rilojetty

[rilojetty]

[rilojetty]

a haunted man who can't out run his ghosts

Doe Madeira was the same as she had always been.  Short, but loud.  Hands on her hips, sunglasses perched atop her head.  A girl on a mission, and it occurred to Rilo then and there, seeing her from across the venue, that he’d never really known her as anything other than Preston’s.

Why was she here?  That was the real question.  That was the child tugging the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt, nagging him with a query he couldn’t answer.

She was tapping something out on her phone, blowing a pristine bubble with her gum that he could even see from where he was hovering in the wings of the stage.  He did this before every single show.  It didn’t matter how large or small the crowd was, the sheer fact that anybody would ever be here for him was enough to knock him on his ass.

But, for Doe to be here?  Here in Santa Monica, when he knew for all too well of a fact that she was in college on the east coast?  Why?  What was her motive?  Was she alone?  Was he here, too?

Of course he wasn’t.  Preston Raimi was nothing more than a ghost in his hallway at this point.  A glimpse of a past life, a former Rilo that didn’t exist anymore.  He wouldn’t dive under his sheets and find him waiting for him, not anymore.  Not for a long time.

When he was younger, twenty and high on life, Preston was the harbor lights that he always found his way back to.  Warm and comforting, like a much-needed embrace after a long day.  Preston was eighteen, a freshman, and somehow he’d gotten it into his brain that he’d lucked out with getting Rilo to look his way.  If only he could have realized how backwards he’d had it all.

It occurred to him, then, that he didn’t really know Doe.  He knew the Doe from Preston’s stories.  He knew the girl who had flashed her tenth grade English teacher so that Preston could slip late into class undetected.  He knew her as Preston’s first kiss, first time, first love, really – even if Preston would never say those last few words out loud.  And yet, just from looking at her, it was like he’d met her a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago.  Instead, he’d only met her once, right near the end of his and Preston’s romantic residency.

She’d surprised him with a visit, and Rilo was convinced in that moment that he could have been blind as shit and still been able to detect the magnetism that existed between the two of them.  Doe wedged her way between the two of them, staking back her rightful claim as Preston’s person.  Suddenly, she was the one adjusting his hair, the one dragging him this way and that way, and Rilo slipped back into the shadows of his apartment just long enough for them to get reacquainted.

It was during that time that he took another look at the offers he’d been getting in from record labels.  Somewhere between Doe prattling onto Preston about how he had to transfer schools to save her before she dropped out and Preston shuffling awkwardly on his feet as his hand found its way to the small of her back when he didn’t catch Rilo looking his way, Rilo accepted the offer to record a demo with an indie label in Los Angeles.

After that, he and Preston were becoming two ships passing in the night rather than anything else.  He could see the expiration date on their relationship even if Preston was trying to put a sticker over it.  He saw the NYU tabs open on Preston’s phone before Preston could swipe away from them, Preston could see Rilo slipping away from them, spending more time in the studio and less time in the cramped twin-sized bed that was more comfortable than the queen mattress on Rilo’s apartment floor just because it was Preston’s.

“We’ll keep in touch,” Preston was promising against his mouth as April turned to May, as his room became stripped of his Hoodie Allen posters (yes, seriously) and his headphones and stacks of mixtapes that nobody besides Preston still made – replaced with boxes and boxes and more boxes.  “I’ll spend the whole summer making tapes for my rock star boyfriend, writing you love letters and shit.  It’ll be disgusting.”

Preston sounded so hopeful and sure of himself, sure of their chances, that Rilo almost believed him.  Almost, but not quite.

The last time Rilo Jetty saw Preston Raimi was at LAX.  Preston had a beanie of Rilo’s atop his head, damn near chewing a hole into is lip.  Rilo wanted to hate Doe, wanted to hate her with every vein in his body, for taking Preston away from him, for being able to sweet talk Preston into a time zone three hours ahead of his own.  He couldn’t, though, because it wasn’t her fault.  Preston didn’t have to follow her.  No.  No, it wasn’t Preston’s fault, either.  Maybe this was never supposed to be a permanent thing, only temporary.  Rilo was a stamp in Preston’s passport and Preston was a chapter in Rilo’s life story.  God, he wished he didn’t want him to be the whole book.

Preston’s hands slid up to rest on either side of Rilo’s cheeks, and Rilo reciprocated by hugging him tightly around the waist.  “Tell New York to be good to you,” he murmured against Preston’s temple, pressing a kiss there shortly after.

“Tell LA I hate it for getting to have you,” Preston grumbled back, and Rilo could have kissed him a thousand times.  Wished he’d taken him out of that airport and to the cocoon of his apartment.  They could make it their apartment.  He could get Preston signed to the label when he had enough seniority to make that sort of a move.  Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.

Preston slipped into airport security, and Rilo followed him until he lost him as the glass window turned to a wall, until he was out of sight.

His best friend, Darcy, would tell him it was just the latest of many fuck-ups he’d accomplished.  Afterwards, she’d pour him a shot – or five – and they’d put on the same shitty Netflix movie they’d watched a thousand times before.  Preston sent pictures from the plane, from the airport, from the ride to his new apartment that Rilo knew better than to ask with whom he’d be sharing it.

“You know, people do long distance relationships all the time and survive them,” Darcy pointed out, looking over at the kicked puppy staring down at his phone, brows furrowed.  “Like, all the time.  There’s, iMessage, and FaceTime, and even that dumbass app that lets you send your heartbeat to another person.  Apple is tailor-made for LDRs.”  She reached into the bowl of Lays, popping a few into her mouth and not waiting to keep going, her words coming through crunches.  “You’ll be fine.”  A beat later, and she was continuing.  “And also, you’re, like, twenty-one.  Calm down.  Stop looking at apartments in New York,” she wrangled the phone away from his house, and he realized that she’d been kidding until she actually saw the tabs open on his phone.

A pat on her shoulder, a gentle, “Oh, buddy,” and then she was back to the movie staring ahead of him – sitting on his phone.

Anyway, that had been a long time ago.  A whole ‘nother Rilo had lived through that first heartbreak than the Rilo standing backstage, looking at Doe Madeira in the crowd.

She wasn’t alone, he quickly noticed.  She was with a tall blonde and a girl with short cropped hair, each of them nursing a glass and Doe peering around the stage like she expected to see somebody looking back at her.

He averted his gaze before she could get to his silhouette, the stage lights dimming a moment later and his guitar finding its rightful place around his shoulders.  He was at the freaking El Rey Theatre, for crying out loud.  He was celebrating a new album release tonight and doing a “hometown show” as his agent called it.  LA wasn’t his hometown.  His hometown was a small-town way up fucking north in Washington, where nobody ever visited.  But this was the first big venue he’d ever booked, six years ago (six. years. ago.) so “in a way, it’s like going home again!”

Rilo wasn’t sure where home was anymore, but he went on that stage anyway.  Eyes sparked with tears as soon as he heard the crowd waiting for him.  It happened every time he went on stage, every time he was reminded of the fact that this was his life now.  People actually gave a shit about him.  People actually wanted to see him, hear him.

Everyone, that is, except the one person he wanted to be there.

He ignored the knot in his stomach, started strumming the chords to the first song that had ever gotten him anywhere.  I Want to Write You a Song, the first thing he’d ever written for Preston.  It was like, despite everything, he was here on stage with him after all.

✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤  

Rilo had stopped doing stage doors a long time ago, once his team had decided it wasn’t really something he could safely get away with anymore, but tonight, he was making an exception.  He signed every autograph, posed for every selfie and every boomerang and recorded video messages for moms and brothers and boyfriends.  He was out there for well over two hours, he was getting to everyone.  If nothing else, it was a good distraction from who’d been in the crowd tonight.

He tried really hard to not think about Preston more than he had to.  It didn’t matter if he was the muse for every aching song he’d written in the past few years.  Preston was someone he kept buried inside a mental filing cabinet.  Preston was just for him.  Not for the girl who was still fucking hovering alongside the brick wall, giggling with her friends and stealing glances Rilo’s way.

Why.  Was she.  Here?

Where was Preston?  He could argue with himself that maybe Preston and Doe had fallen out of touch, but he would know just the same that that was absolutely not true – not only because they’d been friends since they were damn near in diapers, but because he’d… maybe looked Preston up on social media when he shouldn’t have.  He still saw his life in the fragments that Preston chose to share with the world.  He saw him in Union Square, had screen recorded a video of him flawlessly rapping Ice Ice Baby to his followers and another of him and Doe dancing to “It’s Tricky” by Run DMC at their friends’ wedding.

So, why wasn’t he here?  Where was he?  Did he know Doe was here?  Here, in California, at his show… did he know?

He finished up with the last round of fans, telling them to get home safe as they dispersed down the side streets in every which way.  He was turning back for the door, and then he heard her.

“Good show tonight, Jetty.”

He paused, hand hanging in the air from where it was reaching to head back inside.  He turned to look at her, at Doe.  Cute as shit, looking back at him expectantly.  If he was a narcissist, he’d assume that she figured he didn’t remember her.  But he knew that she knew he did.

And so, he didn’t play dumb, even though he was great at doing just that.  “You’re pretty far from New York.”

Her eyebrows raised, impressed.  “Long story,” she said dismissively, lifting her shoulders into a shrug.  “I mean, I couldn’t miss the Rilo Jetty’s homecoming show.”  A beat, and she was continuing.  “Not because, like, I couldn’t, but because Tedster over here wouldn’t allow it.”

The tall blonde at her side was blushing, face breaking into a smile when Rilo met her gaze.  “Big fan, bigger loser.  Hi.  Teddy.”

“Rilo,” he responded autonomously, and she gave him the most bewildered face in response.  Of course you’re Rilo, he could hear her words bouncing around his mind without her having to say a word.

“We’re not actually in LA for your show,” she spilled out, blushing even under the streetlights.  “Our friend’s getting married and taking her to Disneyland seemed like a safer bachelorette party than Vegas.”

“Because I’d never go to Vegas,” the third girl, the one with the short hair, crowed in an unmissable Irish accent, looking at her two friends in disbelief.  He realized that she looked familiar, as did Teddy.  Maybe they’d shown up in Preston’s Instagram posts – he knew he’d never really spent much time checking through Doe’s pages, only ever if he was too drunk, reflecting on the past too much.  “I’m much more content with Chip and Dale than Chippendales.”

Doe scrunched up her nose.  “As if anyone goes and watches Chippendales when Thunder from Down Under is right there.”

Rilo felt out of place in the conversation, smiling shyly back at them.  “Well, congrats.  Chip and Dale are…definitely the better option.  You’ve got a point.” Doe rolled her eyes, smirking between the two of them.  “You know, Cait, you should probably send him an invite.”

The girl, Cait, apparently, looked at Doe in shock.  Her eyes flicked between Doe and Rilo in embarrassment.  

“Obviously I wouldn’t send you a wedding invite,” she argued.  Her blush went deeper.  “Not that you don’t deserve…” she whipped back around to Doe.  “Why would I invite Rilo Jetty to my wedding?”

Doe had a glint in her eyes, one of mischief, and her eyes flicked back over to Rilo.  “He’s old friends with your groom.”

It pieced together, then.  Why she looked familiar.  Where he’d seen her.  The last time he’d looked on Preston’s page had been a particular weak moment just after his birthday, just after Valentine’s Day.  Her hair had been longer, then, and she’d been the focus of a film photo on Preston’s page, laughing at him, weakly holding her hand in front of her face like she didn’t want her picture taken.

He didn’t need to ask who the groom was.  He knew.

Maybe he did hate Doe Madeira.  Just a little.

[rilojetty]

[rilojetty]

prolougue.

“Okay, Palisades, I think that’s about all the time we have for tonight.  As always, thanks for hangin’ with me.  I know you have a whole whopping one country station to go to between AM and PM, so I’m honored to be the one you’re stuck with.  Now, stick around for Kat Wu with KPOP with Kat.  Because… they’d only give us funding for the one station, so this is just the best we can do for you.”

Darcy Anderson’s eyes flitted over to the large glass panel on the door, seeing a sheet of paper out of the corner of her eye with writing scribbled all over it.  NOT YET, is what it read, in all too familiar, sloppy scroll.  NOT YET NOT YET NOT YET NOT YET NOT YET.

The next thing she saw, just behind the paper, was a lanky frame and a head of unruly and far too long, messy curls of dark hair.  “Actually, listeners, you might be in for just one last treat.  Here’s the latest Kacey Musgraves to tide you over, yeah?  Cool.”  She tapped onto the next song before standing up and pulling the door open, her roommate, Rilo, stumbling forward like a baby giraffe in the newly open space as if he didn’t realize what would happen when a door opened.

“What are you doing?  Elaborate in twenty words or less, MLA format.”

“I JUST FINISHED MY NEW SONG.”  Apparently, he only needed six.  He was waving a flash drive in front of her.  “New song.  Right here.  She’s done.  Or he.  Non-binary, probably, I don’t know.  Who am I to decide?  The point is—”

“—you want me to play your song on the school’s country radio station.  Let me make sure I’m getting this right.”

Rilo pressed the flash drive flat into her palm.  “It doesn’t matter who hears it, Darce.  What matters is that it’s getting heard.  Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?  And it’s not like Ed Sheeran—”

Darcy’s scoff cut him off quick.  “I know you’re not comparing yourself to Ed Sheeran.”

“I would never compare myself to Ed Sheeran.”

The song on the radio was coming to a close, the ending croons of Kacey and being late to a party falling softer and softer, and Darcy shot him one last look before she was sliding back into her seat and pulling her headphones back up over her ears.  “All right, guys.  Like I teased before, I do have one last treat for you guys, and it comes in the form of a new song — the first song — from my dear friend, Rilo.  Jetty if you wanna be cute about it.  It might not be country per se, but… it is pretty good.  I’m guessing.  Guys, I haven’t actually heard it.  But I trust him more than I trust most, so we’re gonna give it our best shot.  It’s November 1, 2016, I’m Darcy Anderson, he’s Rilo Jetty, and this is I Want to Write You a Song.”

It only took a total of thirty seconds a sweet guitar chords and even sweeter lyrics for Darcy to be whipping around to face him, eyes wide and jaw slack.  “YOU MET SOMEONE.”

His smile was wide, so wide it was nearly splitting off his face like a boomerang.  He had to hide his face in his hands for a second or two, but she was shaking his shoulders to bring his eyes back to hers.  “You met someone!”

“I don’t want to jinx it,” he said, shaking her shoulders back gently, nodding back to the stereo system.  “Let’s just listen to the song.  I don’t want to jinx it.”

Reader, now is probably a good time for you to know that he may have jinxed it.

But, then again, maybe he didn’t.  After all, things just happen.  Things fall apart so other things can come together, and maybe — maybe — Rilo will never have the answers to those questions.

What he does have is three years of a steadily more and more successful music career under his built.  He has a sold-out studio tour.  He has everyone and their mother booking him for interviews and casting calls.  He has everything — nearly everything — he could ever want.

But, well.  You know what?

We’ll get to all of that when we’re supposed to.

For now, let’s just start at the beginning, and figure out where to go from there.

[rilojetty]

- james alex, beach slang

[rilojetty]

[rilojetty]