I Can Bleed As Well As Anyone

hey I can bleed as well as anyone
but I need someone to help me sleep
Counting Crows, 'Mrs. Potter's Lullaby'

“DANIEL!”

The cry was familiar, but nevertheless shattering. It descended upon the crowd in choruses.

Chris Joannou turned from the group of girls pressing bits of paper into his hands and saw Watson motioning to him from the tourbus. It was time to go. He turned again, quickly apologised to the remaining fans, and set to shouldering his way through the masses.

He didn’t know where Daniel was. To his left, Ben was still smiling and nodding, occasionally getting a hug from an overzealous female. He looked more than completely comfortable; Ben was in his element. Chris always did his best, but in truth he knew no-one was actually looking for him.

He pushed his way through the people easily, feeling their sweat as he went. His head ached. The sky was black - no stars tonight. It was deathly cold but somehow still hot, he was horribly dirty, and all around him were screams of Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.

It was so deafening he could barely think, but somehow he made it to the open door of the tourbus and heaved himself inside. He saw Daniel already collapsed on one of the seats, and felt a surge of guilt overwhelm him. Even when Chris gave his all at handling the fans, it was often of little use. It was Daniel they wanted to see, and yet Chris knew how he felt about the crowds. So Chris signed their tickets; he smiled in front of hundreds of blinding flashes, but these were empty, desperate acts. He knew what they really wanted. Of course. Sometimes he understood. At other times he just hurt.

He was about to say something to his exhausted friend when he was nearly knocked over by Ben scrambling up the steps through the door. Ben blew a kiss to the crowd as he went, and some of the girls giggled and made swooning noises. Then the bus rumbled to life and the door was shut, muffling the shouts and screams. Chris felt a passing sense of relief before he noticed that a few of the girls were trying to grab onto the outside of the bus. They were holding gifts in their hands. The blonde one held a teddy bear and mouthed “Daniel!” The redhead held a stuffed dog and was yelping “Ben! Ben!” repeatedly. But the bus soon sped up and the girls were forced to drop off, staring wistfully through the rear window as Chris watched them.

As they disappeared around the corner, Ben offered his huge trademark grin. “Some good looking ones after you there, eh Johns?”

Daniel shrugged. “I didn’t really notice.”

Ben gave Chris a quick glance that said something like “Figures,” and hobbled to the front of the bus clasping his bag. Chris found the bucket seat next to the window and looked out at Minneapolis. The glow of streetlights, sparks of lighters, glares of car headlights. He didn’t know what he expected to see. Where would they be flying now? Toronto? City after city it was the same strange people and unfamiliar, cold buildings.

He swung his head back in Daniel’s direction, who had straightened up a bit and was picking at the seat lining.

“It’s not leather or wool, is it Daniel?” asked Chris. He was half-joking, of course. All of his gibes about Daniel’s lifestyle were in good fun.

Daniel managed a half-hearted chuckle. “Not that I know of.” His eyes did not reflect the action his mouth took. Chris thought he looked a little more limp than usual.

Thoughts passed casually through Chris’s mind as the bus rumbled on. He thought of the sharp contrast between Daniel and Ben’s moods after surviving a crowd of fans. He looked at his watch... midnight. He looked out the window again. Expecting to see something familiar? He didn’t know. What city were they going to again? Oh yeah... Toronto. As soon as Chris remembered about Toronto, he completely forgot which city it was that they were leaving. He didn’t bother trying to remember that. He watched Daniel for a minute, curious at what he might be thinking. He twisted his head and gazed out the back window of the bus, wondering haphazardly if anyone had maybe brought a teddy bear for him.



Ever since he could remember, Chris had hated airports. Maybe it was the smell, or the same signs gate after gate, but something about it was unnatural and threatening to him. He slouched in the uncomfortable seat at their gate, absent-mindedly watching infomercials on a television screen across the room.

He was almost asleep with his eyes open when a whiny voice on an intercom jolted him to an alert state.

“Flight 373 has been delayed,” droned a woman. “For those of you taking this flight, your aircraft will be arriving in approximately fifty minutes.”

Chris groaned and tuned out the rest of the message. Waiting again. He might have gotten an extra hour of sleep at the hotel.

An echoing clomp of shoes signified Daniel’s return from the toilet. He shuffled over to the seats and plopped down on the empty one between Chris and Ben.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Daniel groaned as he sat down.

“More good news Johns,” said Ben. “Flight’s delayed an hour.”

“Oh, wonderful. Even more time to sit around.”

“I don’t even want to think anyway,” sighed Chris, sinking lower into his seat and closing his eyes. He tried to ignore the strangely accented chatter around him and focus on something internal. After a minute he sat back up, convinced sleep was useless. His insides felt all fucked up. Chris couldn’t tell if it was the airport, jetlag, his lack of sleep and good food, or something different entirely. Good lord, he had been thinking too much lately. Was it possible to get his mind off his own thoughts? Well, he could certainly try. He unzipped his bag and pulled out a magazine.

“Daniel!”

Chris was jerked out of his reverie by the unmistakable yell. He should be used to it by now... hearing it in his sleep... and for a moment, Chris thought for sure it had infiltered his daydreams. Who could... ?

The answer presented itself in the form of three girls nervously approaching the seats. There was a blonde and two brunettes, all wearing jeans and sweaters, each carrying a writing implement in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. One of the brown-haired girls carried the frogstomp liner notes, while the other two had settled for their airline ticket envelopes.

The first thought that flashed through Chris’s mind was Daniel picked just the wrong time for a toilet break. Immediately he looked to his left and saw Daniel composing himself and standing up. Chris looked at the girls again and regretted his first thought. He had to stop judging fans by their label. Putting aside his magazine, he came to his feet beside Daniel and Ben to greet the girls.

One of them tiptoed up to Ben and offered him a timid smile. He grinned enourmously and took the envelope she held up for him. “Hey,” he said, like any old friend.

This seemed to put all the girls at ease, and they smiled more freely. A brunette sidled up to Daniel and said “Hi.” He replied softly and took the frogstomp cover from her. Ben and the other girls were chatting casually about one thing or another. Chris looked at him in a combination of admiration and amazement.

The girl with the frogstomp notes turned to Chris then. “Hi Chris!” she said brightly. “Can you sign this for me?”

“Sure can,” he said, in as friendly a tone as he could muster. She was obviously a nice girl; he just wasn’t in the right mood at this point. When he handed the CD cover to her again, she turned back to Daniel and adopted a more serious tone.

“I just wanted to say, you know, that...” Daniel looked up. “That Neon Ballroom is absolutely amazing...”

Daniel smiled.

The girl continued. Chris watched as she spilled her guts to his friend. “And it’s helped a lot of people, including me; it’s just the most amazing thing ever. I really admire you for being so honest, you know, because it really meant a lot to lots of people. So I guess, I mean, I just wanted to thank you for writing it.”

“Wow,” Daniel said, “thanks very much... that’s great. Things like that make it all worthwhile, so...” He looked truly grateful. Ben was still talking with the other girls. Did Chris feel jealousy or relief?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know how to balance the two parts of himself, the unbearable envy and the contented admiration. He wasn’t sure... what made it all worthwhile.

These thoughts sent him reeling. Luckily the girls were wrapping up their conversations with the other two. One of them asked Ben for a hug, which he graciously gave. They all said thanks.

“Bye!” called Ben after them as they walked away.

Effortless. A fucking natural.

A random bout of nausea waved over Chris and he sat down, breathing deeply. Must have been the burger for lunch that hadn’t agreed with him.

Or maybe it was the uncomfortable seats... the blank walls... the endless flood of people moving in both directions. Everything was hostile and grey, and as he tried to close his eyes again, a strange voice repeated over and over in his head---”Flight 373 has been delayed, Flight 373 has been delayed, Flight 373...”



“... has been canceled.”

Huh?

Chris jerked a little.

“Hey mate.” Ben was nudging him. “Wake up, sleepy boy.”

Chris sat up and looked around, a bit disoriented.

“Have a nice nap?” asked Daniel.

“Nap? But I didn’t...”

“You konked right out.” Daniel was shoving a book into his bag and zipping it up.

Then Chris heard the strange, droning voice again. “To repeat, Flight 373 has been canceled,” it said. “We apologise for the inconvenience this may have caused you. All flight passengers will be rebooked. We will give you further information shortly.”

“Oh shit,” was all Chris could think to say. He looked behind him at Watto, who simply shrugged. “Guess we’re getting rebooked,” he said. “I suppose it’s good we had two days between shows.”

Rebooked... more waiting... Christ. Chris glanced at his watch. Seven already? He wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. The light outside the large windows had vanished. There was only one thing worse than airports---airports at night. The sheer exhaustion of everyone in the place became thick and sickening until it hung in the air like vapour.

Soon they would get another flight number and hotfoot it over to the gate, only to sit around some more. If there was one thing in this business that annoyed Chris to no end, it was the whole “hurry up and wait” policy.

For now, they were still at the “wait” part, and there was nothing anybody could do to speed things along. Daniel and Ben got up and walked in the direction of the men’s toilets. Watto sighed and sat back in his seat.

Grumbling, Chris opened his car magazine again, half expecting a shout to interrupt him.

But none did.



“Flight 200 has arrived at the gate. For those of you with reservations for 373 to Toronto, this is your aircraft.”

A great whooping cheer waved through the area. Chris checked his watch. Ten-thirty... almost seven hours spent in the airport! Wasn’t that a breach of some personal rights law? Damn.

He joined his bandmates in getting together everything for the flight. As he stood up, his joints screamed at him. It felt like he’d been sitting in an airport chair all nineteen years of his life. And now he’d move from the airport chair into a cramped airplane one... wonderful. Chris constantly had to remind himself of the reasons he was doing this at all.

He glanced down at his boarding pass - business class, seat 8C. More numbers and letters... his whole world had become comprised of numbers and letters. He fell into place in line to get his pass checked, marching mechanically forward. At least he was getting out of the damned airport.

When he finally found himself squeezing down the aisles of the plane, dodging the flapping straps of Daniel’s bag in front of him, he was ready to pass out from a harrowing mixture of fatigue and boredom. Chris flung one of his bags into the overhead bin and finally settled into 8C.

“Oh man, Joannou got the window seat,” Ben complained. “I hate aisle seats. I’ll trade with you mate.”

Chris shook his head. “No way in hell I’m moving again.”

Ben continued to grumble about the seating situation as he settled in next to Chris, who had already put his head against the window. Chris emitted a heaving sigh and closed his eyes. Sleep seemed distant, but it would be better than staring out the window and listening to the pilot’s announcements.

Eyes still closed, he reached up and switched on his air, and imagined it a cool ocean breeze against his cheek.



“Chris.”

Shut up.

“Chris, hey, wake up.” A finger poked his shoulder. His left cheek throbbed from being pressed against the windowsill. Chris rubbed his jaw as he opened his eyes, picturing the lovely red marks that had undoubtedly been imprinted on his face.

“It’s midnight,” said Ben beside him. “Happy Birthday, mate.”

Birthday? Dear God... had he forgotten his own birthday? Let’s see... if they had played Minneapolis on the eighth...

“Oh yeah,” he finally said. “I guess it is the tenth, isn’t it?”

“You’re such a wanker.”

His twentieth birthday. He wouldn’t be a teenager anymore. Wow. What would he be doing for his twentieth birthday?

As if in response to his thought pattern, Watson leaned over Daniel from across the aisle. “Since you guys are all awake, I thought we might go over tomorrow’s---I mean today’s---itinerary.”

“Fine with me,” said Ben. “What’s the day look like?”

“Okay,” Watto began, “let’s see... you’ve got a radio interview at CFNY at one... then a Muchmusic appearance...”

Ah.

So he’d be celebrating his twentieth birthday with CFNY and Muchmusic.

It was too much, too little, too soon, too late - too far from anything and everything, something so close he couldn’t see it well enough to touch it. So he didn’t think about it; he just waited until Watson had finished and then spoke his mind.

“Why can’t we just go home?”

Ben snorted and mumbled something. Daniel hiccuped a laugh. And Chris could tell by the look on Watson’s face that his question had been considered rhetorical.

He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just go home. He didn’t understand why everyone loved Daniel so much more. He didn’t understand Ben’s effortless way of dealing with things. Most of all, he didn’t understand what he was doing on an airplane in the middle of the night, five miles above the ground, and five thousand miles from where most people should be on their birthdays.

He stared at the blank black outside his window, searching vainly for something of substance, something to focus his attention on---anything but these thoughts.

Feeling nothing but increasing frustration, Chris yanked the plastic window blind over the blackness. What was the big fuss about window seats? He didn’t understand.


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