Page 39 of Poetry By Dead Men
If Bobby notices my change in demeanor, he doesn’t say anything. He opens the door to the bus, then gestures for me to walk inside. I climb the steps, and my lungs squeeze, my breaths becoming shallow and my head swimming.
It’s like I’ve traveled back in time, the bus decorated nearly identical to how it was six years ago, with a large seating area as well as a dining table and kitchenette. Bobby’s leather jacket is tossed lazily over the back of a chair, and his Taylor guitar leans up against the wall—still the color of honey with a blue-speckled mother-of-pearl rosette that reminds me of his eyes. But now the edge of the sound hole is worn down, as if the strums of Bobby’s pick against it over the years were so full of pain, they had no choice but to etch themselves into the wood.
There are stacks of papers on the floor near the couch, and I have a feeling he was up late last night writing.My fingers itch to pick one up and read it, and I close my hands into fists to stop myself.
It even smells the same: guitar polish and leather.
My throat burns as I walk further into the living area, and I feel like I’m slipping into a memory of the last time I was here, except there's one key difference.
This time, my heart isn’t shattering into a million pieces.
THEN
May 2017
I think I prayed for you
Without speaking the words
I think I listened for you
In the songs of the birds
A melody calling to the rhythm of my heart
So hang on tight, my love
It’s only the start
—An excerpt from "Someone Who Loves You," written and performed by Robert Beckett
It’s the day after graduation, and as I walk hand-in-hand with Bobby leading me blindfolded to an unknown location, all I can think about is how happy I am to have that particular life event behind me.
My parents still aren’t thrilled with my choice of school—possibly even less thrilled with my choice of boyfriend—but I’m finding I care a little less every day about their disappointment in me.
The idea of him being a musician instead of a lawyer or doctor is absurd to them, and I’m fairly certain they think I’ll get Bobby out of my system and come around to their way of life.
“He’s a nice boy, but don’t you want someone who can provide you with the life you’ve become accustomed to?” my mother had asked, her mouth pinching in like she was sucking on something sour.
But what they don’t understand is I willneverget Bobby out of my system. I’d rather risk everything for a love that makes my heart sing than settle for a comfortable life without passion.
“There’s a little step here,” Bobby says, interrupting my thoughts as he slows us down to let me find my footing.
From the warmth of the sun on my face and the slight breeze tickling my hair, I can tell we’re still outside. But besides that, I have no idea where we areorwhere my insane boyfriend is leading me.
"You know surprises make me nervous," I remind him, but really, I'm not worried.
"This one shouldn't," he says as he puts his hands on my shoulders and stops me. “We’re here,” he says. I hear a click and then Bobby is helping me up some stairs. “Ta-da!” He pulls off my blindfold.
We’re on a tour bus.
A freaking tour bus.
“No way!” I say, moving deeper inside, trying to take in every inch. It’s spotless and smells like a new car, but the scent is stronger. There’s a large seating area with a couch that I think pulls out into a bed and two chairs, plus a sturdy wooden coffee table. In the kitchen, there’s a dining table and a stove with two burners, a microwave, and a coffee pot.
“This isyours?” I ask, completely awestruck.
"Well, mine and the bands. Welcome to Big Blue.” Bobby’s smile is so broad his dimple makes an appearance, and my heart soars at his excitement. That’s what we’re calling her. We’re renting it for the tour. Look." He pulls me toward the back where the living space opens up to a hallway with six bunk beds. "The guys are going to sleep here. This one’s Johnny's,” he says, pulling back the bottom right curtain to a bunk that's already decorated with blue bedding, a reading light, and a phone charger.
