Chelsea Hotel

Saw the absentee drummer. He was right where I thought he would be. That's why I didn't use the word missing-he's just not here anymore. No reason to be so he's just sort of doing whatever his thing is these days.
Let me say-I don't spend a lot of time reminiscing or missing the old days. The thought pops into my mind every once in awhile. It might be everyday for a length of time I think about how life used to be and then maybe I'll be so wrapped up in what I'm doing now that then is just not worth the dwelling on. It's a late at night alone with a stack of records and only a dim light on kind of moment-a song on the radio or a memory held within the walls of a place. It's not a fixing dinner wondering whatever happened to thing. It really isn't. So-despite what it might seem, and I think that that seeming to think about things like that is more because of who I'm in conversation with than anything. People I've known for awhile maybe are more prone to think in terms of awhile instead of now. But I don't think about it much or miss it really. I've got a life now that is going great guns and it's different and it's harder but it is mine.
Then I saw him-and now and then blended together, the past bled into the present until it was difficult to tell what was post-memory and what was happening now. Even people that have only known me for the briefest period of time were able to see there was something changed in me when I was near him and it embarassed me to think that would still be the case. Not because it's a bad thing or anything but because I'm supposed to be growing here and changing and becoming a new and improved me. There are improvements and newness. That being as may be, tho I know that like a junky barely straight given the temptation I'm right back with that needle in my arm and Heroes on the stereo again. He politely offered me the needle,because it's unfair to leave someone jonesin' His arm around me his breath on my neck as he leaned in to speak over the solo guitar. The giving in was swift, the bar was somewhere far away I was floating. Yet, the conversation was not anything but catching up it was chat between friends it was just something to fill the time there were no undertones.
After the show when the crowd thinned out and most everyone had gone home I was back behind the stage hanging, waiting for the next thing to go on. Figuring we'd be going home and I would have to answer questions and gentle jabs about my low level score and sink into night reminded that it's still the same and addictions never go away, they're just controlled.
Not quite the way it happened. We started to talking. He gave me a cigarette and lit it for me-just like had happened so many times before in so many empty bars after closing time. Same build up to the denouement, same actors, new lines, slight variation of set design. A little more warehouse and a little less retro, add some rain. The Master Playwright knows how to build drama.
He said he could bring me home. My cohorts left to go get some Taco Hell and he and I got to my apt before them despite leaving after. When my guests pulled in they politely didn't look at us whilst quickly moving through the rain into the house. There would've been nothing to see. Two people sitting in a truck in the rain talking. Me telling him something I haven't even said out loud. Something I've typed or insinuated and once I mouthed the word but since I had gotten away from the moment I had not said it. I had to say it so many times then that it only seemed fair that would be enough and I'd be able to just move on. Telling him this story that I've been trying to drown out anyway I can just busy it out pushed aside with studying, work and acting like there's nothing wrong. Until I started to believe it myself.
He was telling me what he's been doing where his life is and the things he's finding out. He doesn't like to give details, maybe just to me maybe all the time. But there were some things he said glimpses into what kind of person he is now and what he thinks of the person that I knew. The moral of the story-not the end-I'll finish it up just for my sake but if you're reading for what we've learned today you'll be done here in a moment. The moral of the story is courtesy of Mommy: "You're probably a reminder of a time of his life he doesn't want to remember right now." Yep, pretty much. Pretty much in a nutshell.
I had a book that belonged to him. Long story short I'd pretty much stolen it back for him and felt it was only right that since I'd gone to that trouble he get his book. And I knew that I wouldn't be seeing him anytime soon. Maybe someday down the road, at a show if there's ever another show or I'll pass through somewhere and he'll be there. If we do see each other it'll be an accident or it'll be in public. I had a prime moment for a symbolic gesture of saying goodbye.
I'd said to him, just before I knew we would be ending our conversation "I miss you. Don't think I dwell on it but every once in awhile, I miss you."
"I miss you too, not in the same way you miss me but I do."
"You always were a bigger part of my life than I ever was of yours."
The look on his face was like an old joke told by a friend "Yeh, well that's just because I'm a star."
"And I'm just a star fucker."
"That's not what I meant"
"Me neither."
We looked at each other for a few seconds and I knew we'd said pretty much everything that needed to be said. So I went and got his book.
When I came back out of the house, after dodging the looks of everyone inside because I didn't have the energy he was standing in the rain with the door to his truck open wiping the fog off the windows. I sat the book down on the passenger's seat. He put his arms around me, held me tight. I breathed deep trying to remember him, hugged him tighter. He said some things, I said some things. They're not important. We acted like we'd be in touch. The rain started to soak into our clothes, I could feel the dampness creeping up the legs of my pants my glasses were covered with drops of water so the night looked like a memory even as it was happening.
"So you're moving tomorrow and I'm going to go sing karaoke."
"If I can make it I might stop by to hear you do 'The Dance'"
"And I-I'm glad I didn't know-the way it all would end..."
"Not now! We don't want your neighbors calling the police on you for disturbing the peace."
"You mean you don't enjoy my musical stylings?"
He smiled, "You better get inside, it's raining."
"Yes, that it is. Bye then." Moment of looking at each other arms still around each others waists that is so familiar. He kissed me. A friend kiss. Then we told each other goodbye again. We kissed again. A little longer, maybe more than friendly. "Don't be a stranger if you can help it."
"Take care of yourself. Please take care of yourself-you deserve more."
"Same to you."
"Alright."
"Alright." We let go of each other then. I turned to go and I don't know if it was me or him or mutual but I turned back, he stopped, I put my hand on his head and chuckled. 'Ah well', I thought, as we moved toward each other again. "Mwa!" I punctuated the moment, and smiled. "Be good. Talk to you."
"Oh yeah."
I walked inside, everyone was ready for bed but looking for some sign of what they had been trying to not spy on. (Or maybe had been spying on-because a night with me is better than Friday afternoon slo-mo on General Hospital. All the suspense, none of that pesky waiting til Monday.) But I didn't really have anything to say. I think maybe I was asked if I was alright. Or maybe I just felt like that was what should've been asked. You know, yes. Of course, I'm alright. There's nothing to be not alright about.

I've found you a thousand times/I guess you've done the same/Then we lose each other/It's just like a children's game

And she said "We should get together"/But I knew it'd never be arranged/And she handed me twenty dollars for a $2.50 fare/She said "Harry, keep the change"

I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best
I can't keep track of each fallen robin
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
That's all
I don't think of you that often