I Always Will

Diversions and Denial

Row 4 months later

You'd think I would be used to the cold by now, but as a California girl I've rarely spent this much time in Colorado, where the weather can turn wintry at night despite it being well into spring. I'm waiting by the back door of a bar—I stopped caring about the names of the places we play at least six months ago— bouncing on my toes, all of our equipment at my feet, unpacked from our "bus"—the Aerostream camper we bought a few months ago to save on travel expenses. We're very nearly late to our gig because of bad weather and road hazards. Riley wanted to go in ahead of me to smooth it over with the bar manager.

I don't get that, but whatever.

I chafe my hands together and look down at them. They look pretty bad. Chipped polish, ragged cuticles, raw and red from the cold and the playing and the set-up and break-down. I always kept my nails short but changed the design every couple of weeks. I haven't had a real manicure in...god only knows when. Or a salon haircut. Or a tan.

Not that I've needed a tan.

We didn't go to Hawaii for Christmas this year. Riley kept adding dates and delaying making a solid vacation plan. We didn't even fly home to LA. We kept right on touring, because the gigs paid a little better over the holiday season, on account of not as many people willing to spend the week leading up to Christmas and after playing to a bunch of sad drunks that have nowhere better to go during the holidays than a bar.

My mom wasn't happy that we didn't come to Hawaii, but my dad was, ironically, supportive. He understands now that we have to find our own way. He told my mom it's our time to hustle, and that there will be many more Christmases in the future like the last one.

Christmas weekend, Riley and I rented a cheap BRB cabin in the mountains of West Virginia, and we stayed in bed for three days, eating hot pockets and pizza rolls and watching Christmas movies. Riley gave me a beautiful vintage diamond crest ring that he found an estate sale, and he put it on my left ring finger—like a re-engagment. I gave Riley a guitar owned by Elvis Costello, who is one of his musical heroes.

It wasn't a bad Christmas, but it was way more subdued than I'm used to. As much as I love Riley, and I have to admit...a West Virginia cabin is not the same as Hawaii. I missed my family. I missed the big crazy celebration. But I understand Riley just wasn't up for it this year. He's exhausted. Not so much physically, but emotionally.

I stop myself from thinking of the reasons why. Soon we'll be in Florida for spring break gigs, and that will be fun. The weather will give us both some energy.

Or maybe unexpected events will take us back to LA. That would be good--really good. We haven't stepped foot in our home in a year.

Riley comes out the back door of the bar, pocketing something in his pea coat, his other hand gripping his octopus cane. He manages to get by without it on stage because of the way we enter and exit—our hands tightly wound to the forearms— but he still needs it for balance when navigating steps, ramps and pretty much anywhere that the terrain is unfamiliar. His eyes go wide at the sight of me shivering, shaking, and bounding, with all the equipment scattered around me.

"Silly girl, you didn't have to do this by yourself." His smile is somewhat unfocused as he reaches down while he leans on his cane, picking up a weighty amp with his other hand. He sways but eventually finds his balance.

"Just thought I'd speed things along," I murmur, slipping inside. Riley can do his half of the heavy lifting, but he's not particularly quick about it, and probably will never be. Though lately I've been wondering if his pace really has to do with his injuries anymore. 

We make short work of the simple stage set-up and then I lock myself in the tiny dressing room for a quick self-style.

I'm just about done when my stomach clenches with period cramps. I go into the stall with my train case and confirm that indeed, my period is here. It's a couple of days late, and I was starting to obsess about it, even though I'm on the pill and because of Riley's injury it's probably unlikely I could  accidentally get pregnant.