Axl lied.
He didn't start writing the day after he left.
I find multiple envelopes addressed to me as soon as I get into the Camaro. They're where he knew I would clearly see them, on the driver's side seat.
It makes me feel out of place sitting behind the steering wheel, with Axl and the bus already carrying the guys far away, off towards Canada. Being in his car makes it feel like he's somehow still here though, with me. The leather holds onto his scent, his essence, just as perfectly as my mind does. It makes it easy to focus on the stack of paper in my lap-the car does all the hard work setting the scene for me.
"Chas,
I can't make you wait a week to hear from me, so I've written you a letter for every single day of the week already. Don't skip ahead, 'kay? It starts on the next page."
I can hardly read his closely knit, permanently-capitalized handwriting because of the tears that come flooding back to my eyes. But nonetheless, I set that piece of paper down, and continue on to the next page.
"My dearest Chasity Grace,
Just imagine me singin' Don't Cry really badly right now.
Don't you cry, baby. You'll feel better tomorrow.
As I sit here to write this, I can't find my glasses or my contacts. I'm squinting at the paper, and I can tell that my words are slanting and I'm sorry. What can I say. I'm a mess without you. Hopefully I find 'em before the show in a couple hours!!!! Then I get to see you!!!
I'll be thinking about you and the car a lot. I'm kidding about the car-but not really!!
I didn't tell you that I wanted you to look after her for me, because I knew you'd refuse. Well, now it's too late, you're stuck with her! Ha! I got you.
Expect a call from me tomorrow or the next day from somewhere in Canada. I have to be careful with writing and calling. We don't want the wrong person to be nearby. Or people...?
I'm going to try my best though, honey. Thanks in advance for being patient with me. Hopefully I make it out of this tour alive, and well enough to see you on the flip side.
P.S. wear those cute little pink panties in memory of me!!!!!!
Love,
-Axl- "
I read every word in his voice. My ears catch onto his phantom laughter and the highs and lows to his speech, the rumble of the baritone deep in his throat, every syllable smooth.
I laugh through the tears at the part where he says he got me, and gasp and go red at his P.S. request. He remembers those?
Then, I drive home. I don't bother to turn on the radio. I don't want it to stifle Axl. I still hear him in my head. He's nonsensical, muffled, but still there. I cling to him as I drive on autopilot, somehow feeling used to his car, even though this is the second time I've actually driven it. All the red lights and streets are a blur. I have to fight against the pull towards home as I actually head home.
Wherever Axl is where home is, I assert to myself. I even nod once, in full agreement with myself.
I try not to think about how this is reality now. Sixteen months. Sure, Duff and Axl both went over the tour itinerary with Michelle and I in-depth. I even have my own copy at home. There's six legs in total, some of them the guys are support, others they're actually headlining. They're going all over the world, with hardly any of the dates anywhere near California. Even less are near L.A. specifically. They'll have times where they get to come home for a few days, or a few weeks, but not anytime soon.
