The conditioned air gave Rob a chill as he sat upon the foot of the bed, lost in thought for several minutes. Gentle footfalls pattered across the floor beyond his room, followed soon by shuffled fabric and Jane’s voice. The tune of Nirvana hadn’t hit his ears in such a long time; unlike some, he felt as if the band had a sound that was worth experiencing via a straightforward listening of one of their albums as opposed to just singling out specific tracks. However, as time moved forward there was a pretentious irony in enjoying the music, so Rob’s pleasure faded with time. On this specific evening, he was willing to reminisce in his former pleasure of the band, and sang along, alone, softy with Jane: [i]All in all is all we are.[/i] Simple, repetitive, and beautiful.

Rob enjoyed a joke to himself as he thought of it: [i]their single was two of these things.[/i] And as he continued to think, he couldn’t help but remember a painfully relevant verse from another Nirvana song:

[i]”I’ll take advantage while you hang me out to dry. But I can’t see you every night…free.[/i]

He stood from the bed and made his way into the bathroom, making sure to pull his toiletries from his bag as he did so. He had a fortunate habit of showering on impulse, an issue few felt with be problematic. It did no good to his skin and hair’s dryness, but it did wonders for his mind. As he climbed in, Jane’s voice continued to permeate, creeping it’s way under his door and finding its muffled melodies through Rob. Oh, he tried so hard to not think of it. To not feel. Yet it was an impossibility. He launched his hand to the shower’s lever, twisting it clockwise and pouring icy water on his body, sending shivers and panicked nerves up his body. It was the only way to shower in peace. 

Afterwards, Rob threw a usual cocktail of ingredients into his hair. It was a mixture of pastes, fibers, and creams, designed to keep his head smelling decent and keep his long hair from poofing out into an undesirable frizzy bush that it would usually become, if such precautions weren’t taken. His mind had recovered from the shower, and continued to ramble on it’s own thoughts and patterns. He worried about his future, his band, his feelings, his ambitions, his lust, his wants, his desires—

It never ceased to end. Only when he had forced himself asleep did his thoughts finally die down, releasing his into a bitter sleep…

…which felt so soon awakened by Jane’s gentle touch, shaking him back into his own body. Rob murmured a quiet “thanks” into the air as he heard her slide back out of the door. The latch locked into place with a quiet [i]click[/i], and once again it was quiet. 

Being so close to Jane gave Rob a sense of pleasure—it reminded him of feelings he used to feel back in Junior High. It was like an innate sense of longing, a passionate, burning rage only fueled by lust and hormones. He remembered himself: acne-ridden, managing his hair only with his own clippers at home, luckily having more confidence than the other insecure men around him, making out with any cute girl within a few miles. It was a time of experimentation and impulsive desire. Now, the feeling had returned, but it was only Jane that made him feel that way.

There was maturity too, no doubt; it wasn’t just his sexuality that drove him. What he felt she didn’t understand was that he wasn’t going after Jane for security or stability. He wasn’t so blind as to think she would alter herself to match him. She was truly what he wasn’t. It was an honest admission to himself that he wanted what he didn’t have when he accepted his desire for her. In his own selfish mind he felt so bad that Jane felt like it was what he wanted. But he could never blame her for the assumption. The world around them wanted stability; it wanted the acceptance of mediocrity. Of a Bachelor’s degree in Engineering and a desk job—401k’s and two and a half children to be coddled up to start the sequence over again. It was a cheap bastardization of rigidness and the American Dream gone so horribly, horribly wrong. 

What Rob desired most of all was forwardness and honesty from himself and those around him. He had lived his rigid lifestyle for so long that it was almost as if his instincts desired to off-set himself. Perhaps it was right. Perhaps Jane was right for him. 

Or, perhaps Jane was right about stability. The world was beginning to fall flat in his head. It melded and emulsified into a sea of confusion to which there was no surface. Words piled atop words until it all lost meaning. Death by endless repetition. 

As Rob dressed and exited his room, having put on a tight purple shirt and his usual black jeans.  As soon as he left the room, the world simplified around him. He didn’t feel a need to overcomplicate with Jane. Merely being in her presence just made him feel better. Prose dropped. His walls fell. [i]No unnecessary contact[/i] seemed so banal to him now. A battle was waging between the id and the ego. And the id was winning. 

“Let’s go,” he said with a smile. 

[hr]

The festivals grew larger each passing day. It seemed so hilarious to Rob, that a mere week ago, the shows that had played kept them marginalized to an opening set and so few songs. It proved how fast fame moved in a digital age. Now, they played larger and later sets than Vulture. They had even been in talks to upgrade to a rented tour bus. With a driver. [i]On payroll.[/i]

How the hell did that even begin to become an option for them? In case anyone was wondering, it was an easy answer: the single. 

Rob had a love-hate relationship with that damned song that only continue to grow with each passing show. He played it with more spirit and energy than he truly wanted to, but it could only be faked so often and so effectively that he knew one day he’d read an article about how contrived his actions were. 

As he waited for the show past his load-in and sound check, [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FX3AY8SeUpo]This Body by The Dear Hunter[/url] blasted through his headphones. He had always admired the entire sprawling album the track had come from; as well as the breakdown about three minutes-plus into the song. It was so deceptive and simple. Played live, he had seen it for himself a few years ago—one of the coolest experiences he had. 

After finishing the track, Rob pulled his headphones out as Sam approached him:

“We’ve made an alteration to the setlist,” he said through his trademark stupid grin. “We’re not opening with the single.”

“You’re going to switch it out with another track?”

“We’re going to switch it around and put it in the middle. We wanted…to move [i]Speechless[/i] to the opening track.”

Rob’s eyes lit up slightly. “Thank God,” he said in a voice, trying to be calm, “it’s designed to be an opener anyways.”

So as the lights dimmed upon the stage minutes later, and Rob’s snare rolled out into the audience, he began to feel alive again. This performance would not be faked. Rob needed an outlet for his energy, and [i]Speechless[/i] took the form upon itself. 

With each moment that past, every fiber of his being was slowly turning against his better nature. Off of this stage, he would need to fight against himself, try so very hard to respect the line Jane had drawn. But…on here? He could be honest. He could look up to the roaring crowds and masses that had come so far to see them, and he could ignore it all.

He looked instead to Jane—her figure silhouetted from his perspective against thousands of bodies, and he could play as if he loved her. Because he did. 

And with Rob behind her, he assumed Jane could play as if the past few days had never happened. As if Rob didn’t love her, but also…because she didn’t love Rob.

Because as far as he was aware…[i]she didn’t[/i].