Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story (25 page)

“I know the feeling,” she mumbled. I sensed that she wanted to talk about it, but didn’t want to bring it up. So I did.

“You really love him, huh?” I asked. It was a stupid question. I knew she loved him. It was written all over her; in her eyes, in her smile, in her voice. She’d lost that gleam about her, that magnetic energy. Now all I could see when I looked at her was a bleak mirror of misery.

Justine was brokenhearted.

What a couple of sad souls we are, I thought. I looked above us to see if I could spot the black cloud that hung over our heads.

“I do,” she said, regretfully. “I usually don’t try to make a habit of sleeping with my best friend’s boyfriends, but I don’t know what the hell came over me. He stopped over our apartment the day after you flew home for the funeral to grab a few things he’d left there. We ended up hanging out that night, and one thing led to another, and before I knew it, we had spent that whole week together. Renee, I’d never felt like that about anyone in my life, ever. I just became completely consumed by him. I’ll admit, I was sort of jealous when you guys were dating, because I thought he was a great guy. But I never in a million years expected that to happen. And when it did, I just didn’t know what to do. You know how we were talking about marriage right before you left?”

I nodded.

“Well that was how I felt about him. It’s like those stories that you hear, when people tell you about when they fi
rst met their husband or wife and
they just
knew
.” She sighed. “Well I knew. But talk about picking the wrong person to fall in love with.” She looked up at me. “Renee, I am
so sorry
.” She stressed each word slowly. “I can’t even begin…”

“It’s okay,” I int
errupted. “It doesn’t
matter anymore. I just have one question for you.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Are you back here for good?”

She nodded. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Well, then you’d better be sticking around for a while.” I smirked. “Or at least another six months.”

Justine cocked her head to the side. “Why’s that?”

I looked down at my stomach. “Well… let’s just say I won’t be able to join you and Beth for cocktails anytime soon.”

Justine’s mouth dropped open. “No way…”

I bit my lower lip and nodded.

“Oh my God!” she shrieked, jumping out of her chair to hug me. “You’re going to be a mom?”

“Why does everyone say that like it’s a good thing?” I joked, rolling my eyes.

“I have to admit, it is a little weird,” she said, grinning. “But wait, does Dylan know?”

I shook my head. “I tried to tell him, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me right now.” My face fell. “And I really don’t blame him.”

“Renee, when have you ever been the type to ever give up on anything?”

“I’m not giving up, I’m just waiting until he’s back from tour…”

Justine held her hand up. “Listen to me. I’ve known you since we were kids, and this is not the Renee I know. The Renee I know would’ve showed up on this guy’s doorstep, begging and pleading if she had to, and wouldn’t have left until she got exactly what she wanted.”

I laughed. “Yeah, well, it’s not that easy.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” Justine peered at me with that all-too-familiar devilish look. “Renee, this guy obviously loves you, he’s just under the wrong impression right now. And even though you can be a conniving, manipulative pain in the ass when you want something, you usually get it. But forget all that.” She waved her hand in the air. “It’s not about just you anymore. You have something else to look out for now.” She glanced downward. “Or rather… someone.”

I sighed. “So, what are you suggesting I do?”

“You know what you need to do.” She turned, motioning to the door. “Go find him. And don’t leave until you get exactly what you came for.”

Chapter
23

When you’re eighteen,
the Fung-Wah Bus is a great transportation route to New York. It’s fifteen bucks, has a built-in bathroom, and drops you off right in the heart of the city.

When you’re twenty-five and pregnant, the Fung-Wah Bus is hell on earth. The screaming children next to you only remind you that, in six months, one of those is going to be yours. Your bus mates look at you like you’re insane because you’re the only person making heavy rotation bathroom trips because of your nausea and overactive bladder. Not to mention, the toilet paper always runs out by the end of the trip.

At four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, I finally stepped off the
bus and arrived in Manhattan. The humidity nearly choked me when I stepped off the bus, and to make matters worse,
it had been down pouring all day. I hoped it wasn’t a foreshadowing of future events. 

I came just in time to catch one of the last shows of Electric Wreck’s tour before they returned home to Boston. The show was scheduled to take place at the Bowery Ballroom, which was exactly why I’d chosen it. I’d been to the venue before, and knew it was big enough for me to blend in with the crowd and not be noticed, but at the same time, small enough that I’d be able to find Dylan afterward.

My hotel was only four blocks from the venue, but by the time I took the train from Chinatown to Eighth Street, I had just enough time to check in, unpack and get dressed before heading over to the Bowery. I was nervous as hel
l. I’d spent at least a good hour
outfit-hopping in my cheap hotel room, trying to distract myself from the night that could potentially make or break the rest of my life. But as soon as I set foot out of the lobby and onto the sidewalk, the knots in my stomach began to multiply.

The way the Bowery was set up, you had to walk through the downstairs bar area before heading up the stairs to the show room. I had timed it so that I arrived exactly before Electric Wreck was scheduled to take the stage, to avoid any possible chance of running into the guys before the set.

The show room was pitch black, with opera-style balconies lining the walls and the only light coming from the stage. It was the perfect place to be inconspicuous. I watched the sound guys come and go, my eyes anxiously watching every hall, every corner, waiting to catch a glimpse of Dylan. 

As soon as I saw him set foot on the stage, my heart felt like it had caught in my throat. I noticed him instantly, those eyes, the way he moved. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The
person who
had once belonged to me. He had a black leather vest draped over his white T-shirt, chin down, eyes raised towards the sky. And when the lights dimmed and he opened his mouth to sing, it was all I could do not to climb onto the stage and curl up next to him.

Every song that passed felt like another knife through my heart. I’d practically mastered the art of forgetting about people when they were halfway across the country, but here, in front of me, each vocal reached further and further into my memory, digging up the past, raining on the future.

The entire band sounded better than ever, Dylan especially, his confidence and voice at a level I’d never seen before. I was standing in the back left corner, propped against the wall, doing everything I could to hold myself together.

When they reached the end of the set, everyone in the audience went wild, hands applauding above their heads, screams penetrating the air. By that point I was already gravitating toward the front, hoping to catch Dylan at the downstairs bar after their equipment was packed up.

I made a beeline for the front, ordered a cranberry juice, and waited like a hawk in one of the red plush booths by the bar. My eyes roved the room, my nerves jumping at every new
person who
came through the doorway. After what felt like an eternity, I saw the outline of Jeff’s tall, lanky frame enter the room, followed by Christian and Justin, and braced myself for what was coming next.

What I didn’t expect was the short, curvy blonde linked on Dylan’s arm.

Time stood still as I watched Dylan’s lips trace the girl’s cheek, their fingers intertwined like newlyweds. In my mind, I had imagined that he was dying inside the same way I was, but the devilish look in his eye was enough to convince me that the past year of my life had been nothing but a façade. And before the tears could even begin to hit my cheeks, I stood and disappeared out the back door without looking back.

***

I couldn’t go back to the hotel. It would’ve been even worse than those first few lon
ely nights back in Boston, post David and
Justine. My thoughts and I, staring at the wall, the bad memories replaying over and over like a movie reel. So instead, I opted to roam the flooded streets of Manhattan to clear my head.

By now, the rain was coming down in spurts, temporary drizzles to downpours and back. I walked five blocks to a late-night gift shop in Times Square, bought a black hooded sweatshirt to throw on over my soaked clothes, then kept trudging through the army of bright lights.

I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going, I was just drifting in the vicinity of where Dylan and I had stayed during the last trip, since I was vaguely familiar with the area. Usually, the energy of the city made me feel so alive, but tonight, all I wanted was to push through all the smiling faces and find a safe place to console my heartache.

I made a right onto Tenth Street, and immediately spotted the bench where Walter and I had sat while I drunkenly confessed my feelings for Dylan. I stopped and peered up at the lit windows in the hotel, wondering which room had once belonged to Dylan and me.

The night that had changed everything.

Then I remembered the blonde on his arm and kept walking.

The rain had more or less stopped, it was now just drizzling off the sides of building
s
and splashing up from puddles as cars drove through. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt tight over my hair and kept my head down, ambling forward like someone about to be crucified.

I crossed the street and kept going, well aware that the further I went, the less likely I’d be able to find my way back to the hotel on foot. But before I could turn around, I saw the fountain and picnic benches at Bryant Park on my left, and forced myself down on one soaked tables. Water seeped through the backside of my pants and I curled my legs into my chest, wrapping my arms around them, thinking back to when Dylan and I were here, when things were different. Back to when the sun shone and my heart was still in tact.

I’m not sure how long I stayed there, it could’ve been two hours or ten minutes. My thoughts just blended together like a drug-induced fog until I realized the tips of my fingers were numb and I needed to get back to my heated hotel room. And to top off my trip down memory lane, there was a giant black van that looked just like Dylan’s parked along the side of the road across the street from the park.

I walked out to the sidewalk and snuck a backward glance at the van, only to realize from the Massachusetts license plate that the van didn’t just look like Dylan’s, it
was
Dylan’s.

The van was empty, but I looked down the block towards the hotel. Could he really have stayed there? After all the memories, did he really have the heart to go back there again? On second thought, he had moved on pretty quickly.

I was frozen in place on the sidewalk, debating on whether to check with the hotel front desk, call him, or do none of the above, assuming the curvy blonde was still in his presence.