Disclaimer: The song "Fair" belongs to Remy Zero.

Chapter Five

But you're alive!

Well, it's only

Fallen frames, they told me

You stand out, it's so loud

And so what if it is?

We talked for hours. We talked about everything; we covered every aspect of our lives over the past four years. She had managed Annie, even got her signed to a record deal and embarked on a nationwide tour, only to be fired three months before the tour ended. "She said I wasn't taking her music in the direction that she wanted to go," she explained simply. Since then, she had recruited a number of different local acts, but no one stood out, except for one—a 22-year-old singer-songwriter-guitarist named Charlotte. "Most of her songs are acoustic, angsty love songs, but she's got a terrific voice and the right amount of determination. We've been playing a lot of local shows around town, almost every night, and we're just finally extending our radar. She's got a show in Denver this Friday, and if it goes well, Los Angeles next week." Irene smiled. "Hopefully I won't let this one get away."

I told her about my life, as well. The struggle to get signed followed by the realization that I was washed-up and my career was over. The ice cream, the cigarettes ("you really should quit, Molly, it's a nasty habit and it'll ruin your voice"), the answering machine, the mail, the television, the whispered lyrics. I didn't sugar-coat anything, though maybe I should have. I didn't leave anything out.

Except for one small detail.

We both avoided the topic with steadfast resolve, as if it would kill us to speak his name. His presence was heavy in the air, all around us, but we pushed forward, allowing our words to slip through the cracks from where his name, his essence, could not escape. It was like that moment before the storm, when the clouds are so dark and heavy in the air—you can almost see the raindrops brimming at the edges, ready to spill over—and you know that it's going to downpour any second. My head was almost pounding; I was concentrating so hard to make sure that his name wouldn't come up. Anything but that. The last thing I wanted was to discuss this with Irene, of all people. Especially since right now, all I wanted was to be her friend again. I wanted to go back to the way things used to be, and for the first time in four years, I was making progress. I wasn't about to let Carey destroy that for me all over again, just by existing.

But I knew it wasn't going to last forever. His name was on the tips of our tongues; I could feel it, taste it, and it was only a matter of time before the conversation turned to the topic with which we were both so inwardly preoccupied. The only question now was, who would be the one to bring it up? Who wouldn't be able to bear the pressure any longer? Which one of us would dare to speak his name, and cause the heavy cloud hovering above us to begin its torrential storm?

Irene said it first. "Carey's doing really well in New York." Just like that. Just like that, she spoke his name, and it was done. The rain began its descent. Anything could happen now.

It's cold as you face into the wind

Where'd it go to?

I was expecting something more, as if she had yet to finish her thought. Here it comes. Here comes what? I didn't know. The lecture, the screaming, the crying, the cat-fight… who the hell knew what was to come. I had barely even absorbed the meaning of her words—I was still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that she did it, she spoke his name. And who was I kidding, almost believing that this wouldn't come up?

"New York?" I repeated reflexively; it was the only response I could manage. "What's he doing in New York?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"I haven't heard from him… since…" I didn't want to say it. "Since he left."

"Really? That's surprising." I didn't say anything. "I guess I just assumed he would have kept in contact with you."

I guess your plan worked out even better than you expected. Part of me wanted to slap her. How dare you act like this isn't what you wanted. I eyed her steadily, waiting.

"He's a subway musician. Can you believe that one?" She shook her head. "You think this would have taught him to go back to college, but no, of course not. He thinks he's going to get discovered. He plays at Penn Station. They actually pay him—the station pays him! Not much, but he gets paid, if you can believe it. And then, of course, he gets money from all those travelers, tourists mostly, because they're suckers for that sort of thing."

"He just plays his guitar?" I was barely able to form the words. I had known practically nothing about Carey for four years, and in the past thirty seconds I had learned his location, his job, and his state of mind… which was essentially all I needed to know.

"Oh, well, it's not just him. There's a keyboardist too, and a drummer, and a girl that sings with them. They just do covers and stuff like that, right around the waiting areas for the Long Island Rail Road and Amtrak and New Jersey Transit. Basically, wherever there's bound to be huge crowds of people all waiting to get on a train. Carey absolutely loves it. He loves New York. 'I don't know what you're still doing up there in those mountains,' he told me." She laughed.

I wanted to know more. "He lives in the city, then?" I asked.

"God, no. He could never afford it. He's just scraping by as it is. He and the other two guys in the band pooled their money together and they're living in a tiny apartment in Jersey City. In New Jersey. Can you believe it? They just make the commute over every day. It's only twenty minutes by train." She sighed. "I guess I should be happy that he's happy, but I don't know… this is not the kind of future I wanted for my son. I just want him to get a real job, find a nice girl, get married, settle down in some quiet little town… why couldn't he be normal? At least Clu's busy getting his master's, so there's hope for him… but Carey… I don't know how he expects to get anywhere in life with just a high school diploma."

Something else was bothering me now. I was amazed that she still hadn't brought up the subject of our relationship—and furthermore, it didn't appear that she was going to. It was as though she knew just how delicate the topic was and she didn't want to upset me. This was her way of telling me that she had moved on. Maybe time can heal everything.

I was also astounded that Carey kept in touch with her. I guess I just assumed… well…. I'm not sure what, exactly. I thought that perhaps he would be too angry to keep contact, after she had driven him away, but I guess maybe he had moved on, too. Now it was my turn.

"You know what, Irene, I'm really glad we talked," I said, just before announcing that it was time for me to head home. "Probably more than you can comprehend." It was the truth. I hadn't felt this happy in a long time. The sun was burning orange in the sky as I walked back to my house, only a few minutes left until it would melt into the horizon. And now there was a new feeling in the air: hope.

Tonight the sun shall see its light…