Almost Easy

I spent the next week in cahoots with Austin, much to my dismay. We had spent every waking hour reviewing every single detail about the album before it’s fast-approaching release date. The album art was perfect. The song order was spot on. The quality of the album was top-fucking-notch. By the end of the week, I was feeling pretty confident about our album’s chance of debuting at a relatively high spot on the chart.
Much to my relief, our artist had included a page in the liner notes specifically dedicated to Tyler and his contribution to our music. It was touching and it was beautiful. I was still weak with sadness so I made a conscious choice to just be grateful for the effort.
Brian was virtually MIA. While I labored over the details of the album, he and John had locked themselves away to learn to play guitar together. By time I’d see Brian in the evening, we were both exhausted and typically spent our time passed the fuck out. They had plans to start bringing the whole group together for some serious rehearsing in the coming weeks once we were all returned from Massachusetts.
Saturday morning crept up like a monster in the dark. It was way too early and I was way too tired to have people standing around taking my picture for several hours.
Despite my serious reluctance, I showed up at the ripe early time of 6:00 am to be pampered and primped. Apparently my every-day face was not going to work for their intents and purposes.
“You have a beautiful eye colour,” the young girl painting my face told me jealously.
I forced a tired smile, “Thanks.”
“We’re going really bold,” she told me as she pulled fresh pigment into her brush. “So don’t freak out when you see it. It’s going to be great.”
I tried to relax but I’d always hated people touching me. Especially people touching my face. It made me very nervous to have strangers poking strange things around my eyeballs. Some serious discomfort.
“So what’s it like?” she asked me to make some sort of conversation. “To be the only girl in your band?”
“It’s fine,” I shrugged.
She scolded me for moving. I made a mental note to never move again.
“Must be exciting to be in a band,” she gushed.
I went to nod but stopped myself out of genuine fear, “It can be.”
“I wish my job was exciting. You get to travel around and everyone knows who you are! That’s so cool!”
“I haven’t really travelled,” I said awkwardly. “And no one knows who I am.”
“They will after today!” she beamed happily. “You’re so pretty. That’s all you need to be successful.”
I couldn’t help but grimace. That’s all you need? Fuck talent or perseverance or, hell, hard fucking work. No, no. Apparently all you needed in life was to be attractive and things would come easily to you. She was pretty. Maybe that had been her experience. It certainly had not been mine.
“You know what I mean,” she giggled, obviously reacting to my face. “Now stop moving your face or you’ll end up looking like that guy from The Crow.”
“Eric Draven,” I told her matter-of-factly.
She shrugged, “Whatever. My boyfriend likes that movie. It’s not even that good.”
I grimaced again.
She laughed, “Stop moving your face!”
Eventually she was finished painting me like a god damn statue and I was being rushed off to the hairstylist. The stylist looked pleased with my face and he gave me a positive once-over. He immediately took to back-brushing my hair. I was screaming internally. The sheer volume of hair spray being applied to my black locks was going to be fucking impossible to brush out later. I was going to look like the bride of Frankenstein when I rolled into the airport later.
“Excited for the shoot?” he asked me pleasantly.
I lied, “Yeah.”
“When’s your album drop?” he sprayed more product into my hair. “I am in love with your single.”
“Two weeks.”
“Awesome! I’ll definitely be picking one up.”
I smiled. He took a couple of steps back to admire his work. He was far quicker than the makeup artist; I’ll give him that. He nodded once approvingly.
“Damn girl,” he grinned.
“Am I done?” I asked coolly.
I desperately wanted to stand.
He nodded again, “You’re done! Come take a look!”
I didn’t recognize the reflection in the mirror. My eyes were painted black—blacker than normal. Way darker. There were hues of pinks and reds painted along my eyelids and my lashes nearly extended to Saturn. She’d painted my lips a plum colour which I hardly found to be flattering but it really wasn’t my call to make.
My hair. One word: ridiculous. No one, in the entire world, would ever need hair as voluminous as he’d made mine. All in all, though, it wasn’t a terrible look. Definitely magazine-worthy, that was for sure.
“I’ll walk you over to wardrobe,” the stylist smiled at me, ushering me to his left.
I looked myself over once more before following him down a corridor, trying to hide my face as we walked. I was definitely not used to being glammed—especially in such a dramatic fashion.
Wardrobe put me in something tight and pretty fucking revealing. My tits were squished up to my neck and I thought if I leaned the wrong way, my ass might fall out of the skirt. They’d hung metal from every place they could think of and stuck giant spiked hoops through my ears. They looked pleased with my look so I didn’t argue.
Being photographed was a foreign concept to me. There were brilliant flashes seemingly every two seconds and the photographer was hollering instructions at everyone in the room. I was struggling to decipher when his instructions were meant for me.
“Sexy!” he shouted at me. “So sexy!”
I was hella uncomfortable.
Finally, much to my relief, they called for a wrap. Apparently the photographer had gotten what he needed from me with very little effort.
“A natural,” he’d praised me. “You photograph so well!”
This was unbeknownst to me. From what I’d seen in my life, I photographed like a potato. I always looked chubbier than I was and my face was never properly sorted into a smile—or any facial expression even remotely resembling flattering.
Once I’d changed out of their clothing and back into my own, I was freed of my responsibilities. I had exactly two hours before I had to be at the airport. Brian was set to meet me there since we lived on opposite ends of town and sharing a cab would have been unfeasible.
The entire drive back home, I was scratching at my skull like an addict. The spray had solidified and was causing some serious irritation. However, it was going to have to stay that way until I got to my hotel in Massachusetts since I was, to my core, a procrastinator. I hadn’t even packed for the trip yet.
That meant absolutely no time to have a shower and wash away the ‘sexy’ from my hair.
I raced into my apartment like a bat out of hell. I forgot to lock the door but figured it wouldn’t matter since I’d be so quick in my duties. Like a maniac I was throwing clothes and toiletries into a bag, mentally scanning a list of items to bring. I made sure to grab something clean and occasion-appropriate for Tyler’s celebration of life. I still didn’t know what that meant.
As I grabbed my delicates from my drawer, I accidently grabbed Tyler’s letter. It knocked the wind out of me.
Stumbling backward to the bed, I clenched the envelope tightly in my hand. I knew I had to open it. This was the time to read it. Not because I was particularly ready for it but because I needed to know. I needed to be able to move on from this after that weekend. I needed to go to Massachusetts and create closure for myself. If his parents could bring themselves to read their letter…I had to read mine.
I had to.
My fingers trembled as I pulled a piece of perfectly white paper from the envelope. My heart fluttered as my eyes skimmed my name written in Tyler’s messy cursive.
I ran my fingers overtop of it, taking a deep breath with my eyes closed.
“Okay,” I said to myself in hopes of it acting as a pep talk.
I unfolded the paper and I read.
B,
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve lost.
You are the greatest human being to have ever walked this forsaken planet. You have been the best friend I could have ever asked for…
Blair, if you’re reading this please know that there was nothing you could do. We’ve both known this has been coming for…well…our entire lives. Thank you for sticking with me and thank you for sticking through the hell I know you’re in because of me.
Remember when we were like, sixteen? And you stole the keys to your aunt’s convertible and we took a joyride all over Lenox just to try and find that girl I liked? What was her name even? I don’t remember. But I remember how happy we were. How free we were… I want to be that free again. I know that you will understand.
What I’ve done does not mean I loved you any less. I hope that you know that…I will love you forever. I know that you will be okay. You’re resilient as hell. You’re going to be okay.
Forgive me.
-Ty
I blinked a couple of times before re-reading his words fourteen hundred times over. That was it? After a lifetime of friendship that was all I fucking got? Some anecdote about a memory I didn’t even recall and some bullshit about love? This was not love. This was horseshit.
This was all I’d ever get from Tyler again. That was fucking it.
Now, I don’t know if it was rage or if it was seriously overwhelming grief but I snapped. Something inside my brain literally snapped.
I crumpled Tyler’s note up in my fists.
The tears flooded up and out as I hurled myself against the dresser I’d pulled the letter from. Like a psycho, I started to pull everything out and throw it aggressively around my neat bedroom. I pushed everything off of the top with a forceful shove.
I picked out the framed picture of Tyler and I from the day we signed our record deal. I surveyed it for a quick second before throwing it against the wall with all my might. I sobbed as Tyler’s words repeated in my head.
You’ll be okay.
I wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay because of what he had done. Why did he have to go? Why did he have to put me through this?
I was selfish. The realization of my selflessness only aided in my outburst. I collapsed to the floor in a pile of defeat. I wailed, desperately trying to will time to change and take me back to a time that was better.
“Blair?...” a voice caught me completely off guard.
I snapped my head up to find Brian lingering in my doorway; he looked genuinely afraid.
“I can’t do this,” I sobbed to him from my place on the floor. “I can’t fucking do this.”
He maintained his position in the door, trying not to be obvious in his examination of my chaos, “Do what?”
Because I am dramatic and cannot use my words, I threw the crumpled note to Brian’s feet. He picked it up, looking at me with confusion before smoothing the paper out and reading it. I watched as his face dropped upon realization of what he was holding. He grew saddened as he continued to read.
He looked up at me once he’d finished, “Come here.”
I shook my head, “I can’t.”
“You can,” he encouraged softly. “Come here.”
When I still did not move, he came to me and pulled me to my feet. He took all of my weight into his arms as I continued to sob. This time I wasn’t embarrassed. This time I was nothing.
“Shh,” Brian soothed into my hair as he held me. “It’s okay.”
I wanted to argue with him but I didn’t have the strength. Instead I let him whisper sweet nothings to me until I’d calmed down enough that I could breathe again.
“What are you doing here?” was all I managed.
“I thought it would make more sense to go together,” he said simply. “I was just going to leave my car here.”
“Oh…”
“I’m glad I did,” he sighed. “What the fuck is going on?”
I separated myself from him, returning back to the bed and picking at my fingernails. There was no reasonable explanation for my fit. I mean…maybe it was reasonable. But I wasn’t ready to vocalize my anger. I didn’t want Brian to know how selfish I was.
“I figured I should read it before his funeral,” I said weakly. “In hindsight, that was a mistake.”
Brian sat himself next to me, “Too much?”
I nodded, “Way too much.”
He was still holding the letter which he glanced over one more time and shook his head.
“I can’t imagine,” he breathed. “I think your reaction makes sense.”
I threw him a sideways glance, my face giving away my confusion. I’d genuinely thought he was going to think I was too much drama for him.
“I would have broken a window if it were me,” he shrugged. “This is pretty fucking heavy.”
He placed the letter down gently next to him and then turned back to me. My face was now stained with the heavy black eyeliner that had been painted on my face that morning.
He wiped at my cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, smiling fondly.
“Blair?”
I sighed, “Hm?”
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked carefully.
I shrugged in defeat, “I don’t know.”
“Well…just know that I’m here,” he said simply. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”
“I know,” I tried to smile. “We need to get going.”
“We still have a couple—”
I interrupted and was already on my feet gathering up my bag, “Honestly, I just need to get out of here. Let’s just go get this over with. The sooner we leave, the sooner we come home.”
“Okay,” he conceded awkwardly. “Whatever you say.”
“Do you want to help?” I kind of snapped.
His face flinched subtly, “Yes…”
“Then throw that letter out,” I said simply. “I don’t need it.”
And then my bag and I left the room.

Notes