Love In a Maze

Bread and Music IV

Bread and Music IV

I waited, but you never followed. Always... A

Kid's finger traced over the curve of each line; a small note tucked into the front, not bound to the violet spine like the others. Her writing was hastily written, almost illegible, and a far cry from the beautiful fluid swirls that covered the rest of the pages. She was in a hurry, she had made her decision to flee... flee from him, from herself, from the fear, the sadness, she decided he was gone, and now so was she. Though in leaving her journal behind, it seemed there was a small piece of her that had hoped maybe. Thumbing through the pages, he was witness to the love of a girl he had put away years before. She had only told him once softly through a painful goodbye, but each page screamed those three words, repeating it over and over without ever saying. The paper and ink warped, lined with too many tears he couldn't tell if they were hers or his anymore. At the back of the book, she had sewn in the torn pieces from her other journals, pieces of poetry, entries, or collages, anything he had been a part of. Effectively ripping up her life and presenting it back to him as a gift. Trying to prove to him, she meant more... she was more, but to him, she had always been.

At the time, Athina was one rejection among many others, her, his band, his record label, and lastly his fans, who seemed to move on as soon as he tried a different look, a different sound. Always wanting him to call back to who he used to be, struggling to follow him to who he wanted to be. Over the years, he had found solace in a new contract, a new album, a new band. The only thing he couldn't do was find something... someone to take the place of her. She was a loose thread, a frayed edge just like the coat in his hands. And just like the coat, he couldn't help but keep pulling at those memories of her, hoping to heal... only causing more damage as they unraveled. He found himself further stunted by the relics he thought he had locked away, her journal, his coat, and all the pieces hidden within.

Tossing the purple journal on his bed, he dropped the white box that once held the coat into the trash. Picking up his phone, he dialed the number to his tour manager.

"Hey, I got something to take care of back home. I need a few days." Kid was void of any emotion. He wasn't asking for permission, just giving courtesy.

"But we start in less than a month, Kid." His manager's voice was groggy, trying to come to grips with this revelation at 3am.

"Just a few days, that's all I need." He had already made up his mind, and nothing would dissuade him.

"Don't fuck this up Kid. You have a really bad habit of screwing yourself over."

Kid's mouth gaped open sharply ready to defend himself, but those words were cut off with that biting truth. No matter what happened, no matter how many doors opened for him, he always managed to turn it to shit... his father's lasting legacy. But he wanted to see her, needed to see her, needed her to look him in the eyes and say no, just as she always had. Getting the final rejection, he never received, and then maybe he could put her away... for good.

"Yeah." Was all he managed to utter before banging the receiver against its base, hanging up with so much force the lamp shook on the nightstand. Taking the coat that once held all his attention he threw it, the fabric making a plastic crack against the wall as it crumpled to the ground. Completely missing the trashcan, he was aiming for. He recognized that thin sound instantly and knew there was one last piece he had to pull out of a darkened pocket.

Pulling out the nondescript cassette from its holding, he let out a long tiring sigh. It seemed this piece was the one he avoided. The last fragment to the broken parts he was so desperately trying to put back together. Turning the tape over in his palm, only a faded A. was scribbled across the label. It's J-card long since vanished, but unnecessary, he remembered every song, every note that was contained within the magnetic strip that spooled inside. Hours, led to days, days led to weeks in the studio he poured over his work, playing, writing, singing, mixing, remixing for her... for them. Shutting everything... everyone out until he had finished, not realizing the damage he caused. The thin plastic seemed like a reflection of her journals. A mirror to all the emotions and memories they held, things they had waited too late to tell each other. Hoping through another medium those voices could still be heard. Unlike Athina he wasn't strong enough to share, she wasn't there when he wanted her to be, abandoned all over again. So, he closed off everything he could. Every ounce of tenderness or vulnerability he had shared with her, he saw clouded as a mistake.