singer.
“Are you okay?”
He stumbles slightly. “Yep, everything’s great, Emme. No need to worry about me. Thanks so much for your concern, though.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t bother to answer me as he heads to the side of the stage.
“There you are!” Jack screams over the audience. But the second he sees Ethan, he knows we’re in trouble. “Dude, are you feeling all right?”
Ethan gives a big smile. “Never felt better!” He runs out to the stage before we’re even announced.
“Crap.” Jack follows behind him while Ben and I stare at each other.
“Please don’t tell me he’s been drinking,” Ben says.
I shake my head. “Then don’t ask a question you don’t want to know the answer to.”
Ben runs out and I have no choice but to follow him.
Ethan grabs the microphone. “All right, New York City! I’m feelin’ good; how are you all doing tonight?” The crowd screams back. Ethan stumbles slightly as he reaches for his guitar. “I’ll tell you what. You all look beautiful tonight, you do.”
Some girl in the audience shouts, “You’re hot!”
Ethan falls to his knees. “Who said that?” There are a bunch of screams. “It’s nice to know that somebody appreciates me.”
I look back to Jack, who motions for me. I run over.
“Can you do the main riff for ‘I Wanna Be Sedated’?” he asks.
“Of course!” I scream over Ethan’s incessant banter.
“You might as well do it because I don’t think he’s going to shut up.”
Jack counts off and I start playing.
Ethan starts jumping up and down. This probably isn’t the best way to calm him down, but we need to do something to get him focused.
Ethan runs to grab the microphone, but loses balance. Everything plays out in slow motion. He lunges forward, and although he tries to steady himself, he falls down into the small barrier between the crowd and stage.
Ben and I run up to the side of the stage.
When I look down, I see Ethan sprawled out like one of the chalk outlines you see on TV.
I jump down right as I hear voices screaming “Call 9-1-1!” around me.
“Ethan! ETHAN!” I’m afraid to touch him. He isn’t responding.
Ethan lies there unconscious with blood dripping from his mouth.
Ethan
What the hell is going on?
My head is throbbing and my mouth is dry. No, dry is an understatement — it feels like I drank the Sahara. I try to move my mouth around and feel something sharp.
“Ethan?” I hear a familiar voice in the distance. Emme.
My eyes feel so heavy, but I try to open them. As I move slightly, I feel my right arm encased in something. And a gentle squeeze to my left hand.
“Ethan? It’s me, Emme. Please open your eyes.”
My eyes flicker open. The effort it takes for such a simple task is exhausting.
I finally open my eyes all the way and it takes a second to soak in my surroundings.
Am I in a hospital? Why is Emme crying? Why is my arm in a cast?
Emme stands up. “Ethan, can you hear me?”
I let out some sort of noise. She lets go of my hand as she runs over to the door. I want to reach out for her. I don’t know what’s going on, but I want her back.
A nurse comes in, flashes a bright light in my eyes, and checks the machine I’m hooked up to. All I do is stare at Emme, who has tears trickling down her face. I know that I’m responsible for those tears. I wish I knew what I’m supposed to apologize for.
The nurse talks softly to Emme, who nods. Once we’re left alone, she picks up a glass of water. “Are you thirsty?”
I nod. Did I lose my voice? Why can’t I talk? What is this sharp thing in my mouth? What did I do?
Emme picks up a glass of water and puts the straw to my mouth. The cool liquid feels refreshing, even though I taste something metallic.
“Ethan.” Emme grabs my hand and sits down next to me. “I called your parents and they’re on the first flight they could get from London. They should be here in a few hours.”
I start to cough and she looks panicky. She gets up like she’s going to leave, and I grasp her hand so tightly she can’t move. She’s surprised by my strength.
“Wh … What?” I try to get out.
“What happened?”
I nod.
She bites her lip. “Um, to be honest, I don’t really know, Ethan. I was sort of hoping you could tell me. Because right before the gig, you disappeared and before we knew it …”
The gig. Tyler with Emme.
How do I tell her that I snapped, seeing them together, and tried to find a temporary reprieve to get me through the show? The headlining band had a bottle of vodka and, well … I knew it was a big mistake at the time. Clearly, this is one of the few instances when I should’ve listened to myself.
“During the first song, you were out of control and you fell off the stage and your head hit one of the speakers on the way down. You broke two of your teeth and I guess you reached out to break the fall, but ended up fracturing your arm. It’s going to be in a cast for at least six weeks.”
Six weeks without being able to play the piano or guitar. I don’t even know what this means for school or the band.
“I’m sorry,” I finally speak.
Emme’s quiet. She looks at the door. “Um, I need to let my mom and the guys know that you’re awake now. I don’t think the doctors believed for a second that I was your sister, but I wasn’t going to let you wake up all alone. But it’s six in the morning and …”
“Please don’t leave me.” I feel a tear run down my face.
She hesitates. “Just give me a few minutes.”
As soon as she leaves the room, a sense of panic overwhelms me. I’ve done stupid things. Oh, how I’ve done stupid things, but I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that I’ve crossed a line I will probably never recover from.
She comes back and sits down. I reach my hand out for her. She takes it. Her eyes are puffy from crying and she looks miserable and exhausted.
“I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t respond.
“Emme?”
She looks at me.
“I’m sorry.”
She nods.
“Please say something to me. Anything.”
She closes her eyes and her lips start moving slightly. I’m temporarily relieved that she’s doing something that’s normal. Any sense of normalcy in this foreign environment is welcome.
