Jean Haus - With the Band

Sam isn’t with us.

His mother flew in yesterday. They’re staying at a hotel near the hospital. They hope to fly back, with Seth, by the end of the week. Sam says Seth’s doing better, but the doctor doesn’t want to release him until his new medication is working effectively.

I haven’t seen Sam in two days. I miss him every minute, yet him being with his brother is more important than my melancholy, obviously.

As a 747 taxis by the window, my phone vibrates, and a picture of Sam lying on the couch in the back of the bus flashes on the screen along with the text: Can you find somewhere private and call me?

Why? I text back, confused.

Just do it! Please!

I’m suddenly scared that Sam is going to share bad news—Seth isn’t doing well, Sam’s letting me go, or who knows what else. So I stand on shaking legs and head to an area of unoccupied seats. After setting down my carry-on and taking a deep breath, I call Sam.

“Hey, Peyton,” he answers.

“What’s going on?” I quickly and nervously ask.

“I wanted to send you off with a memory of me.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to put the phone down. Just listen until I pick it back up, okay?”

“Um, okay.”

I hear him set the phone down, then the chords of an acoustic guitar echo. I’m trying to place the familiar tune when he starts singing:

Even amid falling leaves

She was brighter

Than the summer sun

Fell under the spell of her

Smiling brown eyes

Faster than a breath

And when she’s gone

It’s always night

And I’m under a bleak moon

A bleak, bleak moon

She’s more than beauty

She’s a generous soul

Rich with laughter

She makes me

High on life

She makes me whole

But when she’s gone

It’s always night

And I’m under a bleak moon

A bleak, bleak moon

He rolls into the instrumental, and overwhelmed by the song, I draw in gulps of air, imagining his fingers flying over the guitar stem, imagining the tender look on his face, and wishing he were here with me. Then he starts the last verse, and my throat burns.

From the shadows

I watched her shine

Trying to be content

That she’d never be mine

Never touch the sun

Never hold her brightness

Now she’s gone

It’s always night

And I’m under a bleak moon

A bleak, bleak moon

The song ends and I wipe the lone tear rolling down my cheek. I don’t deserve such a beautiful song now, much less years ago when he must have written it. I recall being worried about being portrayed as a bitch, but the way Sam sees me fills me with pride, hope, and fear—I want to be what he sees. I want to be what he needs.

“Peyton? You there?” Sam asks, breaking me from my turbulent thoughts.

“Yeah, um, wow,” I say in a rush of air. “I’m sure that’s really not me but thank you.”

“That’s you. It was you even then.”

Someone pokes my shoulder, and I turn to see Gabe. “We’re boarding,” he says loudly.

Nodding to Gabe, I reach for my bag and say, “I have to go. We’re—”

“I heard. It’s okay. I told my mom I’d meet her soon at the hospital.” He sighs sadly into the phone. “Though it will be the middle of the night, text me when you land?”

“Yes. Text me when you wake up?”

“The moment I open my eyes. Have a safe trip, Peyton,” he says in a desolate tone before hanging up.

With a sigh, I turn my phone off.

It feels like I’m turning my connection with Sam off.

Go out with us!” Jill says, falling onto my bed next to me.

I shake my head. “Don’t feel like it.”

What if Sam was to call? Classes start in three days. He has to come back soon. I haven’t seen him since the night Seth freaked out at their last concert, three weeks ago. There have been a few calls and texts to each other, but I hate the distance between us. He is at his parents’ house right now, but I can’t stop worrying about the last text I got from him. It was days ago, and I’ve been preoccupied with it because it was so utterly impersonal. The short lines won’t stop running through my head and making me apprehensive: Home now at my mom’s. Still straightening things out. Hope to call you soon.

Jill elbows me. “You can’t stop your life and wait for Sam.” The day I came home, I told Jill about Sam and me. Strangely, she wasn’t all that surprised, and admitted she knew back in high school there was something between us. Too bad she couldn’t have told me then, when I was blind to it.

“True,” I say with a sad sigh.

“Forget about the asshole!” Jill says, sitting up. “Let’s go out!”

I smile weakly. Sam being there for his brother does not make him an asshole. Even if Sam decided to end things with me because of his brother, he wouldn’t be an asshole. It would destroy me, but the only thing I’d be angry about would be the unfairness of Seth’s stupid mind-twisting disease. I couldn’t be mad at either of the brothers. They’re both hurting too.

Jill tugs at my arm. “You’ve been moping around for a week now. Enough!”

I let her pull me up, and she goes to my closet, flicking through clothes. Once she’s done, I raise an eyebrow at the outfit laid out on the bed. “Really?”

She nods vigorously. “Hell yeah. Nothing better to get you out of a funk than a multitude of guys hitting on you.” She bends over to search for shoes.

I frown at the tiny skirt and bustier top. “I don’t want guys hitting on me,” I say miserably.

“Peyton!” Jill flies up to face me. “You’re going out. You’re going to have a good time. I’m tired of looking at your sad little face.”

It probably has been annoying for her to deal with the despondent expression I must have been wearing constantly the past week.

“Fine,” I say. “But I’m not wearing those.” I gesture to the heels in her hand.

“Deal,” she says, tossing the shoes over her shoulder and back into the closet. “You got twenty to get ready and then the party bus is outta here.”

“Your piece-of-shit car is hardly a party bus,” I grumble as she marches out of my room.

“Twenty minutes!” she yells from the hallway.

Of course, twenty minutes later, Jill is applying more makeup to my features. I didn’t put on enough, apparently. Then she’s taking out my ponytail and flat-ironing my hair because “ponytails aren’t sexy.” And then she’s threatening to throw my flip-flops out as she shoves wedge sandals on my feet.

Forty minutes later, we head out the door.

Opening the front passenger door to Jill’s car, I notice someone walking across the parking lot toward us.

My heart starts beating and my body breaks into a sweat, even though I’m barely dressed. Somehow I stay where I am instead of running across the lot.

“Fucking really?” Jill says, following my gaze. “He’d better not be here to hurt you,” she grumbles under her breath. “Or so help me, I’ll bitch-slap his fun bags.”

“Shh,” I say, my heart pounding in my ears as he comes nearer.

His gaze glued on me, Sam steps onto the sidewalk. “Hey,” he says a little breathlessly.

“Hey,” I say, also as if slightly out of breath. Shocked, I stare at him in the coming dusk of night.

“You busy?” he asks.

I start to shake my head, but Jill snarls, “Yeah, we were just leaving. Going out.”