Dear John,
I know you're about a thousand miles away right now.
And I know you told me not to miss you, because you don't want
me to feel lonely or wistful, but I can't help it. I miss you more than anything,
and I miss everything. I miss when you would come home
late from band practice and cuddle up next to me in bed, and sing
softly in my ear in case you woke me up, so I'd go right back to sleep
at the sound of your soft angelic lullaby. I miss the way you'd laugh
when I mess up at something, but it's always a soft laugh, like you're not
making fun of me, you just love that I'm not perfect. I miss when we took
long walks on the beach at sunset, and chased each other in the water,
just to be corny. I miss when you read to my little brother, because he never
wanted to go to bed, so you'd lay down with him and read him a bedtime story.
He misses you too. I miss your surprises. I miss our dates. I miss holding hands.
I miss being in your arms. I miss kissing you. I need you, John.
I love you.
Love, Conrad
John lay in his bunk, letting a single tear stain the precious creased paper in his hands. He wiped his tears away, taking a deep shaky breath. He needed this motivation to continue singing on stage every night, he needed it so he wouldn't break down, so he would have some form of hope. He needed her.
There was only one more day left of tour. All six of the bands were getting together and going to Disneyland, since the last show was only about ten minutes from there. But John was skipping out. He was getting on the first plane to Dallas, because he couldn't wait. He wouldn't waste any time.
He'd written dozens of songs throughout the long period of the tour. One for everyday, at least. There was so much emotion built up in him that he had to let it out, and that's the only way he knew how when they were thousands of miles apart. He'd shown them to the guys, but they'd only approved of about five. They said the rest were too sad, that the fans would think he had depression, and that they needed to balance out the happy songs with the melancholy ones.
John put his hands above his head, staring blankly at the ceiling above his bunk. He pictured Conrad's smiling face as he rang her doorbell, after six months. Once again, he brought himself back to her letter, dated 2-4-10, nearly three months ago. John hadn't responded in any way to it, and he felt like a complete ass because of it. For all she knew, he could have not even received it, or could've been dead, for that matter.
But he just hadn't had enough courage. Once Jared found the four foot pile of crumpled up papers, all rejected drafts of letters to Conrad, he said he'd had it, and got rid of everything John had that had to do with Conrad. He erased her two contacts from his phone, even though he could have dialed it in his sleep, and scribbled out her address off of every piece of paper it was on, although John had it memorized down to the zip code. Jared also confiscated almost every picture John owned of him and Conrad, but John secretly kept one.
It was his favorite one of them, they were at the beach, and she was on his back. She was kissing him on the cheek and their hands were intertwined. John kept it on him at all times, afraid that someone would take it away from him.
John slowly drifted off to sleep, carefully tucking the folded note into his pocket first.
"JOHNNNNNN-O!" Pat yelled, shaking him violently, almost causing him to fall out of his bunk.
"Fuck! What the fuck Pat!" John screamed, alert.
"IT'S THE LAST DAY OF TOUUUUUUUR!" Pat shouted, running around the bus and waking everyone up.
John joined everyone else's groans, and he wiped his crusted eyes. He rolled out of his bed, in nothing but boxers, making his way to his closet in the back. He pulled out a brown v-neck, and a pair of skinny jeans and threw them on carelessly.
"We're leaving for the stadium in five!" Tim yelled, warning everybody.
John sighed, grabbing an apple, and his laptop, quickly and desperately searching to see if he had any emails.
No such luck.
He just wanted to curl up in a ball and mope in his bunk, but instead, John followed the others into the van, taking the passenger seat next to Kennedy. They arrived at the stadium and signed a few autographs, flashing a couple photos. John went through sound check, but barely even remembered what happened when it was over.
"Hey Johnny, we're gonna grab a bite to eat with Cass and Jersey before the show, you in?" Jared asked.
"Nah, I'm not hungry, I'm gonna go take a walk, I forgot something in the van. I'll catcha later, Jar." John said, leaving before Jared could dissect his doleful mood.
He walked out of the large stadium and across the big parking lot to the bus, wasting all the time he could. Once he got there, he just laid in the back of the van, wondering how things could have gotten so bad. Why the hell hadn't he called, or texted, or mailed, or emailed her? There was so many forms of communication, and he hadn't had the balls to use any. He'd probably broken her heart. Hell, he'd broken his own.
"Into you aaaaaaaaarms, into you aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrms!" John finished the last note, feeling much like a zombie as he emotionlessly serenaded the crowd. "Thank you, California, you were fucking amazing today! We love you!"
The guys all jogged off stage, and John ran right to Courtney, one of the stage managers that he'd become friends with.
"Court, did you book the flight?" He asked her, panting.
"Yep, 4:15, you better hurry! Mike's waiting for you out back, he's going to take you, I'll cover for you." She smiled, patting my back. "Go get'her Johnny!"
John smiled in appreciation and sprinted out to the back parking lot, jumping in Mike's small white tech van.
It was the longest twenty minutes of John's life, he was more anxious than he'd ever been. What if Conrad just slammed the door in his face once he got there? What if she wouldn't talk to him? What if she moved? He had so many regrets and emotions flying through his mind that John was just purely overwhelmed when they finally reached the airport.
It was 4:05, and John grabbed his backpack and rushed through security. He trotted to the gate as a nearby woman announced the final boarding call for his flight, and made it onto the plane in time. He caught his breath and plopped into his seat in first class once he found it.
As soon as the plane took off, John was writing. He basically poured his soul onto the piece of paper in front of him, and he continued to write until he had nothing left to say, which was about three pages later. As he signed it, he wrote:
I miss you, I love you, I need you, I want you,
I love you more than anything on this planet,
John O'Callaghan.
John carefully folded the letter into thirds, and rested his head and body back into his chair. He
was mentally beating himself up for not sending this letter three months ago. He had gone over dozens of reasons in his head why he couldn't respond to Conrad, most of them consisting of the pain he felt from being away from her for so long just overwhelming him and provoking him to become an emotionless zombie. John had always been different in the way he expressed his feelings. He certainly had never been good at it, but he found his escape through song writing, and when he met Conrad, that was it. The best songs he'd ever written came out of their love story. But now, that all had the potential of coming to a crumble, all because of John falling back into old habits, being a incapable ass. As he drowned himself in all of his self torturing thoughts, John found himself drifting off to sleep, and eventually opening his eyes as the pilot announced that they were about to land in Dallas, and that everyone needed to fasten their seat belts.
John shuffled off the plane as quickly as he could, jogging toward a older man in a black suit and hat with a sign that said John in bold black letters. Courtney had been sure to make sure that John had a ride to Courtney's house, since his family was vacationing in Europe and weren't there to get him. John would have called an old friend to come get him, but that would require dozens of questions about him and Conrad, not to mention interrogation about lack of contact with them, which he could hardly bare at the moment.
He greeted the man holding the sign, warning him that he was kind of in a hurry, and they immediately found the black vehicle, hopping inside and into the airport traffic.
Once they finally got out of the parking lot, John told the driver the address they would be heading to, and stressfully played with his hair, patting it down as he always did when he was nervous. He tried to plan out what he would say to her if she answered her door, but he'd also been attempting to plan that for three months now, and he'd had no success. It either came out making him sound like a jerk, a mush ball, a hypocrite, or all of the above.
Suddenly, John was out of time. The car ride that he thought would take hours had ended, and he could see Carson's house from his window. He thought he'd begin to hyperventilate, but he simply thanked the driver, tipped him, and grabbed his bag. He trudged up to the door slowly, trembling.
John was a little concerned when he noticed that his hand was violently shaking as he reached for the door bell. But then remembering that it was broken, he knocked five times on the green door, reminding himself to be a man, and that maybe she moved, and she wouldn't have to break his heart by telling him she had a new boyfriend or something.
But after twenty seven seconds, the door opened, and Carson's mom stood in the doorway.
"John." She said, shocked. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
She sounded definitely surprised, and rather protective and cold, but John could sense a tiny bit of happiness to see him in her eyes, and that's all he needed.
"Hi , is Carson here, by any chance?" He asked sheepishly.
"No actually, she went out to the library to pick up a couple books for class, but she should be back soon. Come in, we just finished dinner."
John hesitantly walked in the door, debating running as far away from the house as possible, and crawling under the biggest rock he could find. But before he could, a little rugrat was attached to his long leg.
"JOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNOHHHHHHH!" Noah screamed, clutching onto him for dear life. "YOU CAME BACK!"
John chuckled a little, embracing Noah in a brotherly hug.
"Yeah, I did." He said. "What have you been up to, buddy?"
"Oh, nothing. I mean, if you call being the house champion of Rockband nothing!" Noah's voice raised excitedly, and the eight year old tugged John to the couch. "Come on, see if you can beat the master! Dad tried, Carson tried, even Mom tried! NO ONE CAN BEAT THE CHAMP!"
John laughed, "Alright, just one game."
John ended up beating Noah in guiatar, but he was crushed in the drums and singing category.
"Wow, a professional singer getting beat by an eight year old boy, who whould'a thought?" John laughed cheerfully.
"One more game! I know I can win at guitar!" Noah pleaded.
"Alri-"
"Noah, time for bed!" Mrs. Ventura called from the kitchen.
Noah glanced up at John expectedly.
"How about I read you a bed time story just for old time's sake?" John asked with a crooked smile.
"John, we're both rockstars now, I think we're a little too old for bed time stories." Noah said, flashing John an 'are-you-kidding-me?' look.
John laughed, "Not even the one about the bull, what is it, Ferdinand?"
Noah's eyes lit up, and John grinned.
Noah changed into his pajama's, which were covered in all sorts of trucks, and John tucked him in after making sure their old bedtime routine was okay with . John laid next to him, and began to read the story.
By the time John read the last sentence, Noah was adorably passed out on John's chest, lightly snoring. Suddenly there was a sniffle from the doorway, and John glanced up, expecting to see Mrs. Ventura. But instead a 5'5" girl with long, wavy, dirty blonde hair well past her shoulders, occupied the spot.
A single tear was visible that fell down her cheek, and John remained where he was, frozen.
"So you came back after all." Carson said quietly.
"Carson-"
"It's okay." She whispered.
John carefully placed Noah on his pillow, and carefully crept out of his bed. He slowly closed Noah's bedroom door, and followed Carson down the hall to her room.
She sat on her bed, looking at her lap and remaining silent. John cautiously closed her door in case Carson wanted to hurt or yell at him, which he more than deserved.
"Carson, I'm so sorry." John whispered, shoving his hands in his pockets and hovering near the door, giving her space.
"I know you are." She replied quietly. "I mean, I think I do."
John was surprised, wondering what was running through her mind. He certainly wasn't expecting that answer.
"Why didn't you ever mail me back? Or call? Or anything?" Carson asked, not really mad, but curious.
John was perplexed at her reaction to his presence, but answered honestly anyway.
"I don't know, to be honest. I sat down probably a million times to write you back. I wasn't too busy, that's just a stupid excuse. I hate it when guys use that-"
"John."
"I guess I just thought I was hurting you, by me being gone." He decided, finally realizing that he was telling the truth. That is what he felt. It wasn't because of his old bad habits of not being able to show emotion, it was that Carson changed him. "When I said I didn't want you to miss me, I really meant it. I didn't want you to be in as much pain as I was, with not seeing you everyday, or being able to hold you. And I know it was stupid, and-well, I've practiced this speech for three months, but I just want to let you know that I'm sorry, and that it was the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life. And that I don't expect you to forgive me at all, and I also get it if you have another boyfriend, or something, I just-"
John stopped when Carson stood up from the bed. She walked towards him, and John was fully expecting her to hit him, or yell at him to get out, push him, anything of that sort.
But instead, she reached behind him. She grabbed a wooden box from the top of her bureau. Placing it on her bed, Carson opened it, revealing a thick stack of stamped letters. She waved John over to wear she stood, and he warily obeyed. Carson took out all of the envelopes and handed them to him.
He took a seat on her bed, and saw that they had all been opened, and that they were all addressed to her. The return address was from Garrett. He took out the first letter. It was one of his crumpled up drafts that he had written to her.
Dear Carson,
It's two a.m. right now, we just finished our show in Florida, and I'm a little drunk. I know this might sound mushy, or corny, but I miss you more than anything, and I need you now. I just want to hop on the first flight to Dallas and see you, hold you, kiss you,
John's jaw dropped a little, and he sorted through all of the letters. They were all drafts similar to the first one. With each one, Garrett had attached a note, stating John's horrible condition, and how he moped around the bus and talked about Carson in his sleep.
Once John finished reading the last letter, he looked up at Carson, who was sitting beside him, appearing teary eyed.
She took a deep, shaky breath, "That's why I forgive you." She said.
John's jaw was still agape in shock that Garrett did this for him. He couldn't believe that his friend could mail these letters, while John couldn't even do it himself. He looked up from the letters at Carson at the sound of her voice, his eyes shiny with threatening tears.
She suddenly reached and softly touched his face with both of her hands, and pressed her lips to his.
Love, passion, longing, and desire filled their kiss, and John played back the moment in his mind, pulling away.
"I love you, Carson." He told her.
She looked deep into his eyes, wiping a strand of brown hair out of his face.
"I love you too, John."