I wish this was where my story ended.
But, of course, it wasn’t.
So...
These are the things I choose to remember:
Claire and I, holding each other’s hands.
Claire and I, watching TV together, her head on my shoulder, pizza crust losing heat on paper plates.
Us practicing with the guys, getting better and better. Melodies streaming from under our fingers, mixing, separate streams coming into focus, harmonious with each other.
Snacks in the cafeteria, chatting about nonsensical stuff, laughing together, being drunk on the world and each other.
Feeling the first warmth of the coming spring as I wait for Claire on a bench by the lake.
The feeling of cooking for someone you love, and not just yourself.
Waking up with her.
Making her smile.
Memories fade. Memories lie. They slip away and turn to dust, leaving emptiness behind. But these ones I hold onto with the desperation of a drowning man. I summon them into my mind over and over again, until they are burned into it, set in stone, unchangeable.
Until the end comes.
#
Summer was around the corner. The city was finally back to being fully alive. Its grey and lifeless colors were once again replaced with vibrant green and blue, people shed their coats and were wearing light clothes. It seemed like with the weight of their winter clothing they also shed their worries: their smiles were wider, faces brighter, bodies full of vigor. Everything was welcoming the sun, warmth, and life. For the first time in a long time, I felt like a part of this joyful transformation.
My mood could not be better. I was relaxed and content, maybe even a little bit happy -- although my standards of happiness were much lower than that of an average human. In my books, not being desperate was already a miracle, anything above that was just extra.
And right now, my extra was sitting in front of me, studying for exams.
Feeling my gaze, Claire looked up and smiled.
We were in the coffee shop across from Tanya’s office, where I still worked as a barista. Despite her false insinuations about the quality of my coffee, I managed to hold on to this job and even got a small raise. Even better, one day a couple of months ago my invisible entourage of PA agents disappeared as though they were never there. Their absence left me relieved and, at the same time, a bit nervous.
I almost missed them a little.
Almost.
The ramifications of them being recalled pointed to several possibilities, some of them good, others bad. With no information and no real desire to get to the bottom of the matter, I just decided to count my blessings and forget about the whole thing as though it was a bad dream. I had better things to focus on.
Like Claire and our upcoming first performance.
Her threats to find us a gig turned out to not be a bluff. A few weeks ago, during practice, she gave us the news that we’ll be soon performing in front of a real audience. The strange thing was that we were only allowed to play calm and mellow acoustic covers without using any electric instruments. The details of the performance were mysterious, and Claire refused to divulge any information about it, saying that it was a surprise. The group just had to trust her and work hard practicing the list of songs she had chosen from our repertoire and their new arrangements.
’Oh crap! I lost track of...’
Claire looked at the watch and panicked.
’Relax. You still have time.’
I smiled.
She was sitting at the table nearest to the counter, where I stood doing nothing, waiting for customers. It was the middle of the day, so the coffee shop was empty except for the two of us. Claire had an exam later today, but she stopped by to see me and read up on her materials.
’Oh. Phew!’
She relaxed and sat back down, then gave me a mischievous look.
’You’re right, I can stay for ten more minutes. And, you know, we’re here all alone. I wonder what we can do in ten minutes...’
I stared at her, shocked.
’T-that is... uh... you can’t be serious!’
She blinked innocently.
’I was thinking about going over the songs we’ll be playing tomorrow. Why? What were you thinking about?’
Claire shook her head.
’Good grief, my boyfriend is such a pervert. What am I going to do with him?’
She collected her books and came over.
’Still, I’d better get going. Wish me luck!’
I leaned to kiss her goodbye.
’You don’t need luck. Everything is going to be fine.’
Claire grinned. Her grin was as radiant as on that first day we met, a lifetime ago.
’Right. See you tomorrow, then!’
I sighed.
’Tomorrow? How about tonight?’
’Nope! We’re performing early in the morning, so get a good night’s sleep. And don’t be late! I’ve texted you the address.’
She waved and left, the bell hanging above the door ringing quietly to see her off.
I sighed again and looked down, trying to keep the feeling of her presence from dissipating. I guess we were really going to perform music in front of people. How strange. Mitchel’s words echoed in my mind, calling me a fool, but I didn’t care. In that moment, I just felt happy.
The bell rang again, letting in a customer. I put on a smile and looked up.
’Welcome! What can I...’
The words died in my throat.
There, at the entrance of the coffee shop, pale and frightened, stood Mickey.
His jeans were dirty and ripped, his t-shirt soaked with sweat. He didn’t change at all, looking as young, delicate and scrawny as on the day we parted our ways. Only now he seemed even more lost and vulnerable.
Somehow, seeing him, I knew that my life was over.
Mickey licked his lips.
’Matt.’
His voice trembled a little.
’I fucked up. I need help.’
Each word was like a death sentence.
For a second, I hated him. For a second, I seriously considered summoning the PA to take him away. He made the choice to follow Zero himself. He abandoned me himself. How dared he to ask for my help as though he deserved it? And even if he did, I had every right to refuse. I had things to lose now, precious things I wanted to protect. Who was he to jeopardize them? Mickey could disappear and the world would be the same tomorrow. All I had to do to make him disappear was to make a phone call.
Instead, with a strange calmness, I smiled.
’Of course, Mickey. Let’s go.’