Riven (Riven 1)

But tonight there was a gorgeous bloom of fresh spring air, and by the time I got back from the new leg of this tour, it would be summer, that edge of cool breeze rustling the leaves gone, replaced by the smell of garbage and too many bodies. So I walked. In the dark, with my hat shading my eyes, in my jeans, Chucks, and T-shirt, I looked like a hundred other dudes.

I walked aimlessly at first, relishing the simple pleasure of letting my mind wander after months of fretting over details, always with somewhere to be. But as anxious thoughts about the next few weeks intruded, I turned east and headed over the Brooklyn Bridge. I’d done it a hundred times, but pausing in the middle of the bridge, looking back toward Manhattan and out toward the Statue of Liberty, always felt special. The wind from the water whipped my hair and I stuffed my hat in my back pocket so it wouldn’t get blown off, and pulled my jean jacket on. I was always cold these days, except when I was onstage.

I’d had no idea what it would feel like to perform—really perform, the crowd so loud and the stage so large that every step, every note, every gesture, was a show.

The first time I’d realized it, we were opening for Oops Icarus. It was our first tour, our first show. The rest of the band was nervous that people wouldn’t know who we were, but I felt liberated by the relative anonymity. It was easier to believe this was just an experiment, and that if it failed, I wouldn’t be that loser, Theo, who dropped out of college for a pipe dream, like my parents said. When we ripped into our first song, I felt the prickle of all my senses coming alive. For once, I didn’t feel like gawky Theo who cared too much about the music.

I sang with everything I had, hair lashing my face, sweat trickling down my spine, and gathering at the backs of my knees. When we ran offstage at the end of our set, Coco’s eyes were wide and Ven was looking at me with a grudging respect I’d never seen from him. Ethan clapped me on the back. That was when I knew they hadn’t expected me to be that good, that they’d needed me for the songs I could provide, without thinking about what it would be like to have me around. It took the wind out of me, since they’d pursued me for the band single-mindedly.

When I first met them, it felt like I finally belonged somewhere—was wanted somewhere—for the first fucking time in my life. Onstage that first time, under the hot lights and the ringing in my ears, with dust motes forming a constellation that connected me with the audience as if we could stay suspended in it forever, I felt it for the second time.

I belonged onstage. I was wanted, there. By the band, by the audience. And, most surprisingly, by myself. I could lose myself in a way I’d never known, and by losing myself I found pieces I could live with.

And it’s what I came back to every time I thought all the rest of it wasn’t worth it. Onstage, I felt invincible, but also so, so open. It was the impossibility of the combination that made it so potent. Onstage, I was blown open, but held.

* * *

—

Prospect Heights was turning into Crown Heights, and I was thinking of heading home, back to bed, when I heard something that stopped me dead on the sidewalk.

The back door of a bar was flung open to the spring night, and inside, someone was playing a song that sent shivers all through me. It was mournful and angry and beautiful and raw, and the feelings of it roiled around in my chest until I was craning to hear more. I couldn’t see who was playing, so I walked around to the front door, expecting a crowd, but the place was nearly empty, just a couple of randoms scattered around the bar.

And there he was. Back turned to the room, a man played guitar and sang under his breath, voice whiskey low and honey sweet. No crowd, no audience, he was playing for himself, one foot resting on the rung of a beat-up chair, tattooed fingers cradling his guitar like a precious thing. The notes he tore from that guitar twisted me up and set me buzzing with energy, like they were seeping into my skin.

Before I was even aware I’d moved, I found myself beside him.

“Sorry,” I said when he stiffened and turned, sensing he was no longer alone.

When he faced me, I swallowed hard. He looked like I’d pulled him back from someplace far away. But goddamn, was he gorgeous.