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Matchbox Thirteen "You know," Paul sighed, taking a drag from his cigarette, "we can't chase Rob across the country." I glanced at Kyle. He had just woken up, and his eyes were still glossy with sleep. His hair shot out in every direction, and his arms wrapped around his torso. "What do we do then?" he croaked, then let out a string of coughs. Paul shrugged, and I looked over at Adam. His arms were crossed as he stared out the window beside him. He looked like I felt, like he wanted to be any place but here, now. I gazed out the window beside me, at the signs that flew by overhead as we soared down the highway, toward Salisbury. "I say," I heard Paul's voice behind me. "I say we give up and go home." I whirled around as Adam exclaimed, "What?!?" "What else are we supposed to do," Paul spoke to the floor. "He left of his own accord. I don't know. Maybe he's sick of all this." Adam turned back to his window, and I turned back to mine. I couldn't think of anything to say. My mouth was too parched to speak anyway. The tour bus glided down an exit ramp. I watched as the guardrails became smeared, shiny lines, running parallel to one another. When the bus rolled onto the main road, the metallic streaks just stopped. We left them behind. "There aren't any hotels in the area," Frank called to us from the front of the bus. "Are you guys okay with staying at Sleep Inn or something?" We took turns shrugging before Paul replied, "Sleep Inn is fine." When Frank handed out the keys, I went straight to my room and locked myself inside. It was all over. Just like that. I sat on my bed and took off my glasses. I laid back and stared at the blurry ceiling for a while, before I realised that I couldn't sleep here. Slipping on my glasses, I got to my feet and wandered out of the motel room. The tour bus was locked. I grabbed the key out of my pocket and let myself in. Paper cups and food wrappers were strewn all over the floor; it was getting pretty bad in here. I kicked aside some of the trash before sitting down. Leaning over my lap, I rubbed my eyes beneath my glasses and sighed. I caught a glimpse of white from the corner of my eye as I lowered my hands. The pictures. I picked them up and turned them over. The top one was of Paul and Rob in Germany, when Rob had put on this blond wig and shades and had made a very convincing woman. A smile swept across my face but faded as I flipped to the next picture. It was a picture of Rob and Marisol. They were in one another's arms and beaming at the camera. If Rob left of his own accord, like Paul says, I thought, then why not tell Marisol? Too many questions swirled through my brain, and my head was killing me. Closing my eyes, I put the pictures down. I laid down on the seat. When I opened my eyes, I realised that I was laying on the ground in an alley. "Get up!" I looked up and found a shadow standing over me, his hand extended. I squinted at him. "Rob?" "Yeah!" the figure replied. "Get up, man! Here! Take my hand!" I stretched my hand toward his, but he was too far away. "I can't reach you, Rob!" "I'm right here." I saw his face clearly now, and he was smiling at me. "You just have to reach a little farther." Thrusting my hand forward, I reached Rob's. It fell through his and dropped to the ground. He began to fade. "Get up!" a voice spoke in the darkness, but it wasn't Rob's. I awoke to someone jabbing me in the arm with a stick. |