𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XXVII

July 30, 1973

There weren't many good days in the cards for us after that.

The band was busier than ever after the album release, which was of course good news. For them. At the start of the sudden bustle of chaos, I'd tried to go out to see them every night. Dress up, pry myself from the flat, and support them in the crowd with as much energy as I could muster.

It got tiring. One night of skipping a show for sleep turned into several, and eventually I could hardly bring myself to go anymore. My days consisted of working- which I'd been doing a lot of lately since my boss fell sick- and coming back to an empty flat, just to climb into bed and wait for the next morning to appear. It was almost frightening how quickly matters had shifted.

I hardly saw Roger anymore. If he wasn't at a gig he was at a rehearsal, and if he wasn't at a rehearsal, he was off doing who knows what. And in the time he wasn't doing any of those things, and we were together for once, he was usually sleeping. Too exhausted to talk.

It was funny how I missed somebody who wasn't quite gone yet.

My dreams were littered with happy memories of us, as if it, too, was in constant longing for a time already passed. On days when I was alone, I'd tell myself to try harder. You can do it. When he comes home, just talk to him. You can fix this together.

But, it never worked that way. I'd take one look at him and feel the distance worse than before, as if peering at him through the wrong end of a telescope. It was crushing, and I didn't know how to overcome it.

Maybe I was thinking too much. Maybe things hadn't really changed, and I was just too far deep in my own head.

But I knew Roger felt it too. He'd smile and chat lightly with me as if nothing was different, but when slipping into bed beside me, he wouldn't hold me like he used to. I was once his lifeline- he clutched me so tightly that sometimes I'd wake up sticky with sweat from the heat of his body. Every night I could count on his arms to surround me.

But now, I slept cold.

There was one night, though, where I felt him blindly reach for my hand under the covers. Roger found it and squeezed it, almost as if doing it in his sleep. Somehow, the gesture was more intimate to me. It almost brought me to tears, but they weren't tears of joy. They were tears of loss, loss of what we once had that we couldn't find anymore.

I was too afraid to face the truth. Something had changed.

-

    The little bells tinkled as the door to Ramsey's Bookshop was pushed open, and a pair of shoes sunk into the carpet floor. I made my way with soft steps towards the front of the shop, preparing to issue my welcome to the customer.

    It wasn't a customer at all. It was Roger, dressed casually with his hair disheveled as if he'd just woken from a nap. He had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and was looking around as if the place was unfamiliar to him. It had been a while since he'd picked me up from work, since I usually walked, so this was a surprise.

    "Oh," I said, a bit breathlessly. "It's you."

    "It's starting to rain. So I thought I'd come get you," he stated, nodding at me.

    I glanced briefly out the window, noticing the darkening clouds and the splattering of rain on the sidewalk. Then, at the clock, which marked the end of my shift. "Alright, I'll get my purse."

    It all felt robotic. Unnatural. His hand on my lower back as he guided me out the door. His stiff smile. How we walked slightly apart from each other.