“That’s it,” he encouraged me. “Drink her memory away.”
So, I tried. Round after round, I tried to erase the tormenting thoughts of seeing her so happy with her family.
And day after day, since then, I hadn’t stopped trying. Every radio interview, every television appearance, and every other bullshit marketing ploy that Beverly had planned for us that week in the QC was excruciating. So when the morning of the Charlotte concert finally arrived, it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed.
“Mooommm!” Alexis called from her bedroom. “Where are my pink Toms?”
I could hear a couple of giggling girls in the background, and it thrilled my soul to hear such exuberance coming from Alexis’s bedroom. We’d had a tough year with my divorce from Graham. It had taken a while to get back on track, but we were finally starting to heal. Graham was no longer part of our lives, and we could move forward.
I called back to her, “The last time I saw them, they were on my bathroom floor!”
“Thanks, Mom!” I heard several sets of shuffling feet running toward my bathroom, followed by more girly squeals coming from two of Alexis’s friends, Payton and Olivia.
“Your mom is so cool. I can’t believe she’s taking us to see Fifth Wheel in Charlotte!” Payton raved.
“I know! I can’t believe it either. I’m so excited!” Olivia sang one octave higher than usual.
“Tonight is gonna be epic!” Alexis sounded like she was about to come unglued with elation.
I shook my head. Teenagers. But, I had to admit I was pretty excited myself. I hadn’t shared the news with the girls yet about the backstage passes I’d scored for us. For sure, the night was going to be ‘epic.’ I danced my way down the hallway, caught up with anticipation, knowing I’d just stolen my teenage daughter’s word.
The best part about the night was getting to see Chris. The Chris. The one who changed my life so many years ago. I wondered if he’d even recognize me. Probably not. I was only twenty-four the last time he saw me. A lot of years had passed. Just thinking of the possibility that I had some influence over where he had gotten in his life was reward enough for me. It was so hard to believe that the sullen, brown-eyed guy who sat in my office fourteen years ago was the same hot rock star whose confident swagger on stage melted girls’ hearts. In my mind, he was still the teenager who sat across from me on that drab, brown corduroy sofa during our counseling sessions. Then again, sometimes it was hard to believe that I was once the woman, a mere six and a half years older, trying to help shape and mold him into the man he would become.
I strained through the pain in my hand, trying to shake it away before someone else thrust another pen at me. The muscles in my fingers cramped from signing so many pre-concert autographs while the bright flashes from everyone’s cameras only intensified my throbbing headache. I was struggling with a massive hangover that had sustained itself through an entire unsuccessful week of drowning out my heartache. It seemed as though I didn’t feel normal unless I was suffering from a debilitating hangover these days. Seeing Kaitlyn again at the grocery store was painfully bittersweet. The image haunted me—that hard dose of reality of seeing her content with her family, smiling and laughing. Then, having chosen to walk away for good, it suffocated me like a vice grip; the pain was unbearable.
I wasn’t sure how in the hell I was going to make it through the concert. I was just going through the motions in the pre-party meet and greet. Hugs, signings, pictures, smiles. Next! Hugs, signings, pictures, smiles. Next!
Don’t get me wrong. I loved my fans. They were my favorite part of the whole journey. But, when all I wanted to do was drink some more then crawl back into the bed and sleep my painful memories away, pasting a smile on my face for the public’s eye was just too much.
The line for the backstage pass ticket holders snaked around the large open room. Rows and rows of enthusiastic fans waited patiently for their chance to talk to their idol. The air was stuffy; I could already feel the sweat beads forming on my lower back. Too many bodies were cramped into one room with not enough ventilation, but that didn’t stop the laughter and giddy squeals from all of the capricious teenage girls vying for a chance to get their picture taken with their rock god, Chris King.
I observed Chris from a distance as he interacted with all of his adoring fans, young and old. I loved the way he smiled with that same signature half-grin adorned by the deep dimple that I remembered from years past. I watched the way his dark brown eyes twinkled under the flashing lights. He rolled the sleeves of his button-down Affliction shirt and secured them with the button tabs, and then he wiped his brow with the black bandana that he kept tucked in his pocket.