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CHAPTER 12, I've known faces that have disappeared in time
Nathan didn't need days to get over everything that had happened, no. He needed much more than that. Weeks, months; he had to go through and relive many stages of grief to overcome it all, and even then, it didn't seem enough.
He thought it was going to be good for him that Phoebe had switched schools, until he noticed that Luke always spoke of his wonderful girlfriend a little louder when he noticed Joey around.
And pride died, and the spaces she had filled were now empty, cold, wet spaces in his life.
He realized that without Phoebe filling in those small spaces, they were a lot bigger than he'd expected. There were days when he couldn't even believe that Phoebe wasn't there anymore, he found himself waiting for her to arrive on her bicycle in front of his house.
He woke up a few times during the night, thinking she was in his room, that they were sharing a bed, like children, the way they used to.
And slowly thoughts like "she wanted to let this happen" came. It was her fault, after all, she made no effort to remain present in his life!
There were days when all he wanted to do was punch Luke in the face until he was unrecognizable. It was his fault too, this petty manipulator, bordering on sociopathic in the way he'd made Phoebe go away.
But wasn't she the one who wanted to let that happen? How was it entirely Luke's fault?
There were days when all Joey wanted to do was punch himself in the face.
He began to notice that some of his shirts were missing and there were shirts that weren't his in his wardrobe. Maybe his band shirts were with Phoebe, after all she used to borrow them, and that white shirt with "I Hate Boys" was definitely hers, after all, who else would wear that? Joey laughed.
Maybe he should reach out, return her shirts and get his back. And deep down, Joey hoped that would get her talking to him, at least one last time.
And his phone would call until it hung up, several times, for three nights in a row. He slept during the day and didn't answer the door when friends of his called. When his bicycle stopped in front of her house, he felt his whole world fall apart so abruptly that he couldn't even think straight.
The house was empty.
Phoebe and her dad had moved in a week ago.
It was like she didn't even want to stay.
Nathan returned home and that day, he didn't have lunch, as he did for the rest of the vacation. He didn't answer the door or the phone, he didn't go out for pizza with his sisters while they watched the movie their mom had rented for the weekend.
Those weeks were empty pages in a thin book, with her name written against the old, coffee-stained leather cover, the last page of which was a drawing made a few months ago; it was the two of them, made in blue pen. There were some smudges done when the ink was still wet.
It hurt.
And his chest hurt more and more, he felt his lungs squeeze painfully when he showered; the hot tears contrasted with the icy water.
When classes returned, he was still waiting by the classroom door, as if she were going to leave any minute. He hoped that when he closed his locker, her face would be behind the iron door; he wanted her to be waiting for him at the cafeteria table, since she always got her lunch before him. But none of that happened.
And the weekends were the worst, it was just him and his thoughts. These days he wished he had a teacher talking for hours on end just so he wouldn't be alone. And that pain mixed with boredom. There were such cold days.
But the pain didn't last forever.
Slowly it eased away, like smoke escaping lips that tasted like nicotine. Joey didn't smoke, but there were days when he longed for that momentary break.
Tears were slowly being replaced by melancholy smiles, which soon became happy again.
Little by little, Nathan recovered; like a song that started out quiet and rumbled toward the end.
Until there was a day when he didn't remember Phoebe.
And that day turned into a week.
Month.
And when he remembered her, he didn't hurt anymore.
And now, he was sitting across from her on the Tour bus. His eyes weighed down to the floor, bench, table, cup, window, anywhere, just to not look at her. Now she was the one who had to deal with her own feelings, Joey thought it was unfair that she didn't have to deal with it alone like he did.
But he also wondered if she even missed him when she left, if she ever remembered him the way he remembered her every day.
His callused hands fell into his lap, and he wished he could feel the weight of his drumsticks right now, wished he were anywhere else, just so he wouldn't look at Phoebe and be reminded of it all over again.
But there was no more silence. There were 8 other men talking all the time. Eight friends he could share his pain with, and one more girl who was the reason for all the pain, but the hurt one was her now.
And Joey saw himself in her.
All he did was get up and walk to his place on the bunk, where he lay down and didn't leave until they got to the hotel.
