Martyr complex?”
“Something like that.”
“Damn I’m good.”
“Cards close to the chest.” He looked down. “I like that.”
“So, brakes off the train then?”
The serious look returned. “I don’t know.” He took my hands again. “You really did
know.”
“I really did.” The plane hit the runway and bounced, and touched down again. I clutched
at Tristan’s hands as the engines roared into full reverse.
“How?” he whispered in my ear. The squeal of the engines almost drowned him out. I
looked around. The closest person was across the aisle. They were just a little too
far away to hear.
I leaned towards him, my mouth touching his ear. “Chicago. Dressing room. Door ajar.”
I could see the whole scene again, their bodies against the wall, Tristan’s face lost
in pleasure. I pushed it from my mind. “I didn’t mean to spy. But. Quite a show. Lucky
it was just me, really.”
“The night you were passed out.”
“The very one.”
“You were upset.”
“I was a lot of things. I couldn’t really…I don’t know. Untangle it.”
He gripped my hands. “Lily. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I leaned even closer. The engines were powering down. Our whispered conversation would
have to end. “You didn’t. You are you. That’s it. That’s all I want.”
The plane started to bump over the seams in the runways, heading towards the gate.
We passed by the planes lined up, waiting their turn to head out, to speed down the
runway into the sky. We were going towards the buildings. Back to civilization. Back
to New York. And it really struck me. We were home. This part of the tour was really
over. And now all this new information was going to have to be part of real life.
Which meant that life was going to change.
I wondered how.
chapter twenty-one
New York
We were only going to be in New York for a few days, so it had felt strange to return
to the apartment, almost like another hotel room. I supposed it felt more like home
to Tristan, although he didn’t seem that happy to be back either. I felt itchy under
my skin. Tristan, pacing while he talked on the phone, gave off that aura of a wild
caged thing he had at times. We thought about going out, which probably was what we
both needed. Mindless activity. But Tristan didn’t want to deal with the public, and
there was nowhere either of us really wanted to go. Instead, we indulged in the small
luxury of ordering food to be delivered, the one thing that New York could always
provide, the ability to stay shut inside. We made more phone calls. I checked in with
Dave, but it was really just to thank him for organizing the car and driver to extract
us from the airport. There was nothing to deal with at the moment, and for that I
was very grateful.
I strolled around the apartment, gazing over all the places that now held memories
for me as well. Our short, intense history together was leaving its traces on his
home. I wondered what Tristan could see, that I couldn’t. That was the trouble with
mysteries revealed. The state of wonder the revelation brought on reminded you of
all of the secrets, all the other things that you didn’t know. I found Tristan in
the kitchen and approached him carefully. After a moment, I gave him an awkward hug.
We were standing by the kitchen window, where I’d made that fateful choice to stay.
Was I making it again? In some ways it seemed that way. Tristan kissed my forehead,
and we gazed at each other, and within all the uncertainty and unease, there was that
little feeling that yes, we did know each other. Deeper understanding, wordless, silent,
not spoiled by some inane rush to explain. His eyes were dark, and bottomless.
He frightened me a little, all the same, and I gave him a half-smile, which he returned,
shaking his head, all the irony, all the complications, all the possibilities of the
situation in his look. He kissed me, and returned to his phone calls. I stood there,
and watched the streets below. So many moments in relationships were acceptance, and
quiet, and storing away confidence in the future because you hadn’t fucked up the
present, even if all you did was nothing. Nothing was a choice too.
Dinner came, and over sushi, we watched a film. Tristan idly tapped his foot as the
woman in the French film found her way to the house in the hills, and it was all too
late, because the lover was going to jail. She wailed, then was silent, as the gendarmes
pushed him into the car, and you knew they’d never see each other again. Her final
reflection, facing the rock faces of the primitive mountains where they’d hoped to
hide, was an acceptance of simple tragedy. FIN came up, and Tristan got up to throw
out the containers. It was utterly banal, and very domestic, and we were playing house.
Remembering how life went. Tristan showered, then I did, and there were glasses of
water by the bed, and the lights were switched off. Finally we went to bed, and the
bed itself seemed big and strange, the distant constant roar of movement and traffic
outside providing a lingering music that crept between you and the pillow like little
needles keeping you from sleep. I kissed Tristan’s shoulder, and turned over.
The next day rose thick and warm, with the kind of heat New York City used to only
have in August. The heaviness of the air around us didn’t bring any comfort. It wasn’t
a soothing blanket of warmth—instead, the air was thin and hot and empty. Tristan
slung his arm around my shoulder and dropped it almost immediately. “Sticky,” he said.
I shrugged. We had decided to go for a walk, and then get the ferry over to Williamsburg,
in Brooklyn, hoping for a bit of fresh air on the river. Tristan said he had an errand
to run over there, and I was happy for the distraction. We walked past the traffic
lined up at the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, the cars revving their motors in their
excitement to get through the light and wait on the other side for more traffic. Two
men behind us talked about sales and their niche market. I looked over at Tristan,
who was almost amused, but as he swept a hand through his dark hair, and pushed it
off, away from his skin, I could see that he was tired, and not really enjoying this,
our slog through the downtown streets. “It will be better when we are by the water.”
I muttered. He threw me a weak smile. The traffic poured slowly across Canal Street.
A little girl next to us screamed and pulled at her mother’s arm, as the mother patiently
tried to calm her. She pointed, hysterical, at the gutter. We looked down, and there,
slightly squashed, lying across the metal bars of the drain at the corner, was a half-grown
rat. It wouldn’t have scared anyone while alive. The girl’s reaction seemed almost
cruel, except that she was genuinely scared. Tristan looked away. He really was tired.
Even the short tour had taken it out of him, the setbacks, the success. His silences,
more frequent, and longer, seemed menacing somehow. Except behind his eyes, when you
looked, his big eyes, floating between dark and light, seemed to be begging for something,
release maybe. And as soon as you looked again, they were flat, still, a pond in the
afternoon light waiting for someone to drown.
We got a taxi, and reached the ferry terminal, and waited with the tourists, the workers
heading home, the mothers who had been out on a day trip with their children, the
few wanderers and ramblers headed back or out, it was hard to tell. We showed our
tickets on my phone, and walked down the gangplank, a weird little commute. Most of
us walked onto the boat and headed for the stairs that led to the outdoor deck. Tristan
and I commandeered a corner, and looked out across the water to the Brooklyn Bridge,
to the reclaimed land where the docks and the ships slotted in used to be filled with
activity. The boat headed across the river and docked at the base of the hill leading
up to Brooklyn Heights. The old buildings looked fake, the new ones looked empty.
A group of children got on, all holding ice cream cones from the shop by the ferry
dock. It should have felt like the joyful end to a summer day. The ferry left with
a shout of the horn, and a gasp of cooler air from thick green water of the East River
came to us.
“Let’s stay on to the end, then come back,” Tristan shouted over the roar of the engines.
I nodded agreement. He pulled his hat further down over his forehead. With the sunglasses,
the hat, and the plaid shirt, he looked like all the other inhabitants of the new
Brooklyn. You’d have to have very sharp eyes to catch those memorable features, the
sharp nose, the finely cut mouth. I had my sunglasses on as well, my hair pulled back.
Two arty people disappearing into the crowd on a very hot afternoon. The boat stopped,
then headed further up the coastline, to the new unmemorable towers taking over the
former brownfields of Long Island City, north to the Queensboro, now Ed Koch Bridge.
Looking west, there were the old apartment and new business buildings of the East
Side of Manhattan, still marked, but no longer dominated by the fishbowl blue green
of the United Nations building, a polite but imposing monolith on what had once been
another forgotten piece of unwanted waterfront land. Tristan suddenly reached out
for my hand and squeezed it, and I held on, the warmth and softness of his skin a
strange contrast with the strength and size of his hand, clinging to me tightly.
We stayed on the boat at 34th Street, and no one seemed to mind. The people disembarked,
and the new group refilled the boat. The horn went again, giving notice, and the ferry
quickly left land, heading across what seemed a mere spit of water, to dock hurriedly
at the Long Island City port. Letting off a few brave souls reclaiming the factory
lands overlooking the grey offices of midtown, it roared off again, reversing into
the river, heading at a fast pace through the now calm waters of the East River. An
inlet went by, its banks almost retaken by foliage, green against the brick and concrete
walls of the warehouses just beyond, a shadow of what once must have been a watery
and fertile land, quiet and waiting. Tristan still had my hand in his, as we both
looked out at the passing scenery. “Do we get off at the next one?” I asked.
“No, let’s stay on until the first stop in Williamsburg. This is good.” Tristan murmured,
his lips again parting the hair just over my ear, getting much closer than he needed
to be. I leaned into him, the rounded muscle of his shoulder just brushing the top
of my head, his arm around me, close and protective. The boat stopped again, at the
end of a long dock, and headed out once more. We watched the shoreline pass by, the
overgrown tangle of plants and half trees and weeds giving way to the three blank
white tanks containing some mysterious substance, surrounded by a yard full of trucks
and other vehicles, looking like they had been there always. A dock appeared, the
boat did its quick maneuvering, and we got into the line waiting to jump off the boat
as soon as the gangplank hit the concrete pier. Tristan looked around, slightly nervous,
the way he always was the minute he was in a crowd of people with no immediate exit.
We followed the line out to the park. He pulled me over to a line of wooden benches
that looked out on the skyline. “Lily. Come with me.” I squeezed his hand again, and
followed him to a bench.
We sat there for a while, my hand small within his grasp, watching the kids play on
scooters and the Williamsburg hipsters with cash to burn walk their dogs in the shadow
of the new condo buildings all around us. A couple of people who looked like they
pre-dated all this new transformation, sat around, not fashionable, enjoying the sun,
a can of beer in a paper bag day. Another ferry came and left. Finally, Tristan turned
to me.
“Lily, you remember all the things I told you about my family?”
I nodded, not sure what to say, wanting to listen before I ventured anything.
Tristan’s eyes were dark as he looked out over the water. “I’ve done a lot of crazy
things I guess. Trevor’s pretty pissed at me.” He turned towards me and kissed my
cheek. “But you. Are you angry?”
I thought about all the things I wanted to say, and all the things that it was pointless
to bring up. “I’m not angry. You’ve always been honest with me. I’m not expecting
perfection.” I looked into his eyes. “I don’t even know what that is. You. You’re
perfect for me. All I want is you. The way you are. For real.”
Tristan ran his fingers through his hair. It was such a familiar gesture I felt like
I was doing it myself. “I want to tell you things. Ok?”
I pulled one of his hands towards me, and held it between mine in my lap. “Anything.
Really. I mean that.” I tried to smile. “Tell me.”
Tristan looked at his hand in mine, then up at the sky. He breathed in, and turned
to face the river again. “Lily. Talking. I guess I’m not used to it.” He turned back
to face me, and took off his sunglasses, and quickly put them back on. “Let’s walk.”
We got up from the wooden bench and started down the path, avoiding the mini scooter
riders and bicyclists, before heading out on the cobblestoned streets. “Trevor said
I should trust you,” Tristan finally said.
I nodded. Nothing I could say would make it easier, or better. But Tristan looked
like he was waiting. “You should,” I finally murmured. “You can.”
Tristan’s face was in shadow, the sunlight blocked by the tall building, his silhouette
sharp lines on the hazy background of smog filled air and green junk trees creeping
through the chain link fences. “My family. They…I don’t know. Trevor made me go to
some therapy sessions. After. That. With the drugs, right?” He hesitated. “After the
first time. I didn’t think it helped. But maybe it did. I never thought about it much.
I never wanted it to. What it all meant. Being left alone like that. As a child. I
thought I was very grown up. To look after myself so much.” He laughed, a bitter choking
smirk that cut through the soft summer air. “It seemed normal for a long time. A very
long time. After all the things that happened. It still feels normal.”
I nodded at him. “Time. Makes some things better. But anything like the same thing
happens again, even a thought, it’s just like it’s on repeat.”
Tristan put his arms around me. “Repeat. That’s it, Lily. I don’t want to repeat.
I want it to be new. I want it to be right. But I feel like I keep fucking up.”
I didn’t say anything. This wasn’t the time to say things. Stupid words.
“I know what it is, Lily. I know it. As long as I have something else to go to, it
feels like I can get out. I can escape. Before it’s too late. But I still love…people.”
He pulled his arms away and punched one fist into the other.
The smack of skin on skin made me jump. It felt like he was hitting me. Himself. Everyone.
“But I can love, Lily. I do love…It’s just…” Tristan trailed off. He looked towards
the south, the lowering sun hitting his features, every outline traced by the light,
his skin pale yet golden in the swirled afternoon sunlight that bounced off every
particle, a prism in the polluted air. He was so beautiful, it almost hurt to look
at him, and I did, I had to look away. I forced myself to look back. I wanted to want
him for all the right reasons, but sometimes just looking at him tore away all my
resolve and I just wanted him, so badly. For any reason.
“I know…” I ventured.
Tristan gave me that look. “Do you?”
I made myself stare back. “Don’t I? Really? Then tell me. Talk to me. Please Tristan,
please. Don’t do this.”
His face was hard, his eyes cold. It was easy to see how he’d gotten to where he was,
the unwillingness to back down. “Lily. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you hate me.
Even if Trevor hates me. Even if AC hates me. I’m not leaving. That’s what I always
did before. I didn’t stay for the final act. Because that’s what I thought it was.
The end. I couldn’t ever see a way of resolving anything—because everyone left. Don’t
you get it? Everyone left. Even if they were there physically, they weren’t there
in spirit. Someone said to me once—your family and friends—they must all want a piece
of you, of your time. And they didn’t. They didn’t really care if I was there or not.
Unless they were lonely. Then I was company. But I could have been anyone. Anyone
at all. Alixe reminded me of my father. I guess.” He laughed again, that horrible
tinny sound that meant nothing was funny. “Success. That’s why people want success.
At least that’s why I wanted it. I thought it would make that empty feeling go away.
But it didn’t. It made it worse. I had more people to be betrayed by. Sounds so fucking
melodramatic, doesn’t it? Ah, whatever.” And he was silent.