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The Taste of Broken Glass
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2024-10-29 19:42:56“Jim?”
Sean knocked again. He’d better be ready, because the lobby was full of reporters. It was Wednesday, their second day in Chile, in between their two concerts in Santiago, and Deborah had decided to spend it on interviews. That way, they would have the whole Friday to rest before the long flight back to LA on Saturday.
“Jimbo!” he called, a little louder.
He could hear music from inside, but he couldn’t tell what it was. He knocked for the fourth time, already fishing in his pockets for his room card. He heard quick footsteps coming and Jim opened the door, half his face covered in shaving cream.
“Dude! I’m fucking shaving! What’s up?”
He let his brother in and headed back to the bathroom. Sean paid attention to the music. What on God’s green earth was Jim listening? He found the answer when he approached the laptop open in the middle of the bed. It was something Silvia had sen
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The interviews kept them busy until dinner, and all of them voted to go out later, for a little taste of the Santiago night. Instead of hanging out with the others at the bar until they left, Jim went back to his room. Deborah turned to Sean the moment Jim walked into an elevator, but Sean just shook his head.Yeah, his brother had honored all the commitments she’d scheduled for the day, but he was oddly absentminded, and Sean wasn’t about to explain to Deborah what was in Jim’s mind, keeping him distracted.His little brother had gotten the memo, directing him straight to a tall, sturdy brick wall. Now that he’d found it, Sean knew he would have to watch Jim slam his head against it, time and time again, until the pain and the bruises convinced him it was harder and more real than his own perspective of the situation. Then Jim would most likely break down, and Sean would have to be ready to hold him up.Upstairs, Jim dropped himself on t
No Return Playlist
Going back to work, eating, sleeping, gaming a while with her brother after dinner, drinking gallons of mate, walking with his dog to the bus stop, watching the clouds roll over the lake out the bus window, listening to her chick-hits playlist. Routine was a safe haven that welcomed her back. So that Wednesday midnight, when she got the Hey, Jay! notification, it was somehow just another part of her routine. And she felt strong enough to check it out.She brought mate and cigarettes to her room, played Sarah McLachlan’s Full of Grace and sat in the middle of her bed with the tablet.She felt relieved to see Jim hadn’t written anything. He’d only posted four photographs, and the lump up her throat didn’t come as a surprise when she saw them. Four pictures, one for each day they’d spent together. A smile found its way to her lips, reading the titles he’d chosen for them.He’d called the
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The soft glow of the nightstand lamp blinded Silvia for a moment. As soon as she was able to squint around, she swung the covers open and jumped out of bed, grunting and grumbling under her breath.One damned hour. She’d been turning and tossing in bed for a whole hour, unable to sleep, the idea of that video waiting for her corroding her brain.She washed her face with cold water and grabbed her earphones. A moment later, she was back in bed, resting against the headboard, tablet in hand. She breathed deep and played the video.The Chilean flags everywhere didn’t leave much doubt about where the video had been filmed. It was a small stadium, for about ten thousand people, and it was crowded to the brink of structural collapse.The stage was dark and empty, and people whistled and shouted and screamed for the band to come back. Then a beam like an airport searchlight pierced the air, blinding bright, straight to Jim’s vacant microphone,
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Silvia paused the video one more time, her heart beating in her throat instead of her aching chest. Tears played funny tricks to her eyes, painting a bright halo around Jim on the screen, turning him into a blinding figure in the reddish shadows of the stage, with that fevered and obedient crowd at his feet, looking up at him in adoration.She didn’t want to watch anymore.She didn’t want to listen to what came next.She didn’t want to hear him call out straight to her love. To know if she would still dare the gale, crawl out from under the rubble, walk through the ravaged ruins he’d left of her heart.She didn’t want to step into the eye of that hurricane he couldn’t rein in anymore, because it’d become the flame that kept him alive.And at the same time, it didn’t matter how many poetic arguments her survival instinct came up with to seduce her and hold her back. She knew she wouldn’t refuse.
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Silvia needed a while to stop crying, the tablet in frail balance on her lap. Finally, she was able to lie down again and turn off the light. Not to sleep, she doubted she would be so lucky, but to think. She lit the umpteenth cigarette and smoked with her reddened eyes up on the ceiling.She was dying to reply to such a low blow, and she could think of a dozen fitting ways off the top of her head. But she had to pick only one. While she tried to calm down, stubborn embers still burning in her chest, she forced herself to go over every possible answer she could think of, promising she wouldn’t pick one until she’d listed them all.Yeah, she was trying to cheat herself into a silly excuse to keep from replying. At least it gave her something to muse about, instead of spiraling down into memories of him.Somehow she fell asleep. To regret it deeply in the morning, when she surfaced from an upsetting thread of awful dreams about him. In them, Jim would
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Thirty minutes later, across the mountains, Silvia’s phone rang, and it kept ringing until she woke up and picked up, feeling instantly sick.“Turn on the TV! Now!” Paola barked upset.“What?”“Get the fuck up and turn on the news! It’s Jim!”Silvia managed to get out of bed and drag her feet instead of crawl to the dining room, mostly pulled by her friend’s weird urgency. What the hell was going on? What could Jim be doing to upset her, enough to call on a Saturday morning?She turned on the TV and surfed the news channels. Nothing. No Jim whatsoever. They were all broadcasting live an air shot of a massive pile up on some highway. Those Buenos Aires jerks, like people in the rest of the country gave a damn about their shitty traffic.“I can’t find it,” she grunted. “What did you see?”“What d’you mean you can’t find it? It’s o
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Walt called Jim from the back of the bus, his little keyboards on his lap, and the rest of the band came around, smelling new song. Jim reached for his phone to record whatever Walt had come up with, and realized it’d slipped from his back pocket. It wouldn’t be the first time it dropped on the bus seat. Sean saw him pat his pockets and snort, and volunteered to go grab it.That was when the bus swerved sharply, wheels screeching, throwing everybody to the side. Then they heard the first impact that pushed the bus skidding to the other side. Another hit against the rear bumper and the bus started spinning. Another hit, a big truck that bashed the whole side of the bus. Another hit and the bus seemed to crack open like a frigging nut as it fell on the opposite side, still ramming down the highway.Jim had that image carved in his mind: the bending steel snapping like rubber bands, the bus split in two. Sean launched up and out, flapping his arms in the air,
No Return The Place To Be
Later on he might ask what the hell she was doing there, how she had made it there hardly five hours after the crash. Maybe he would even ask her why.Right then, he could only throw his arms around her and hide his face against her chest, fighting back the groans burning his throat and ripping his chest apart. She held him tight without a word and kissed his blood-sprayed hair, letting him vent.When he was able to get a grip on himself and let go of her, rubbing his face with an embarrassed grimace, she crouched down to study him carefully, as to confirm he was bruised but sort of fine, and most importantly, alive.Jim let out a bitter scoff. She smiled as she sat down by his side, put her arm around his shoulders again and let him rest against her. He leaned to lie on his good side, his head on her lap, all of a sudden unable to keep his eyes open.Silvia caressed his hair gently, letting him sleep as her look moved over the cold, white ceiling, and sh
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Silvia woke up to Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus.The sun was setting and she was alone in bed, tucked in soft sheets that smelled of lemon and the fat white comforter. Jim had left a few hours ago to let her rest, because after those weeks apart, it was plain to see she wouldn’t get any rest with him around.She’d fallen sound asleep, exhausted, and now she had the persistent feeling of being still lost in a dream. But she wasn’t. This was not the Black Rock. It was the Ashtray, her new home, and that music had to be a phone ringing.But not hers. She’d never used that song as a ringtone.She followed the music to the other nightstand, where she found a new phone still inside its open box with a red ribbon. And she laughed out loud when she grabbed it and saw the caller was My Personal J.“Hey, you awake?” Jim asked when she picked up, still chuckling.“Hey, you just woke me u
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“Hurry up or I’m calling a cab!”“Bet you’re dying to do it, you chicken.”“Please, Jay!”Silvia finished raiding the master bedroom one last time, to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything.“Jay!”“Coming.”She snorted and went to canvass the ground floor. She was just done when Jim came down the stairs in no hurry.“Can we go before I have a heart attack, milord?”“Cool down, woman, we have plenty of time,” he said, grabbing her duffel bag on his way to the front door, where she waited with her rucksack. He paused at the doorway to poke her nose. “Really, such a rush to leave me.”Silvia wasn’t about to explain she was always that upset whenever she had a bus or a plane to catch, so she just scowled at him and followed him out.“Got everything? Tickets, passport?”Silvia ch
