Is a Dream Just a Dream?

Looking Forward, No Looking Back

Six months later

"Thanks so much Baltimore you've been a terrific audience!" the deafening sound of cheers and applause accompany Stevie and I as we leave the stage. This is our final Buckingham Nicks concert, the next great adventure for us will be the farewell tour for Fleetwood Mac. Farewell is subjective though, I mean how many times have the Stones retired only to pop back up nine months later for another world tour? I think in some respect all rock stars are addicted to the idea of eternal performance, the never ending crush and scintillation of the road. The dream of dropping dead on stage with my Rick Turner in one hand and the mic in another romantic but terribly impractical.

Hand in hand we head to our shared dressing room Stevie girlish and full of energy as she normally after a great show. As soon as we leave the stage I grab my cane from one of the roadies and hand him my guitar, it's a bit vain of me but I don't like appearing infirm or in ill health. It drives Stevie crazy, she's of the mind that as a man who's been in a coma and shot I shouldn't hide my discomfort for fear of appearing weak. But I'm still a stubborn ass, I may not ever admit I have to walk with a cane ninety percent of the time...not to anyone who isn't family.

Scrubbing my face with my ever present sweat towel the couch is a welcome respite on my grizzled bones. Stevie wrinkles her nose nudging my leg with her platform boot "You need a shower Buckingham" panting I flash her my most lecherous of grins "Only if you join me Nicks" she stops contemplating my offer, and for a while I get the slightest buzz of excitement at her hesitance. She puts a stop to my feverish imaginings by tossing me a dry towel "I'd much rather take advantage of you in a comfy hotel, with fluffy pillows and down covers" foiled by Stevie's penchant for luxury yet again.

Undeterred I manage to cop a feel in the car ride toward the hotel we're booked in, once we reach the front desk I plant my hand firmly on her backside and give it a squeeze. She bumps my shoulder and I try not to laugh, the clerk smiles indulgently as she passes us our key. That's right one key. One room. We are married after all. Happily. I would almost say madly in love.

"I can't wait for a nice long night in bed I'm bushed." My patented puppy dog eyes swivel to look in her direction "Don't you wanna take advantage of me on comfy sheets and down covers?" one of her maincured nails presses the up button on the elevator delicately "One track mind" she says, but moves closer wrapping my arm around her waist as we ascend to the penthouse level. Our short engagement on tour has been phenomenally successful, the old fans and new welcoming our presence on stage enthusiastically. It's something quite astounding to watch kids younger than Bryce and Derrick sing along to songs older than their own parents. The magic of music.

I'm lucky in the sense that Kristen is a terrible shot, my injuries set my recovery back by three months but I was in reasonably good shape. Good enough to survive a bullet, so there was no convalescence this time around aside from four weeks of intense wound care. I thought it was rather gracious of her to shoot me in the leg I've been limping on for months. Saved me from having a doubly abstract gait. I also had the good fortune of having not just one but four round the clock caregivers all of whom are used to my cantankerous nature.

Will rushed home from school the minute he heard, but I demanded he return once I knew my wounds weren't fatal. I'm touched that he ran out of a major Biology lecture to be at my side, but I want him to do well in school and worrying about whether I get the right flavor jello at lunch isn't conducive to that. Derrick and Bryce were of a similar mindset and I sent them both back to their studies after they were satisfied that I was okay. But on weekends all four of them endeavored to smother me with attention at every opportunity.