Song for this chapter: “Home†(Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros)
Let Me Come Home
A couple of days later Chris was on the plane to New York, and predictably bored. Stupid idiot that he was, he hadn’t grabbed a book but just that damn notebook when he’d left the house in a hurry. He glanced at the magazines stacked up on wheeled shelf a few feet ahead of his seat, and grimaced. Nope, not in the mood to look at himself (or at Iris), definitely not.
So he gulped down his orange juice, poured himself a glass of water to chase away the sweetness of the juice, and opened the notebook again. Resolutely, he ignored the shadow quote, the American douchebag, Carver and the mind meld, and flipped to the following page. The left page was blank, but the right-hand side presented him with yet another quotation.
Home Is Wherever I’m With You
Capital letters, he noted. Why? And the quote was familiar, but he didn’t recognize it. Or did he? He frowned and hummed thoughtfully to himself. Hummed! That was it. It wasn’t a quote from a poem or a story. It was a song title. That mystery solved, the puzzle pieces clicked into place, and he had to bite his tongue not to start singing the chorus of the Edward Sharpe song: “Home, let me come home, home is wherever I’m with you.â€
The quotation was also surrounded by weird doodles. The sun was a smirking orange (what was it with fans and oranges, lately?), and the clouds seemed to consist of … pies. Or at least fluffy baked goods alternatively labelled “pie†and “πâ€. Instead of birds, eye-shaped fish were flying around the line of text. And he wasn’t quite sure if the shapes left and right of the quoted song lyrics were supposed to symbolize lightning or trees.
… At least the fan girl with the notebook had good taste in music.
Home. Such a nice song; such a soothing, comfortable rhythm. He could imagine singing that song, playing it on his guitar. Sitting in the sunshine, on his terrace, next to his pool. Perhaps even dangling his feet in the water (and risking his precious guitar? okay, maybe not so much). But, yeah, that was a seriously nice song. Comfy. So why the fuck did it make him ache like that?
Because you have no one to be home with, an insidious, soft voice inside his mind supplied. Because you didn’t even call Zach to let him know you’re going to be there tonight.
I’ll text him when I’m actually in New York, Chris thought belligerently. He’s probably still asleep right now. Or walking the dogs. Or doing lunch with the bf.
He switched on the TV to tune out his own thoughts. When that didn’t work, he grabbed a magazine after all, even though it made his skin crawl. You should be grateful, Pine. Normally, that sermon did the trick. Because most of the time he was grateful. He liked his job. He made good money with it. And he was finally in a position to pick and choose jobs. Sort of. Within limits. (He tried not to make his agent twitch or his father give him The Look.) So what if Zach had defended Chris’s current projects as “eclectic†to the rest of the Trek cast? So what if a more accurate term was probably “randomâ€, and if the stuff he actually cared about had developed a nasty tendency to fall through the cracks? It could be worse, he admonished himself, his inner voice stern. At least Ryan made a few covers. Even if the reviews are wavering. He ignored his too practiced smile on the title page and quickly leafed past Iris’s unhappy expression in the background of a few pictures to immerse himself in some real articles. However, he couldn’t concentrate at all. His thoughts kept chasing in circles and flying ahead to New York. To Zach and his play. To the notebook and that mysterious shadow quote. To that song. Back to Zach.
Pull yourself together, man. Chris bit his tongue so he wouldn’t accidentally talk to himself out loud where others could hear him. You can’t possibly be this nervous just because you’re going to see a friend’s play. He poured himself another glass of orange juice.
But when the plane touched down in New York, he had the damn song still stuck in his mind, and his stomach was hurting.
Just too much orange juice, he told himself as he hailed a cab. Or an ulcer. That’s all.
Author’s Notes
• The song mentioned in this chapter is “Home†from “Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zerosâ€, studio album, released July 23, 2013.
• The quote of the song lyrics in the notebook refers to the series “Home Is Wherever I’m With You†by millietreks.