The Only Living Boy in New York

TWENTY-FOUR

Van
Sometime in early 2020

Everything had fallen apart.

It was my doing, really, and there was no way around that anymore.

I'd started splitting at the seams on tour. It was slow at first, and it involved me lashing out on one of the guys but turned into me bursting bottles behind Bondy's head and shoulder checking him any chance I could get. And then I'd do the same thing to the rest of them, even Larry. I'd rough then up any chance I could get, because I wanted at least one of them to feel as awful as I did inside, even if it was for just a moment.

Bondy got to worst of it. I was out for blood with him, and he rarely reacted. One time he acted like he was going to shove me back, but he'd stopped himself and opted for a cigarette instead. I remember wanting to feel his fist collide with my jaw. I was hoping it would be the straw the broke the camels back and the label would have to step in and excuse him for physical assault. That would be easier than him leaving the band on his own. That would be so much easier.

But he never reacted. He kept playing shows, speaking through interviews and kept pretending everything was okay. There was no way anyone at our shows thought any different. When the lights came on after the bow and the wave, they thought we were backstage celebrating like we used to, but really, we were backstage going our separate ways either back to the hotel or to our bunks on the bus. There was no camaraderie between the four of us, no pandemonium or posing for pictures. There was hate and there was uncertainty, and it stemmed from Bondy and I.

The tour ended in America a couple of weeks before Christmas. Everyone disbanded but agreed to play the War Child benefit in London in mid January. They all went home, and I stayed in LA, losing myself in my usual crowd and in a frenzy of drugs and alcohol. I was never alone, always around someone else, and a had a few girls I kept on standby at the time. I went home for Christmas and promised my parents I'd stay with them until the benefit.

They greeted me with concern. My hair was long, falling past my shoulders and hadn't been washed in days. The sunglasses hid the dark circles under my eyes, but there was no need for sunglasses. It was cloudy back home, cloudier than normal even. I felt thinner, my clothes were starting to hang in places they used to be tight and I couldn't remember the last time I had a decent meal. They didn't say anything as they embraced me, and I didn't say anything either. I could feel the worry in their welcome.

I stayed with them until the show, meeting up with old friends here and there who could fill the void that LA left. It wasn't as easy to get a fix back home. Sure, it could be done, but it wasn't the same. By day five I could feel myself getting sick of the edge of sobriety that was approaching.

We started rehearsing for the charity event a week before the show and it was the first time I'd seen the guys since the tour ended. Benji was typical. We'd chatted every few days here and there so there was no change in our dynamic. Bob was on pins and needles, keeping his head down most of the time and not looking me in the eye. In the chance he did, there was an underlying sadness there I couldn't understand. Bondy showed up late to rehearsal, refusing to say much to anyone at all. He'd nod at Bob and throw smiles his way, but there was no interaction between any of us, until after the show ended at least.

We'd played hard, poured our guts into the event, and brought home an excellent performance that felt solid. I even caught Bondy smiling a few times and kicking around his boots like he used to. There was even a moment out of the corner of my eye where I swear he was looking at me, waiting for me to lean on him for support the way I always did when the bridge of "Soundcheck" played out. But by the time I looked his way, the moment passed.