Beautifully Broken

A Part of Me

Frank

I stay holed up in my bunk, headphones on to block out the world. The closer we grow to Florida the further I pull into myself. I can't join the usual band banter or sit around a table and play cards. A group of people that used to make me feel like I had a home on the road now feel like strangers. Gerard leads the pack. I can't even look at him. We don't talk. He spends his nights in his bunk, phone pressed to his ear as he talks to his new interest.

Ashley's voice, powerful and smooth, washes over me, creating a kind of comfort. Images of the band as little kids flash across my laptop screen. Video of Ashley and Matt sitting outside their California home smoking, they both look sweaty and worn down, dark rings circling their eyes. Ron and Ashley dancing around in the street faces turned up to the sky. Ryan and Andrew letting a bottle of champagne pop at their first release party. Pictures of Ashley and Ryan cuddled on a backstage couch. The band goofing around at rehearsal. Claim of the Broken evolves in grainy black and white before my eyes.

The lyrics, backed by angry guitars and heavy drums, are hauntingly relatable. Ashley proclaims her insecurities, the lost feeling of watching friends and family fade away. At times she growls out the words, forcing her pain off onto the listener. Yet forever insisting that there's a light at the end of the long drive from Lonelyville. The video ends with a pan into Ashley's face. She's on the beach, looking over her shoulder into the camera. Her eyes are haunting. The final lines, but sometimes we all have to break down in Lonelyville, float out over a fading bass chord. If the whole record is like this one song no one will be able to touch them.

Feeling the bus roll to a stop, my heart sinks. She'll be outside the hotel, waiting for us all. Closing my eyes, I hope they'll all think I'm sleeping. I don't want that fake reunion, the complete bullshit that is hellos and it's so good to see yous. It seems to work, the bus exploding into action and then quickly going dead silent. No one even bothers to pull back the curtain on my bunk, ensuring I wasn't left behind at the last venue. I think I hate Florida.

Staring at my phone I think back to the realization I came to about a week ago. If I had just picked up the phone I'm certain things would have ended differently. I guess now is a good a time as any to start my road to patching the holes. Her name sits at the bottom of a long list of As. My finger hovers over the call button, my whole body filled with electricity. She's probably changed her number. I'm probably blocked. Even if she answers the phone she's going to hang up as soon as she realizes it's me. My tongue sits like a brick at the bottom of my mouth, grinding against my teeth.

Just as I'm certain she's not going to answer, the phone clicks, "Hello?"

"Ashley?"

"Shouldn't you know? You called me."

My mind goes blank. She has no idea who this is. That's the only reason why she's still on the line. I brace myself for the hangup, the wicked lose my number, "It's Frank."

"I know."

"You didn't delete my number?"

"I was going for a complete indifference approach," Ashley responds, her tone cold.

Shaking my head, I bite back a snicker, "So that's why you get all nervous and blushy when I'm around."

"Remind me to punch you in the face next time I see you," The coldness slips away. It's like a conversation from the past, the friendly banter slowing my hammering heart.

"Just be sure you get the side without the cut. I'd like to even it out."

Ashley scoffs, "Whatever. I also don't know how to delete people out of my phone."