Page 36 of Dead Rockstar

I stifled a laugh as he went on.

“He came to, soaking wet, tried to stand up and give a toast, called me a bastard, then threw up all over his tux, threatened to punch everybody's lights out, then passed out again.” He sighed. “After that the party was pretty much over. I got so blitzed, trying to forget how mortifying the whole thing was, that I barely remember my honeymoon.” He turned to me with a smile.

“Christ,” I said, embarrassed for him.

“Yeah,” he said. “At least you don't have a wedding story like that to contend with, despite whatever came after. I'd love to get married at a peaceful spot like this, out on the beach.”

I hesitated, then said, “There's another reason, too, that I don't like coming out here much anymore. I…. almost got struck by lightning here. Last year.”

He looked at me in surprise. “Holy shit! What happened?”

“I came out here to run one Saturday,” I said. “I could see that it was going to storm, but Tess and I were arguing, and I just wanted to get out of the house. I didn't get a mile down the beach before the rain let loose. I hadn't brought a slicker or anything, so I got drenched. I was trying to make my way back to my car when the thunder and lightning started up.” I thought back to that day, remembering the ominous gray of the sky, the huge, fat storm clouds directly over my head, and the tumultuous churning of both the sea and my heart. That had been the day I'd begun to realize that my marriage was ending, and my usual level-headed, cautious attitude toward bad weather had taken a backseat to my heartbreak. “I was almost at the dunes that mark the entrance of the trail, and I turned one more time to look at the water. I've always liked the way it churns during a storm, bringing all the debris onto the shore, all dark and frothy.”

“Like a purging,” Phillip said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.” I nodded. “I watched it for a second, caught up in the beauty of it, but then I noticed there was a man down the beach, several yards away. He was running too, I guess trying to get back to his own car. But then he stopped and was just standing there, looking back at me, like he was frozen. I called out to ask him if he needed help, but he couldn't hear me – the rain was so loud, and I was far away. Then there was this massive thunderclap that shook the ground, and it started to hail. I turned and ran toward the dunes to my car, giving up on trying to help the guy - but just before I hit the trail, the lightning struck less than a foot away. It hit one of these pieces of driftwood and split it in half right in front of me.”

“Damn,” Phillip breathed. “That's insane.”

“I don't think it hit me – I'd be dead – but I swear, I could feel the electricity, thrumming in the ground and in the air around me. The force of it knocked me into the sand, and when my fingers went into the dirt, it shocked me. I felt it jolt through my hands. Somehow, I managed to scramble back up and get to my car, but I was shaking like a leaf.” I shivered. “If I'd been holding onto that piece of driftwood, I'd have been smoke.”

“Sounds like you used up one of your nine lives,” Phillip joked, but his face was grim.

“And I used another one last night, when I got run off the road,” I said. “Now I'm down to seven.” I realized as I said the words that Phillip had the number “7” tattooed on his arm. I felt a chill and wrapped my arms tighter around myself.

If he saw the significance, too, he gave no sign. “I'm glad you're okay,” he said softly. “It's pretty fitting, your name – Stormy - isn't it? There's always a storm raging around you.” Then he was silent, staring out at the water.

After a moment, I felt a need to fill the silence, to put my thoughts at bay. “Do you think it will be hard?” I asked. “Giving up your old life? Fame, fortune, being up on the stage?”

“Right now, it's the last thing in the world I want,” he answered honestly, still looking out at the water. “Whether or not that'll change, I don't know. I hope not. It was fun, playing music. It was my dream once, and I was lucky enough to see it come true. But with all that shit comes the drinking and drugs, and the fractured relationships, and the fish eye lenses, you know? By the time I died, my life was a shell of what I'd thought it would be. I didn't know who I was anymore. By that point I didn't even want it.”

I was silent, watching him stare out at the water. The wind blew his hair into his eyes, but he didn't push it away.

“It's like being on a rollercoaster, but long past the point of being fun. And you keep telling yourself 'this is fun, this is fun, it's a ride' – you know, like the Bill Hicks quote?” I didn't, but I nodded. “But you're really ready to go home. You've got a stomachache and you've ridden it for hours and you just want to go home. Go back to normal. But you can't get off the ride once you get on. Not unless you just jump.”

“Is that what you did?” I asked softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “You jumped?”

He paused. “In a manner of speaking.”

“What do you miss the most?” I asked. “About that life?”

“I don't think I've been away from it long enough to miss anything,” he said, then added, “I miss my bass. It was custom made – I spent years on it. Designed it, built it, painted it, spent years customizing my pedal board.”

“I know,” I said. “I've seen it in the guitar mags.”

“I wonder who ended up with it,” he said. “I doubt it sold at auction or anything. I was never famous enough for that.”

“Not true,” I said with a snort. “It did sell at auction. I can't remember who got it, but it was in the hundreds of thousands. It was a charity thing. C'mon, Phillip. You have a cult following now. Your fame rose exponentially after your death.” It touched me how humble he was, how he didn't seem to realize how much people loved him.

“I guess that makes sense,” he said. “Thinking back to, like, Morrison, Lennon and all. But it’s weird to think about. I don't hold myself in the same esteem, you know.”

“You deserve it,” I told him. “Fame and adoration. Even if you had to die and rise again to see it.”

He laughed. “That's such a weird sentence.”

“Well, you're a weird guy.”

We both stood, sliding off the large piece of bleached driftwood, and began to walk down the beach. The sand was gritty in my shoes, so I reached down and took them off, and Phillip did the same, sitting down on the damp sand to remove his laced-up combat boots. He rolled up his black jeans and I chuckled to myself, watching him – this tall, goth drink of water carefully rolling up his pants so he could walk in the surf. It occurred to me that a moment like this might never happen again, so I took a mental snapshot of him, sitting there in the sand, heavy, dark boots sitting beside him, his long fingers deftly rolling up his pant legs, hair streaming around his face. “You're so handsome,” I said softly, feeling overcome with an emotion I couldn't identify. “All of this feels like a dream.”

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