The Boy from the Band

Conclusion: Heart Lines

Love stories should have happy endings; I've always thought that, anyway, I came to realize just how naïve that thinking was.

Rick is slowly going downhill, and I can't stop it. If the heroin hasn't gotten any worse it hasn't gotten any better. His behavior is strange—he doesn't show up for gigs sometimes, or if he does, the bass doesn't "work", or maybe the guitar strap doesn't fit. He showed up at one gig and when he opened his guitar case nothing was in there.

And he's gaining weight, a lot of weight, medically he's morbidly obese. I look at him and wonder where the man I fell in love with went. The beautiful angles of his face are hidden under a layer of fat and he's developed a double chin. What I see when I look at him makes me want to cry.

When he comes over now, I take his blood pressure and listen to his chest, and accept no arguments from him. He'll complain about the stethoscope being cold and the blood pressure cuff being tight, but I tell him to shut up. He had asthma when he was young and does that deep breathing, but when I listen to his chest his breathing sounds labored and his heart pounds too hard—and it scares me.

His blood pressure is high and he finally gave in and went to the doctor--I threatened to drag him there if he didn't go on his own. He showed up, his medication in hand and asked me if I was happy.

"Only if you take it," I replied.

There's more wrong, I can feel it. I know that he can't afford the more expensive tests that he needs, but he won't let me pay for them even though I can. Elizabeth should have him on a diet. I know he hates to exercise but he should walk for an hour every day. If he got his weight down, if he quit smoking, cut back on the alcohol, if he quit the drugs, then maybe he'll make old bones. It's all up to him but he doesn't seem to care.

"Don't you want to watch your grandchildren grow up? Teach them to play guitar, maybe even play with them? Why do you want to throw your life away? I don't get it, Rick, why?" I'm so upset I'm crying which I hate to do in front of him.

He takes me in his arms and tells me not to worry. How can I not worry? He'd be better off with me than he is with Elizabeth. I don't know her, but I bet she indulges him, maybe even enables him. He wouldn't get away with that shit with me and he knows it; but he married her, he didn't marry me.

He makes most of his money playing with The Band. When he first started playing solo, he could sell out venues—nowadays wherever he plays will be about a third full. He acts like he doesn't care. He will play for 80 people the same way he would play for 800. He wants to be on stage, he wants an audience, no, he needs an audience. This is what makes him happy, this is what he's always wanted. He likes to brag that he's never had to rely on a straight job.

Being addicted to heroin has his judgment clouded. The band was supposed to play a gig in Japan—they're very popular there and it's a good way for them to make money. Rick sabotaged it, he had Elizabeth overnight him some heroin hidden in a magazine but they caught him when he came to pick it up.

He called me from the jail, distraught. "I told Elizabeth to send the medicine and instead of sinus medicine she sent heroin instead."

I'm angry and I don't buy it. "Do you think I believe that? So, you're going to throw her under the bus? Who do you think you're talking to anyway?" He lost a valuable tour, not only for him but for the rest of the band—they needed the money and now it's lost.

He's locked up for six weeks before they get him out. He lost thirty pounds and quit shaving, and looks better, but the weight loss doesn't last long. He keeps gaining until he looks like a parody of himself. It's painful to see.

To make things worse, due to financial trouble he loses his farm. He and Elizabeth live in a motel on the outskirts of Kingston until he gets enough money together to find them a little house in Marbletown. I found out from Levon that Rick sold his publishing rights to Robbie for a bargain-basement price. I knew his financial situation wasn't good and I wonder if the legal fees he had to pay were part of it. I hurt for him; I know how much he loved the farm and losing it must have been hard.

He keeps playing, he keeps touring. It's not like the old days, he tours with Aaron Hurwitz who accompanies him on accordion or keyboards. His voice isn't the same, it's lower and sometimes sounds weak but on occasion, the old Rick appears and his voice is as pure and as sweet as it always has been.

It's gotten too painful to watch him. The tall, skinny man I knew has turned into a bloated wreck, he can't stand during his gigs and has to sit on a stool. He smokes like a defective chimney and it's affecting his voice.

In December of 1999 and he asks me to meet him in Chicago. Part of me doesn't want to, but what if this is the last time I get to see him? It's only for a few days so I say "yes".

He's not in shape to make love but we enjoy the old closeness. I close my eyes and remember the tall, skinny guy with sexy facial hair and eyes even darker than mine. I listen to him sing and play and that night it seems that his voice is flawless and sweet to hear.

He has an interview, and Aaron, aka "Uncle Louie", and I go off to have a few drinks. He's a nice guy, one of a long line of people who accept me, and I can talk to him and confide my worries about Rick.

"I'm worried about him, I don't think he's going to last through the end of the year."

"Dacy," he soothes, "I know you're worried but I don't think it's warranted. He's got all sorts of things in the works; he has a lot to live for. If you weren't a nurse, would you be saying this?"

"He doesn't look good; I've heard more than one person say this. And the last time I spent the night with him I had to wake him up a couple of times because he stopped breathing. He hasn't taken care of himself; he needs to go to the doctor. He told me he would, but I'm worried it might be too late."

Sometime, early in the morning of December 10, 1999, Rick had a heart attack and died in his sleep. I knew exactly when it happened, I woke up and he was standing next to my bed, looking exactly the way he did the day I met him. He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, then whispered "goodbye" and was gone.

I wish I could have changed so many things, but loving him is something I will never regret. I don't care if I don't get married, not now, I loved Rick and he loved me and that's something no one can take from me—ever.

I'm sitting in the theater alone, they've agreed to give me a few more minutes to myself. Someone comes and sits next to me. Robbie puts his arm around me and pulls me close to him. "Are you all right?" he asks.

"No, I'm not, how can I be? I lost my childhood, Robbie, I lost my youth, and I lost the only man I've ever loved."

"Dacy, this isn't what he'd want for you."

"I know, but that doesn't change things. Robbie, I tried to save him and I couldn't."

"You couldn't have done anything, you know that."

"Yes, I know, but I still wanted to save him. What am I going to do now?"

He kisses the top of my head. "You'll live your life, that's what you'll do. One day at a time, one breath at a time if you have to. Rick loved you and he'd want you to be happy. You have your friends; you'll never be alone. Maybe one day you'll love again."

Will I? Can I really love again? I don't have an answer but I let Robbie help me up and he walks me out of the theater. It's still raining, but that's okay, I can cry now.

I can't go to his grave today, but soon I will. I'll say the things I didn't get to say to him and I know he'll listen, just like he always did.