A few months later
Anthony felt a bit like he was watching toy people, like being at Disneyland and going to 'It's A Small World After All.' It didn't seem right or natural and everything had a vague air of creepiness and voyeurism. He was watching John on stage, for the first time in what felt like an eternity. And all these people were just...standing there. Weird grins. Quizzical expressions. Drinks in hand, looking at each other, speculating far too loudly over how this could be the same guy who used to tear up the stage with the Red Hots. They were almost incredulous, and some of them looked a step away from jeering while others just looked shocked to see the fabled junkie alive- Anthony wanted to smash all their faces in. Like he was the giant in the world of the amusement ride that appeared periodically to squash people into place. He was grateful John couldn't hear them.
He took a breath and steadied himself. He was getting far too worked up. But for God's sake, people did not seem to realize what John had been through. All they could do was stand there and gawk and speculate instead of appreciating the man in front of them. John had progressed leaps and bounds since Anthony last saw him, and he couldn't believe the difference. Sure, to these people, he looked rough. He was still settling into his new features and his hair was a bit disheveled and his clothes didn't fit and even though his arms weren't visible, Anthony knew they'd be a mess of scar tissue. But compared to how he'd looked just a few months ago, John was a revelation. He was animated, energetic, vibrant on stage, and there was real light in his eyes. He was far from healed or back to his usual self and there was still an obvious suggestion of chemical crutches (methadone was standard, and who knew what else they had him on) but he was upright, and determined, and he was back to participating in the world instead of merely existing. Anthony was fiercely proud of him, and didn't see anything even remotely strange or embarrassing about the spectacle, despite what the people around him seemed to think. This was something special. A sacred gift from one of John's spirits maybe, that he was still with us and capable of performing. He'd always known this boy was magic, and he was proving it time and time again.
John felt a bit shaky up on stage- he'd tried this a couple of times before rehab and it hadn't gone so well. But he had a bit of a chip on his shoulder now, something to prove. He was feeling better. He was sober. He was stronger and healthier and he didn't feel like he was going to fall over while he stood at the mic, singing raspily to the crowd of 30 or so people who had come out to see him. It was a tiny show in Silverlake, but it felt good just to hold the guitar Anthony had bought him and play again, even if he wasn't as good as he used to be and his voice was a little rough around the edges. Being on stage and playing music was scary, but alluring. Having the nerve to do this was alluring. Being out at night to be creative, to be an artist, instead of buying crack on a street corner...that was alluring. He felt something like himself again, some seed of John that had been dormant for so many years was sprouting. John thought Anthony's visit to him in rehab had watered that seed, and now he was blossoming outwardly instead of just inside. He was sure as hell trying.
With only two more songs in his set, he swayed to the rhythm, eyes shut, hair cascading over his face like a protective curtain against the glaring lights and inquisitive stares. Those stares continued to bother him- anyone he'd encountered lately had something to say about his altered appearance. Even those who stayed silent might as well have spoken, their expressions giving away their thoughts. John grappled with the uncertainty of ever getting used to this reaction. Facing the mirror remained a challenge, not because he felt ugly, but because he no longer looked like himself. He felt lost in his own body and it was the hardest challenge he'd faced since getting sober. He wasn't the "young handsome" guy anymore. The same jokes didn't work. Interacting with people felt different, now. Like everyone was astonished that he was alive, but beyond that, they weren't sure what to say. And he wasn't sure what to say, either. Some people were rude and asked invasive questions. Others acted like he was some Lazarus and it made him cringe. He was just a person who had been lucky enough to make it through some horrible shit. And when that miraculousness they thought they saw wore off, how would they react to him then?
