Page 52 of Shame Me
Too fucking bad, Zack. You can’t tell me what to do.
But that was the last thing I remembered.
When I wokeup a couple hours later—on top of my hotel bed fully clothed—a feeling of emptiness sucked all the air out of my body. As I sat up, my hands began to tremble and I felt confused. But as I sat there holding my head, some of what had happened the night before trickled through the cobwebs in my mind. The guy…his car. I remembered insisting he put on a condom.
I was grateful for at least that.
I got up to go pee, also glad that Braden wasn’t in our shared room. I wouldn’t be able to explain what had happened because I couldn’t remember it well. In fact, I was still just this side of drunk, but the effect of the coke had worn off.
One thing that crashed through my brain was when I’d been naked in the back of that guy’s car—how I’d demanded he make me come. And I could remember just a flash of that, more intense than I’d ever felt before.
But the memories were so elusive.
Splashing a little water on my face from the bathroom sink, I looked in the mirror. Who was I becoming? This was not the person I wanted to be. My bra was gone, probably left in that guy’s car, but also gone was my dignity.
Although I’d dabbled before, I vowed as I looked myself in the eyes to never do this again—at least not with a stranger. I was lucky nothing happened to me other than blacking out.
I crawled back in bed, allowing sleep to take me from all my self-deprecating thoughts.
The daysand nights began to blur together. We’d play a show. Then, if we didn’t have a gig the next day, we’d party. Otherwise, we’d get on the bus. That was followed by a ride, sometimes just a few hours, other times quite a stretch. Then we’d either go straight to the venue for soundchecks, grab a bite, and come back to play or we’d check into the motel and then do all those things.
We had a routine, only broken up by the occasional day off—but we were still so goddamn poor that we wound up just hanging out in our rooms, watching shitty TV or playing cards.
I got really good at Hearts.
At the end of the second week of the tour, we played a show in Minneapolis and then Chicago the next day—and we left right after the show. Our tiny bus was not like the fancy one Last Five Seconds had, because we didn’t have bunks in ours…which meant we had to try to sleep in our seats—comfortable enough for sitting, but sleeping was another matter.
We arrived in Chicago around ten that morning and ate breakfast while Mick chatted with the motel, slipping them extra cash for an early check in. I hated that we were spending even more money that we probably hadn’t earned, but when my head hit the pillow for a much-needed nap, I felt grateful.
When Mick rousted us all so we could eat lunch and head to the venue for soundcheck, Braden said, “Dude, I’m sick of eating baloney sandwiches. Do you think we could go to McDonald’s or Taco Bell for lunch?”
Zack said, “Yeah. We’ve earned it. Maybe we should figure out other stuff to buy next time we’re at the store.”
We all got on the bus—sans crew, because they were already at the venue setting up—and Zack told Mick we wanted to eat somewhere for lunch. “Somewhere cheap.”
Mick pulled out his phone, tapped a couple of times, and said, “There’s a Subway and a Taco Bell close by.”
Grinning, Braden said, “Taco Bell it is!”
The bus driver dropped us off and took the bus to the venue, because there was no place for him to park. The street reminded me very much of downtown Denver—crowded, bumper-to-bumper parking, lots of pedestrians. Mick told us we could either walk to the venue, a few blocks away, or we could call an Uber.
An Uber meant even more money—so we agreed to walk.
As we walked into the Taco Bell, I spotted a Starbucks about half a block away. “You guys wanna get a coffee after?” I asked, pointing to the corner where the green mermaid logo announced its presence.
Cy said, “They’re kinda pricey, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but you only live once!”
Braden said, “I’ll go with you.”
“I will too,” Cy said. “But I probably won’t get anything.”
Zack said nothing, but as we got in line, Mick said, “Just don’t get distracted. Get your coffee and then hoof it to the venue.”
Throughout our meal, Zack hardly said a word, disappearing into that quiet place he’d been going all too often of late. I wished I could have blamed it on the upcoming show, that he was getting into the zone, but I knew that wasn’t it at all. It was the cloud that had been overtaking my friend’s every thought.
And still he refused to talk about it.
