AFTER ALL OUR BROKEN PIECES: A SHORT STORY

LENNON

I sleep until 9:00 the next morning, grateful Kyler at least waited until Friday to call in middle of the night. I try to phone him the moment I get up but he's probably sound asleep on that tour bus in Louisiana.

I head to the kitchen, say good morning to my dad, Claire, and Jacob and pour myself a coffee.

Weekend or weekday, I have the same routine, the obsessive compulsive kind so it goes without saying, I like predictability. A month and a half ago, I did something life defining as Kyler would say. Huge. I changed my routine. I added one small thing and to you, that might not seem like much but to me, it's a big deal. Big enough to warrant a phone call to brag to Kyler who laughed and called me cute. Then he said I was a badass but made me vow that I would not relay any information that I'd read. Made me virtual pinky swear on it, so he's serious. He doesn't want to know.

Now, each morning when I drink my coffee, I scour the internet for things about Fire to Dust, Kyler's band. Dad thinks this is the worst idea I've ever had.

The risk is high that I may see something that will trigger my OCD. Musicians do some crazy things. Jumping into crowds, standing on speakers, sacrificing themselves to groupies and mosh pits, and mobs. If Kyler does those things, I don't want to know. It's better this way.

I have a few steadfast rules.

Avoid Instagram mostly.

Avoid Twitter always.

But I like to read reviews from the local newspapers of the cities where he's played. People love his band. So do I, so we have something in common. And my heart fills with a warm rush of pride and love and who doesn't like feeling nothing but good? It's addictive.

The review for last night's show in New Orleans doesn't disappoint me. It's glowing. It's from a younger male critic this time but he's calling Kyler's sound 'fresh' and his lyrics 'laced with hints of sorrow that cut deeply.'

Fire to Dust are becoming an overnight sensation.

Kyler thinks it's because of his face. I don't know why he doesn't hear his music like I do, he seems to think people come to shows to satisfy their curiosity. It's fair to say only a quarter of the reviews mention his face—mostly it's about the music but he can be a glass half empty kind of guy, so he doesn't see it this way.

After their third stop on the tour, he told me he felt like a sideshow freak. Like some morbid item on display. My heart broke and I wished more than anything I could have put my arms around him and told him everything would be okay.

I heard the same kind of sadness in his voice last night...

I pick up my phone and text him. You ok?

Just got up. He replies. Late for interview. Later? XOXO

Later

I sigh and set the phone down. I miss him so much it hurts.

I down the rest of my coffee in a single gulp, rise to my feet and go through the exact same motions that I have every single morning since I was thirteen years old.

Jacob comes racing into the hallway. I swear the kid has radar for my bathroom door closing and my bedroom door opening. "Lennon, my friend Seth is coming over today."

"Cool buddy."

"I told Mommy I was going to ask you to take us to the park. She told me not to, but," he pauses. "Will you take us to the park when he gets here? Please?"

I look at my phone. Kyler is in an interview this morning, he probably has autograph session with a meet and greet and then another show, followed by even more interviews. I won't hear from him. Not for a while.

I look at Jacob, who is running his tongue along his newly sprouted front teeth, eagerly waiting for my reply.

"Yeah," I tell him. "We can do that."