Anthony's hands were in his pockets as he kicked a rock up the quiet, cracked sidewalk. His head had been swirling with Flea's words all day: "John's doing a showcase of his work at Zero tomorrow. Why don't you come? You may not have much more time." "No," Anthony had replied firmly. "I can't see him." He'd always known John had an incredible talent for painting, but after years of unanswered letters and phone calls and messages through friends, he didn't want to intrude on what would be a special night for his former friend.
In addition to not wanting to ruin John's evening, there was a self-protective aspect to this as well. He'd heard horror stories about John's state, and honestly, he didn't want to see him. He couldn't stomach it if it was as bad as everyone had said. But recently, since getting sober for a second? third? time, he'd developed a familiar, nagging urge to be close to him, and thought that maybe through seeing his paintings, he could scratch that itch. Seeing him in the flesh would shatter his illusion; in his mind's eye, John was still healthy (physically, at least) and pristinely beautiful. They hadn't been on speaking terms by the time John had left the band, and there was bad blood all around, but so much time had passed. Anthony no longer held any anger towards John for how things had gone down; in fact, he prayed for him nightly as a part of his 12 steps. But he was wrestling with these feelings that seemed at odds with each other- he was sure John would die imminently based on what everyone had told him, and he couldn't let that happen without seeing him and telling him he still loved him. But, the idea of actually seeing him was terrifying, the notion of his gorgeous former bandmate, lover, and friend as a toothless drug addict close to death sent shivers down his spine as he approached the gallery. Feeling John through his art would have to suffice. There had been no indication that John ever wanted to see him again, anyway.
It was nearing 10PM as he strolled up to the building owned by one of his friends- he had keys and could let himself in whenever. There was paper covering the inside of the windows to hide the new exhibition, but it glowed in the dark, and Anthony felt himself get excited about seeing John's creations. It would be comfortable to be one step removed from the man while still experiencing his energy.
Upon entering, he saw a willowy figure in the dim light hanging up a painting. The figure stood about 10 feet away, but Anthony had to squint in the darkness to be sure who he was seeing was the person he'd been desperate not to see. That was why he'd come at an off hour, a day before the exhibit was set to open. So much for being one step removed- what the fuck was the universe doing?
"John?"
The figure jolted and lowered its arms, painting in hand as hollowed eyes turned to face him.
They blinked at each other for a moment, trying to come to terms with this weird, uncomfortable reality. Anthony was sure it was John, but could it really be? His clothes were baggy and looked 5 sizes too big. His hair looked recently shorn and his skin was pale, even in the faint light. Anthony wanted to run in the other direction- even from a distance, he could see this was the John of his nightmares, not the boy he'd loved so much all of those years ago.
John's eyes flicked back and forth between Anthony and the door. He was brimming with cocaine (stimulants were the only thing keeping him upright these days) and he had to be sure this wasn't a hallucination. His mind had been rife with hallucinations, and sometimes he'd see Anthony, along with many other faces he hadn't seen in ages or had imagined altogether.
He took a step backward when Anthony approached him, looking at the door again. He could see it was open just a little, enough to let in the cool evening breeze. He felt it underneath his old wool sweater and shivered. It felt real.
"Anthony?" he asked, just to make doubly sure. Sometimes he'd have long conversations with people who weren't there, but the breeze hit him again, and as Anthony came into focus, he felt his heart start to race. This was real. He clutched his artwork to his chest as some type of shield so Anthony couldn't see through him. He felt exposed and caught off guard and in no way prepared to be confronted by Anthony, whom he was sure he'd never see again.
