My Old Friend

Chapter 26

TIM POV: I sit in my bedroom and drink the large, mysterious liquid they've requested I drink. My manager, Henry, grins as I cough in disgust. 

"Oh god..." I say, gagging. He laughs. 

"You definitely haven't lost your charm, have you?" Henry says. I take a deep breath. 

"I'm fine." I insist. He smiles.

"I know you are." He says, smacking my arm. He begins to laugh as he walks over towards the window. "I wondered what was going to happen when I saw you with the bottle in your hand that night. Guess that showed me right, didn't it?" Henry's laughter booms through the room. I can't help but feel disgusted by him. 

"Well, I'm done with that. I'm a lot smarter now..." I say. He scoffs. 

"I'm sure of that!" He laughs in disbelief. This whole event is a disaster for his career. The toxicology reports are all over the news stations as we sit here. The letter is in every magazine and newspaper known to mankind. They say I'm a medical miracle. I was dead for about fifteen minutes. Henry supposedly sat there reading the letter, and debating whether or not to call an ambulance for me. I guess he decided I was worth his charity. "You have a ton of shit to do today. It's your first day back on the job!" Henry gets enthusiastic. I feel like the grim reaper is peering over my shoulder... 

"I'm supposed to take it easy..." I remind him. 

"It should be easy! Just follow the note cards." He says. "I figured if your first appearance were at the awards tonight, that would be a large statement. You're back, and ready for business!" He chants. I sigh, knowing that means I have to deal with Liz for the night. 

"I'm not leaving this dressing room." Liz says, crossing her arms. I throw my hands in the air. 

"Fine! Fuck it, I don't care!" I yell, storming out of the room. I can feel her disbelief follow me as I walk to the stage. I take a few deep breaths to calm down, then I take the mic and run up on stage for my set. 

"Everyone please welcome to the stage, Tim McGraw!" The announcer chimes. The band begins to play before I'm even set, overwhelming my head. I stare out at the massive crowd. I look into their eyes... I hear their thoughts... I know they're excited to watch me slip up, forget the words, fall off the stage, something. 

I miss my cue, and stand with my mouth hanging open. My feet are planted firmly, as the band stops playing. 

"Tim, should we start up again?" My guitarist asks. I shake my head, and make an executive decision. 

"Hey y'all... a slight change of plans... I'm going to perform a song I wrote a few days ago, rather than the song originally planned. Does that sound okay?" I ask. The crowd cheers, happy to hear something new, unlike the overplayed single that I was supposed to do. 

"My old friend, I recall, the times we had hanging on my wall. I wouldn't trade them for gold. 'Cause they laugh and they cry me, somehow sanctify me. They're woven in the stories I have told -- and tell again..." I start off. The band plays fluently along with me, knowing I'm far from the top of my game at the moment. It'll only take me a second to get lost in the music, and forget the words.

"My old friend, I apologize for the years that have passed since the last time you and I, dusted off those memories. But the running and the races, the people and the places -- There's always somewhere else I had to be, and time gets slim, my old friend." They can probably tell who I'm singing to. It wouldn't take a brain surgeon to figure it out. I just pray she's listening.