The Only Living Boy in New York

ONE

VAN

"I'm leaving the band."

Four small words that were about to change the course of my life.

I was standing on the platform behind the stage for the first time in eighteen months. Nervous excitement brewed just below my skin as we attempted to ready ourselves for our first show post-pandemic. But the words that I heard from my bandmate, were not the ones I was expecting when I'd asked if everyone was ready.

I turned my head at the same time I reached for my guitar, craning my neck toward the person who just spoke the words I never thought I'd hear any of them say. I looked right at Bob, the backbone to the band who rolled his drumsticks habitually through his fingers when my eyes met his. His facial expression was a mix of nerves and relief, and the realization of his relief made me nervous. It was as if he'd been waiting a hundred years to tell me this, and that made me feel cold.

I felt the lopsided smile on my face as I spoke. I could taste the anxious fear salivating in my mouth. "What was that mate?" A nervous laugh rolled out of my mouth after I choked out the words, and to my right, I noticed Johnny tune his guitar as if nothing was happening around him. To the left of me, Benji sat his bass down and folded his arms over his chest, stepping forward toward Bob.

Benji's words were quieter than mine, more cautious and realistic perhaps. "This isn't a joke? This is real?" It sounded like Benji's words were more of a statement rather than a question, and that did little to pacify my nerves.

Bob nodded once at Benji as he neared him. Benji shielded his eyes with his hand and turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose and grunting. I looked away from Benji and met Bob's gaze again. His eyes were glassed over, frosted in feelings and he sighed. "These next three shows, they're my last."

I felt my knees shake as I reached for the cart next to me that was holding an array of speakers and cords for tomorrow's sets. I steadied myself against them and looked at the floor, trying not to throw up the half gallon of water I'd chugged minutes before this.

"Wh-what...Bob, what the hell do you mean?" My words became gasps mixed with loud whispers. I didn't sound like myself.

A small, almost unmeasurable cry escaped from Benji, whose back was turned away from the rest of us now. His long, curly hair kept his face entirely hidden from view. I wanted to reach for him, to attempt to gain some sort of composure, but I knew if I let go of the speakers, I'd collapse.

Bob cleared his throat, speaking quietly but in a firm tone. "I'm done, Van. I'm done with all of it. I want to be home with Jenny. She's pregnant. We want to start our life and we can't do that on the road. I need to be there for her. I just...I'm not made for this forever. And now seems like an ideal time to end it."

"She's pregnant?" From behind me, Johnny Bond spoke up as he lit a cigarette casually, draping his guitar from his side. "Congratulations."

Bob smiled softly at Bondy's good-tidings and Bondy blew his smoke at me as if someone just told us a boring story. He'd been hostile since he announced his dissatisfaction with the band, management, and myself throughout the Pandemic. I knew he wasn't staying, knew he was getting paid twice the amount as me just to stand here and finish out a few shows. His departure came from anger and frustration with everything related to the music industry. I wasn't worried about replacing Bondy, I'd replace a guitarist before. I'd do it again. But Bob...Bob was different.

"Did you know about all of this?" I nodded to Johnny, hoping Bob hadn't made some alliance with him to depart the band together, but I was lacking allies these days, and the thought didn't seem as crazy as it would have a few years ago.