Page 20 of A Boy Called Lovesong

“Noah, I really need to talk to you right now.”

I ignored Margot and grabbed the whiskey bottle, splashing booze into my glass once more. “And make no mistake,” I slurred through another mouthful. “Tragedy travels down the line like a fucking freight train. How many dreamers wererobbed of their chance to change the world because the one person who could have guided them to greatness died, his life cut short by the interference of someone who probably doesn’t even know the damage they’ve done? How many songs will we never know? How many voices will we never hear? How many stars will never get to shine because of one stupid letter?”

Mike and Brad looked confused.

Margot tried to take me by the hand. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry but we’re going to have to—”

“No!” I yelled, wrenching my hand away. “You wanted me to pitch my book so I’m pitching my book. This is the book I need to write. These are the wrongs I need to right. This is for all the people who need to hold someone accountable for something.”

Brad leaned over to Mike. “We should go. We’ve got that two o’clock meeting back at the—”

“Bullshit you do. You’re lying. Trust me, I’m great at spotting lies these days. I know now that I’ve spent years lying to myself, telling myself that so many things mattered when they actually didn’t… or that so many thingsdidn’tmatter, when actually they did. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Brad moved to get up, but I laid my hand on his shoulder and firmly sat him back down. “Let me show you what I mean. Let’s play a game, shall we? I’ll say something, and you tell me if it matters or not. Let’s start with say… mirrors. Do they matter or not?”

Mike shrugged. “I guess… yes? They matter… if you wanna look—”

“Wrong. They don’t fucking matter at all. Who cares what you look like? Next… showers.”

“That’s just basic hygiene,” Brad answered, sounding timid.

“Wrong again. They don’t matter a goddamn iota.”

“Noah…”

“We’re still playing the game, Margot. Oh, how about this one… the ashes of your dead husband-to-be. What about that one? Do they matter or not?”

“Noah.”

“They matter!” I answered for the table. “Oh yes, they fucking matter all right. Which is why when your cunt of a sister-in-law shows up and demands half of her brother’s remains, you take her fucking urn, and you fill it with kitty litter instead.” The laugh that came out of me was hysterical in more ways than one. “Oh man, when she finally takes a peek into that urn is she gonna be pissed.”

“Noah, we’re leaving,” Margot said firmly.

“Mike, we’re leaving,” said Brad.

I slammed my fist down on the table and the cutlery jingled. “Nobody’s leaving! I’ve had nobody but the dog to talk to for almost a year now, so nobody is leaving until you hear what I have to say… until you understand why I need to write this book… until you understand what’s happening here.”

“Noah,” said Margot in the voice of a negotiator. “What’s happening here is you’re yelling. You’re crying. Do you even know you’re crying right now?” She turned to Brad and Mike. “I’m sorry, this is my fault. This was too soon. I thought he was ready.”

“Iamready! I’m ready to tell the world that sometimes people die because of someone else’s stupidity.”

Brad’s napkin landed on the table. “We have to go.”

“Of course you have to go.” My nostrils flared in frustration. “Because talking about someone else’s grief is fucking boring to you. Because grief is awkward and embarrassing, and I see you looking around the room… and I see the room looking back at us… and I don’t give a damn. Tell me, Brad, what the fuck do you know about grief? I bet you don’t even know if the ‘i’ goes beforethe ‘e’. Well? Do you? Tell me Brad, do you even know what grief is?”

He sat there speechless for a moment.

I slammed my hand down like I was hitting a buzzer. “Time’s up, because if it takes you that long to think about it, then your answer is no. Because if you’ve lost someone, you know it’s more than just grief. It’s the loneliness… it’s the fear… it’s the reminder of the life you lost… it’severywhere. You set the table for two and realize, there it is. You walk into the dry cleaners to pick up his clothes and you realize, there it is. You hear his favorite piece of music on the radio… or you get a bill in the mail addressed to him… or you hear a laugh that sounds exactly like his and a spark of hope goes off in your heart until you realize, there it is. You become terrified to say his name in case you burst into tears, but if youdon’tsay his name you’re terrified he’ll somehow disappear and one day you’ll wake up and won’t even remember what he looked like, or smelled like, or tasted like when you kissed him… and you realize,there it is… it’s fucking everywhere. It takes you over, like a cancer growing inside you, turning you into a shadow from the inside. It unravels the way you function, it poisons the way you think, and all you can do is wonder how long… how long will it be before this completely consumes me?”

“Sir.”

“What!”

Suddenly the waiter was standing beside me, his stance nervous.

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you don’t lower your voice.”

“Why? Because I’m making everyone uncomfortable? Because my partner died and nobody—nobody—seems to get it? Am I the only person on the planet who’s ever experienced loss, because it sure as fuck—”

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