Page 45 of Poetry By Dead Men
I pick up my coffee, curling my legs back underneath me as I sit back on the couch. Bobby watches me for a second, his eyes going glassy as if he’s seen a ghost, but he quickly composes himself, shaking his head as he moves to sit in the chair across from me.
We sit in silence for a moment as I drink my latte and try to come up with a few questions, cursing myself for not taking at least a couple minutes last night to prepare. I glance around as I think, noticing some new touches since the last time I was here. There are a few pictures on the wall with Bobby and other celebrities. The TV is in a different spot and far more modern. Not to mentionwaybigger, and the hallway looks different. There are only two bunks.
"Does your band still stay with you?" I ask. Bobby's shoulders lower, apparently deciding that my asking a question means I'm no longer at risk of backing out before the bus can even pull away.
"Sometimes Johnny stays over if we’re working on a song or watching a game. But the guys have a different bus."
"Oh." I hate the way that makes me feel, as if a poem I thought I had memorized suddenly changed. Is there a reason he needs his own bus? A girlfriend who stays with him? Or a rotating door of women to warm his bed? It isn't any of my business, but the thought still makes me feel like I drank sour milk.
But that’s not the only thing making me uneasy. The fact that the band staying elsewhere means Bobby and I will bealonefor two whole months on this bus. When I agreed to this assignment, I thought I’d have the padding of several other people at all times.
"So, it’ll be just you and me, then?"
"Yep. Well…and Patrick, when he's driving." Bobby takes a slow sip of his own coffee, crossing one ankle over his knee as he relaxes back into the chair, and suddenly, I’m eighteen again, sitting across from him having a coffee at Joe’s Place. His mannerisms are so similar, he almost looks like the same exact boy I fell in love with so long ago. Except now he's a man, with a confidence in his movements that hadn’t been there before and six years of life experiences that have shaped him into someone I no longer know.
His eyes look tired, as if he didn’t get much sleep last night, and he has a bit of scruff on his face and neck that always used to be clean and smooth.
"Erm…" I clear my throat. "Should we start the interview?" I ask.
“Go ahead,” Bobby nods. "What do you want to know?"
I rack my brain for where to start. I could ask what he owes his success to, but I already know it's an unmatched work ethic, natural talent, and a charm that permeates the stage and sinks into your blood. I already know his history. Every detail of how he got his record deal and his first tour.
I was there, after all.
“Patrick’s still your driver?” I ask, my heart warming at the memories of sitting next to him in the front, talking about his wife and singing along to the radio.
Bobby nods. “You’ll find a lot of my team is the same. We’re a family,” he says.
My heart aches.
A family.
One I used to be part of.
"Tell me about her," I say, not sure where the courage to bring up the reason I’m no longer part of that family came from. "I assume you two aren't together anymore?"
Bobby freezes, lowering his coffee cup in slow motion, swallowing as he uncrosses his legs and sets it on the table. He leans forward, bracing his forearms on his knees as he meets my eyes, the intensity of his blue stare refusing to let me look away.
"Are you ready to go there, Beth? The reason we broke up? Because I assure you, it's nowhere near what you think." His voice is thick with emotion, deep and scratchy and pained.
"We’d already broken up. You were free to do whatever you wanted." I feel sick, the nausea only making the memories of that night more vivid.
Bobby's eyes are deep blue wells, begging me to listen. To hear him out. "It was only ever you for me.Onlyyou. You knew that."
"It didn't look like it—"
"I don't care what it looked like." He shakes his head, still holding my stare. “I called you a thousand times. I texted, and I showed up at your house, at Molly’s house, at your dorm. I wrote a whole damn album to try to explain what happened. You just disappeared!" Bobby stands up, and it's as if he can't contain what he's feeling within his body anymore. His shoulders are tight and his hands fidgety, going into his pockets and then across the scruff of his face.
"You’re angry atme? You cheated on me!" It's the first time I've said the words, and they feel like shards of glass in my throat. "There was nothing to explain!"
Bobby's jaw clenches, and he lowers his chin. His voice deepens, a mix of fury over my accusation and sorrow over love lost. "Ineverwould have cheated on you.Never. The fact that you’ve believed that all these years—" Bobby’s nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. “You wereeverythingto me, Beth." His voice cracks.
"No. You know what? Never mind. I can't talk about this." There are tears in my eyes, dancing on my eyelashes and begging me to let them fall. But I will not cry over him.
Not again.
Iknowwhat I saw that night.
