Page 53 of Legendary Rock Star
I massaged the back of my scalp to calm down and said, “I didn’t leave you. I have my own opportunities that will work better if I’m off the show. I’m about to write a new song for my own album, part of the deal Mark struck for me.”
She said, “Look, I want to win. So I need to focus on the opportunity in front of me.”
“I get it,” I said. “I’m hoping you win.”
She sighed into the phone, like she was struggling to make me understand. “I can’t let you steal my focus anymore. I came all this way to win and I need to do this on my own.”
So this was it. We’d crashed and burned. It was over. I ignored how my chest trembled as I said, “I understand.”
The moment I met her, I knew she’d break me, but I went after her anyhow. Now here it was. I was broken, and the epitaph on my tombstone would read “broken” for everyone to see.
All I’d have was the memory of her sweet kiss on my lips. I’d have to get that feeling down on paper. Somehow. Memories were all I had now.
I tried to hold back the emptiness in my soul as she said, “Good. Goodbye, Phoenix.”
This was it. I reached for the button to end the call, knowing it would somehow sever my existence, too. But at the last moment I stopped and said, “One second.”
“What?
I squeezed my eyes shut. My muscles tensed. She needed the whole truth, so I said, “I love you. And because I do, I won’t bother you again.”
“Bye.”
And then the silence was louder than anything else.
I held the phone next to my ear like I didn’t want to let go of what was already gone. I’d lost the good in my life.
And the thought of the escape I could find in a bottle of vodka pulsated in my veins. Luckily, I didn’t have any here and I tossed my phone in the trash. If I called Hank to go get me some, I’d turn into my father.
It was that image that made me focus on the page in front of me.
Write a Christmas song, Mark had said.
It was time. Lyrics poured out of me and I wrote them down without thinking.
For Christmas
My gift is my goodbye
You desire your distance
It hurts. But you deserve to simplify
And my chorus was dark with the simple,Alone at Christmas.
Probably no one was going to relate to this, or even want to hear it. But I wrote it down anyway and recorded a rough version.
Done. I’d finished what I’d been asked to do, and I sent the demo to Mark.
He called me right away.
Guess none of us sleep anymore.
I quickly said, “Mark, you’re not going to like this song.”
“I’m the judge here, Phoenix,” he said, and the first note played in the air.
I let my head hit the desk and kept it down as I said, “Don’t be excited.”
