thirty seven
Planes, planes, planes. Taking me from one place to the next. Tigers Jaw plays in my earbuds as I land in JFK International Airport.
Every second felt like an entire lifetime as I waited to get off the plane. The two people next to me were casually talking to each other, neither of them becoming as impatient as I was. I've been on tour for three months, I'm ready to lay in my bed and scream about my life.
I got off, automatically feeling the bitter New York air. My carry on bag was digging into my shoulder but I didn't think twice, I was finally home. Nothing mattered!
I headed down the escalators in a crowd of hundreds of people, following the familiar signs to baggage claim.
That's where I found my best friend. Ashton stood in the middle of the crowded airport with the biggest smile I've ever seen gleaming off of his lips. Ashton was able to light up the entire world, he was some type of sunshine shit that poets write about.
Someone is going to write about him one day, he's gonna break too many hearts.
Ashton began running as I did too. He held his feet still as I jumped onto his arms. I jumped into his arms. He gripped onto my waist, falling a few steps back before steadying himself.
He dug his chin into my shoulder as he let out a squeal. "You look so dead!"
I laughed and squeezed him tighter, "I am!" I jumped down, taking a step back and grabbing my luggage I've thrown on the ground. "We've got a shit load to catch up on," I said, "starting with that hickey on your collarbone."
He fixed his shirt, giggling as a response. "Let's get your luggage."
We waited at the carousel, watching bags go around a few times. I had three bags with my name on them, they all made it into our arms before we headed to Ash's car.
I took off my shoes and took a deep breath as I rested into the passenger seat. I put my feet up on the dashboard, knowing that Ashton wouldn't be annoyed. He got his wanted playlist on before trying to maneuver out of his terrible parking job.
"So, tell me, are we gonna nap or be productive?" He asked once he figured out how to get out of the parking garage.
"I want you to read the final draft of my story while I kind of unpack but mostly sleep." I closed my eyes, resting into the seat. It was good to finally feel at peace. I've been on the move for a handful of months, and now I'm not.
The world has caught up with me, it feels.
"Fuck yeah. Has Jack seen it yet?"
I nodded even though his eyes were (supposed to be) on the road, "I sent it yesterday-ish, he sent it out to press and lawyers and copydesk. Isn't that scary?"
"That sounds petrifying. Like, my work is out there and judges by everyone, but still. It's scary."
"Tell me about your photography stories," I demand, knowing he only got back two days beforehand, "Catch me up on your hoe stories."
Ashton did just that on our half hour ride home. He talked about the first big tour he ever jumped on, sitting in venues of 10k+. He talked about the secrets behind the bands, getting yelled at by their tour manager, all the usual fun of a touring photographer's life.
We arrived at my apartment a little later and, I swear, I almost cried. I looked at the shitty four walls that I've called my home for 2 years. The cracked walls, the paper stars, the dead plants.
This is my home and I am so happy.
I jumped onto my mattress, curling into the sheets that still smell like me. I heard Ashton struggling to get my bags through my front door but I knew he'd figure it out.
I curled into my sheets as I instructed him how to get into my computer and get the final draft of my writing.
I napped as he read the 70 pages. I know Ashton wasn't just skimming over it, I know he was reading word for word, actually processing my work.
Ashton was my brother, probably something more.
"So, like, this is all true?"
"Yeah," I said with a smile.
"Luke approved this?" Ashton moved my computer to the hardwood floor, curling his feet underneath his body.
"I have a meeting with the board tomorrow to talk about everything, I don't see why he wouldn't." I moved one of my body pillows next to me, cuddling into the fabric. "Why does everyone keep questioning me? It's making me nervous."
Ashton tsked, "Well, it makes him seem like a sex-crazed drug addict with more daddy issues than a The Neighbourhood song."
"Wow," I said, trying not to feel my heart break. Was I going to lose my job? I have no idea what happens if Luke doesn't approve it, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.
I didn't think of Luke not approving my writing being an issue.
"I mean, this is great, Mikey. But, if he or his management say no, you're kinda screwed."
"Luke is going to leave them at the end of the year anyways—."
"That, too," Ashton interrupted, "do you really think his management wants the world to know that Luke hates their managing? That'll ruin their business."
"This article was supposed to be about real life," I defended.
"I know," Ashton sighed, sick of arguing with me, "be careful." He stood up, getting into bed with me. He wrapped his arms around me and together we napped.
We napped for all the naps we missed out on.
