Rye

Another stadium, another show, and yet my mind is a million miles away. I wonder if this is what my dad felt while he was on tour. I've never really considered he could have had moments where things weren't all sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Maybe he sat behind the same drum set and stared out at the crowd wishing he could be somewhere else. There are questions I will never be able to ask him, but even if he were still alive, I don't think I'd get the honest answer. It's wild to me that a man would let his ego come between him and his son, but I watched it happen time and time again. My father would never let me see any weakness—would never share with me a moment where he didn't feel in control of everything.

We move backstage to let the crowd get riled up for the encore. I don't even remember what city we're in or what day it is, but the arena is sold out and the band's manager seems to be very hopeful the record company is happy with this tour so far. I twist the top off of a cold bottle of water and tip it back. My shoulder nags at me but I won't let it ruin this performance. Closing my eyes, I stretch my neck to the right, then to the left, hoping to relieve some tension. When I open them again, I see her.

"You ok?" she mouths from across the room.

I nod, knowing I'd be a lot better if it was just the two of us back here.

"I have some pills that could help with that around here somewhere," her father says, pointing at my hand on my shoulder. I hadn't even realized I was holding it.

Launi watches to see if I will agree to take the mystery pills. Does she think that's who I am? I watch her smile faulter a bit and then she turns away, almost as if she wants to have nothing to do with this interaction. She grabs her small light and hurries out the door.

"Nah, man. I'm good." I tell Justine. Don't get me wrong, I'm not an angel. There was a time when I would have taken him up on that, especially in my teens, but I've seen where that path leads.

"Ok well let me know if you change your mind. We could get you whatever you like," he says, gesturing to one of the security guards who doesn't look as surprised by that as I think he should be.

We take the stage again, and I search for her. She's not in the booth, she's not backstage, and she's not front row, fighting to get a good shot. For the first time since we started this tour, I'm going to play this song without her. This song—the one that made this entire life possible for both of us, and the one that we equally despise for what it did to our families. There was something about knowing she was with me while I played it that took the sting out, and yet as I sit down and tap out the beginning beat, I realize I'm alone.

When we were kids, Launi and I would sit on the dock outside the house our dads would rent to record. Each of us would bring friends and the summer often felt like an unsupervised summer camp. Our moms were busy preparing meals and probably comparing notes or venting to each other about the troubles of being married to musicians. Us kids would roam the property, scavenge for food in the huge kitchen, and come up with ways to stay entertained while the adults pretended nothing could happen to us as long as we were away from the spotlight

I don't know that I would have hated "Baby Girl" if I didn't know Launi and hadn't spent those summers with her and her brother. New songs didn't seem to bother her; we would all dance around or make up our own silly lyrics as the music carried out into the wide-open space of the property. When the band was recording, they would lock themselves in the studio on the property, but when they were just fucking around or getting in an extra practice while they were all together, they'd often play in one of the larger rooms so the wives could hear and the families could be together.

The mood always changed when "Baby Girl" was played. It's as if that song was a switch that turned off the joy of childhood. I get it, we had all heard it a million times by then, but there was something different about it to her, something deeper. I'd watch her fold onto herself and stare out at the lake. The song was about her, we had all been told the story growing up, the warning the record label gave the band to not write about their lives as fathers that Justine had chosen to ignore.

Launi's brother also hated the song, but unlike her, his reaction was visible anger. Whenever the song was played, he acted out, breaking or throwing whatever he could get his hands on. None of us cared, we were wild children being raised by parents who never grew up. I don't think there was any behavior that would have stood out as odd to our parents, that is if they had even noticed it.

Even if she and I hadn't shared that private talk the summer before I left, I would have hated this song forever.

"Hell yea!" Justine screams into the mike, snapping me back to the performance as the crowd roars at his prompting.

I have to get out of here.