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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