*

Different hotels, even, now. It didn't have to be like this. I didn't want it to have to be like this. Nathan made it have to be like this. Of course he can't leave well enough alone. He still doesn't know what he's fucking doing but he THINKS he does and that's one of the most dangerous things.

Got off stage the night right before I knew what I'd have to do, and Nate followed me. Hovered around me like he had the month before. Always a little too close. It wouldn't have meant anything to the rest of the guys-- they were just glad we were getting along again. I knew it would mean something to Shann, if she ever saw. So I tried to avoid him. He wouldn't let me avoid him. He finally caught up with me in some dark far side of the room, asked me what my problem was, told me he was sorry about everything that went down in the hotel but it didn't turn out THAT bad, right, c'mon man, it's fine, I just want--

And I was against a wall, he'd cornered me there, and he might not have meant much by it but it didn't matter at the time, I was halfway in Lorenzo's house already and this time I wasn't going to let it fucking happen and I shoved him as hard as I could, bolted, ran until I could barely breathe anymore, 'til I was at the edge of some road, and I was so disoriented, felt so dizzy, wanted to puke, wanted to cry, wanted to curl up in a ball (I did puke). At some point I was able to get my bearings, walk back to a payphone in a daze, call the limo to take me back to the hotel. I couldn't sleep at all. I knew I'd dream if I did and I knew what those dreams would be. I didn't want Nathan to make those dreams happen. I have to fucking work with him. I can't look at his face and be sucked into that each time. I can't be sucked into anything nicer either, but that's far behind me now.

Only a couple months to go of this anyway. Sixty-ish days. Not much. Still too much. But I need to make it. I will.

*

Different hotels, different buses. Shann's happy in some ways-- she doesn't have to be around a bunch of "smelly dudes" all day. I can barely remember how each show goes and honestly I'm glad I don't remember. I know it can't be good. My throat feels wrong more than it feels right, now. I'm not paying enough attention to how I'm using my voice. I'm not paying very close attention to anything. Just on some odd autopilot. I can't handle anything else.

I still see Benny, and I've been keeping things up for him, but that's more and more difficult, too. I can't tell him why I've been as distant as I feel. It gets into way too damn much. He hasn't asked or brought any of it up anyway. I'm not sure if he's holding me tighter or if I'm just imagining it.

Days are a blur. Entire days. Not just parts of them. The entirety. I can't handle them. At least this happened close to the end. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do next time. --"Next time" is going to have to be a lot different. In a lot of ways. And that in itself is its own type of dread to think about. I have Lou, at least, but I had Lou earlier too, when all I fucking wanted was to get a LITTLE bit of autonomy for ourselves, and that was a near-complete failure. There'll have to be a lot of planning, this time. Whatever I end up doing with it.

*

FINALLY home. As soon as I could fall onto my own bed I did so, and I thought I was going to cry. I felt it dammed up behind my eyes. It never broke loose, though. It was just as well-- there was quite a bit more I'd have to cry about later.

Dave is too sick to even be driven to La Rosa, but he's still alive for now, and he got to hear his Donna. G-d he looks so terrible. Skeletal. As bald as my mother. Dark lesions all over the skin I could see. I wanted to hug him as hard as I could but I had to be gentle. He told me he was happy to see me, hobbled with a cane to sit us both down at his dining room table for honey lemon tea. "That's what you singers drink, right?" Right. He's always been so thoughtful, and he was there too, despite barely being able to walk. So we drank tea and I kept hold of one of his hands. "I really wanted to go to LR, Julie, I tried my best to stay healthy enough for it. But the last time I went there I got a pneumonia so bad I thought that was going to be the last one. I might get sick from this, too, but my time's almost up anyway, and we both wanted this, so I don't regret anything." I told him not to worry, that I was simply happy I could see him in time, that I'd never have forgiven myself or my boss otherwise. He told me he knew I was trying my best, to not put myself down so much, and I told him that I was out gallivanting around the fucking world playing rockstar while more and more of LR was dying. "Honey, come on now, if you get too upset you won't be able to sing me All Through The Night! We can cry later.", he said, and he was right.

So I didn't get to sing him an entire set of Donna. I wasn't Marjan for it-- G-d I haven't been Marjan in so long (Years, at this point. Cryssie would hate that). But Dave gave me a hairbrush to serve as a microphone, shone his living room floor lamp on me, and I gave him a capella All Through the Night, silly spoken word intro included at his request. It was difficult at first, juggling emotions between the awkwardness of singing such a thing a capella, the silliness of my hairbrush microphone, the heartache of singing it for Dave the dear friend I hadn't seen in nearly two years, the heartbreak of singing it for Dave who was sick and dying.

But eventually, like always, I let myself get completely swept up in song. And Dave was swaying, smiling ear to ear, humming some of the keyboard parts, joining in on the choruses, like we were back in LR in early '77, disco ball twinkling overhead reflecting off the gold in my favorite minidress, singing Queen for a Day with Ricky and the band, everything so beautiful and all-too-briefly uncomplicated. He stood up (I was worried he'd fall over!), gave me a loud, campy round of applause once the final quiet "I'm right here" left my mouth, told me my voice had changed since he last heard it, but it was as beautiful as ever. Then, his eyes started brimming up. "I'm so glad I got to hear you sing Donna one last time. I'm so damn glad you made it." We embraced and cried and rocked.

He said he was glad I didn't forget about them but I still feel like I've abandoned them. I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do next year. I'd been planning, very tentatively, on finally writing that album of mine, but for a long time I had no idea what sound I even wanted to go for, so it was just a distant constellation of an idea. I didn't even know if it was necessary. But more than anything I need a break from the band. ...From Nathan, especially. So I think I have a better idea of THAT now, at least. Everything I do, including that record, needs to be for Dave and Cryssie and LR and for a future. "Markets" be damned.

More than anything, though, first I need to FIND Cryssie.

PS: Holidays with Mom are just going to be uniformly terrible from now on, I think. Even if she's in a good mood (at this point whether she has "moods" or not is a miracle). Yet I could never just not go. I know I always need to try, for her.