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Matchbox Eight We called off the concert in Atlanta and stayed in Greensboro for another night. Even if we had found Rob, we wouldn't have been able to play. Glancing at Paul, I wondered when we'd ever play again. I returned my gaze to the wall space over Paul's head. We'd hung Rob's guitar there. Beside Paul was Rob's koala bear. I began to wonder if the tour bus would look more like a Rob Thomas shrine, the more that he was away. Marisol was gone. But not in the same sense as her husband. After we'd convinced her that there was really nothing she could do here, Marisol boarded a plane en route to Los Angeles, where she had a photo shoot that afternoon. She'd left her shawl on the bus though, heaped beside the koala. Paul dropped his lighter and swore. The lighter rolled under my feet. Picking it up, I lit his cigarette for him. He nodded with a smile. I watched him bring the cigarette to his lips, take in a drag, and release the smoke through his nose and mouth. As the bus rolled down the road, toward the hotel, I heard violent coughing from the back of the bus. "He's getting worse," Paul murmured, flicking ash on the floor. I furrowed my eyebrows. "Who is that?" Staring at me, Paul exclaimed, "Kyle!" "Are you calling me?" a hoarse voice replied from the back of the bus. "No, sorry!" Paul shouted back. Narrowing his eyes at me, he said, "You mean you didn't know he's sick?" I shook my head and felt my cheeks warming. "He's been fighting something for a few days," Paul told me. "He was sleeping the whole time you and Marisol were out, and when you and Adam went out again. He just woke up an hour ago, and he's much worse." Sighing, he added, "It's something like bronchitis." Pushing on my knees, I got to my feet and wandered to the back of the bus. I found Kyle sitting on the long bench at the way back. He was sitting with his torso hunched over his bent knees, playing Adam's Gameboy. "Hey, Kyle," I said as I sat down beside him. "I wouldn't sit there if I were you, Pookie," he rasped, his eyes never leaving the Gameboy. Knowing our luck lately, I shifted a few feet away from him. "So, how you feeling?" I asked him with a half smile. He coughed, then looked at me with a smile. "Like crap." "You're not coughing on my Gameboy, are you?" Adam stepped to the back of the tour bus. Kyle flicked off the Gameboy and tossed it aside. "What Gameboy?" Shaking his head, Adam sat down on a seat that faced sideways. "You didn't have to shut it off! Just don't cough on it!" Taking up the Gameboy, Kyle shrugged. He turned it on and started playing it. "Not like you're going to beat my top scores anyway," Adam added with a smile. "Already did." Kyle cleared his throat. Adam jumped out of his seat. "You couldn't have! You suck at Tetris!" "Not anymore." Kyle coughed into the sleeve of his shirt. "Then give it back!" Kyle shut off the Gameboy again and tossed it to Adam. "Fine. I'm going to cough all over it anyway. 'Sides, it's giving me a headache." Scrunching his nose, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Hey, do you mind if I ask Frank to turn down the AC?" "Kyle," I raised an eyebrow. "The AC isn't on." "Oh." He curled into a ball and fell asleep. A few minutes later, we were approaching the hotel. Adam kicked him. "Hey, Smooches, get up! We're here!" "No, I don't want to get up," he spoke through the arms wrapped around his head. "I'll just sleep here tonight." "Kyle, you can't be serious," I laughed. "Please, guys, just let me sleep!" So we left him there. |