by Lisa De Jong
“I forgot what this felt like,” he whispered.
“What what felt like?” I asked, gulping as I tucked a long strand of hair behind my ear.
“Freedom. Happiness. Being myself.” He opened his eyes and stared at me.
I rolled off of him as his arm relaxed on the ground, perpendicular to our bodies. Using his bicep as a pillow, I stared up at the clouds above us. “I keep forgetting that you live the life of a rock star. This weekend is just as much a getaway for you as it is for me.”
“Yeah, exactly...” his voice trailed. “Come Monday, I won’t be just Chris any more. I will go back to being Chris, the lead singer of Fifth Wheel, every fangirl’s wildest fantasy, every media outlet’s hottest story, and every venue’s biggest money maker. Honestly, it’s fucking exhausting.”
“I can only imagine…” I said, watching a runner pace herself as she jogged by us.
I saw something else out of the corner of my eye, but tried to ignore it. Paparazzi. They were everywhere. Thankfully, none had attacked us yet like the news media always portrayed, but they were still there, hiding, snapping pictures like the greedy jackasses that they were. “Don’t you get tired of being watched?”
Chris sighed and looked in the direction of the camera man crouched behind the tree. “All the time,” he said, defeated. “It’s the only thing about this lifestyle I fucking hate.” Chris curled his arm around me as if to shield me from the nosey camera man. “I don’t want to drag you into this. Let’s go.” Rising up, he pulled me off the ground. “Ignore them. They’ll try to get you to talk, but don’t make eye contact. Just keep walking.”
Okay, now he’s just freaking me out.
The look on my face must have given me away because he followed up with, “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
He was right. We walked right past the guy as he spouted questions, following us for a few yards. When neither of us satisfied the camera man with a spoken response, he gave up and retreated.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I said as we walked down the sidewalk, away from Central Park.
“Not this time,” Chris grumbled with a bit of sadness in his tone. I wondered what he meant. He squeezed my hand in his as if to say I had nothing to worry about. I let him intertwine his fingers with mine. My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly I was reminded of the time he flew in my office after Malik—the raging look in his eye that said he was there to protect me. As long as I was with him, I was safe. I would’ve let him hold my hand as long as he wanted, but it only lasted until we flagged down a cab.
As soon as he released my hand, I missed it—the warmth of his palm against mine. Without the feeling of his fingers laced with mine, something inside me felt…incomplete. Geez, Salem, he’s been back in your life all of five minutes and you already feel this strongly? Get a grip.
My inner Salem was right. Who was I to think that whatever this was between me and Chris would last? Or if it even existed at all? He’d held my hand for two minutes, so what? It meant nothing. Right? Why did this feel so wrong, and yet so perfect?
“Did you hear me?” Chris asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Huh?” I’d been too busy arguing with my inner thoughts.
“I asked if you prefer to eat sushi or New York pizza?” he said, thoughtfully brushing a wisp of hair off my face.
I pursed my lips, considering it. “Well, I can get sushi back home anytime. I’ve never had real New York pizza before.”
Chris smiled. His dimple creased, and my mind went wild—along with my very neglected hormones. Damn, he is sexy. Okay, stop, Salem. Stop it right now.
“New York pizza it is, then.” He grinned, happy to please me. “Corner of Spring and Mott, please,” he told the taxi driver, then turned his attention back to me. “Lombardi’s. Oldest pizzeria in America.”
“Sounds great.” Honestly, pizza was the last thing on my mind, but I couldn’t keep the cheesy grin off my face.
****
The cab driver dropped us off. The red awning above the door and windows boasted ‘Best on the Planet.’
“You ready to taste a little bit of heaven on earth?” Chris rubbed his hands together, ready for me to experience this.
The scent of garlic and onion wafted through the air. It smelled delicious. “Absolutely,” I told him, my stomach grumbling at just the right time.
The restaurant was crowded, but there were still a couple of tables available. The red and white checkered table cloths reminded me of a little pizzeria back home. The cozy atmosphere was so inviting, and the smell of fresh, coal, oven-baked dough and garlic made my mouth water.
Chris’s eyes were much bigger than his stomach, so he ordered a small Margherita pizza and a small pepperoni with sweet Italian sausage. I took pictures of each pie and texted them to Alexis.
Me: Best on the planet, they say.
When the pizzas arrived, I stuffed a bite of cheesy gooey paradise into my mouth. ‘Heaven on earth’ was an understatement. This stuff was legendary.
We spent the meal ‘mmming’ and chewing and enjoying peaceful nirvana through our palates.
We both made a good run of it, trying to devour it all, but between the two of them, we had a whole pizza leftover.
Chris boxed up the slices and paid the bill. As we walked down the sidewalk toward the subway, we saw a homeless man leaning against the bricks. The man had a small, shaggy dog curled up in his lap. A cardboard sign lay next to him behind a plastic cup that read:
Vietnam Vet. Please Help.
It broke my heart. “You don’t see that every day where I live,” I whispered sadly to Chris.
The man wore a pair of dingy jeans that were frayed and covered in holes. They looked to be losing some stitching along the seams. A dirty jacket cloaked his shoulders. His feet were stuffed into a pair of old sneakers, the rubber soles peeling off at the toes. The thing that stuck out to me the most though, was that he had no socks. It was chilly, and this man had nowhere to go—no blanket…no socks.
Chris walked up to the man and squatted down in front of him. “Sir?” he asked tentatively. The homeless man’s head hung down with his eyes closed. With a snort, he immediately snapped it up and looked at Chris.
“You hungry, sir?” Chris asked, holding out the box of pizza.
The man nodded vigorously, and Chris handed him the box.
A wide, nearly toothless grin spread across his face. “Bless you, son,” he croaked.
Chris reached out and petted the dog. The brown, wiry-haired mutt wagged his tail in response. Immediately, the man took out a slice and tore it into bits on the ground. “Here you go, Buster. Eat up, now,” he told the dog.
Buster hopped out of the man’s lap and wolfed down the morsels, licking his chops as soon as it was all gone.
It touched me so deeply. I stood back, my eyes brimming with tears. A man who fought for our country sat on the busy streets of New York City, alone and hungry. It was a shame. I knew there were scammers— panhandlers who stood on the streets all day begging for money when they probably brought home more money than I did. But this guy…there was something about him. The look in his eye, the sound of his voice. This guy was destitute—desperate. And Chris, the kid who grew up rough and remembered those days when his mom struggled to make ends meet when his dad was in prison, stooped beside him and spoke to him the same way he talked to his fans, focusing only on him as if he were the most important person on the planet at that moment.
They whispered quietly to each other for a few minutes while the man devoured two slices of the pizza. I stood back and watched the entire scene play out. I saw Chris discreetly slip him a folded bill as he shook his hand and thanked him for his service in the military.
The man’s unfocused blue eyes sparkled, his aged hands shaking as he patted Chris’s shoulder. “Thank you, son. Those were some of the best and worst days of my life, but I love our country and I’d do it all over again if given the chance. God bless you. You and your wife.” He pointed a gn
arled finger in my direction.
Chris glanced back at me, but didn’t correct him. “Take care of yourself Sergeant Mathers. And Buster. Stay warm,” he said as he stood to his feet.
“We will. Thank you, rock star,” the man said with a wink as Buster curled back up in his lap. The man laid his head back against the wall and tucked his hand with the folded money into the inner pocket of his jacket.
I tilted my head, surprised by the man’s reply. “Apparently, he knew who you were,” I whispered as Chris and I walked away.
Chris shrugged, pulling my arm through his. “I think he’s sitting on my face.” He nodded somewhat humorously back at the old man, and I noticed a pile of newspapers underneath him. “By the way, his name is Joe Mathers. He was in the 82nd Airborne during Vietnam. It’s a shame when a man serves his country and fights in a war…then ends like society’s garbage on the streets.” Chris shook his head sadly, disgusted by the travesty.
“A real shame,” I agreed.
****
My first time on a subway was fairly uneventful and anticlimactic. Chris had reserved tickets for us to view the World Trade Center Memorial. Just thinking about that day in history gave me chills.
“I was in ninth grade,” Chris said as we walked down the sidewalk. “I remember I was sitting in social studies in Mrs. Pardue’s class. She used to let us listen to the radio if we worked silently. We all groaned when our favorite song got interrupted by a news flash…that is, until we heard the news. Mrs. Pardue turned on the television and we all watched in horror when the first tower fell…”
I remembered everything about that day. It still haunted me. “Wow, you make me feel old. Ninth grade? I remember it like it was yesterday too, but I was in college. I was sitting in the student union with some friends when I heard the news. I skipped my next class and went home to my apartment where I spent the rest of the day watching the news coverage. I used a whole box of tissues, crying with my roommates.”
As we were walking toward the memorial, I heard the water before I saw it. The enormous fountains were a beautiful tribute to all of those who lost their lives during the tragedy of 9/11. It was a somber moment for both of us. Realizing the significance of it, Chris reached out, sliding his hand down my arm and clasping my fingers with mine. Standing hand in hand, we watched the water plummet into the fountain. We walked the circumference of the memorial, reading names and watching the crowd. Some people took pictures while others just stood and cried. One man knelt in prayer. Despite the loud, raucous noise of the water, it was eerily quiet around the fountains. Onlookers were silently reflecting that day or the memory of their loved ones. It was an experience I knew I would never forget.
Chris took a deep breath. “It’s sad,” he whispered. “So many people kissed their loved ones goodbye that day and never saw them again. I always think about the couples who might have been fighting that morning. Maybe they said hurtful things, or asked for a divorce, but didn’t really mean it. Or, what about the ones who didn’t even say goodbye at all…”
I nodded. “Or the ones who made their last phone call while they were trapped in the building.” My lip quivered, and I shivered at the thought of last goodbyes, frantic escapes, or finally realizing they weren’t going to make it out. What was going through their heads at that final moment? I just couldn’t shake it. “Can you imagine?”
Chris instinctively wrapped his arm around me. “No. No, I can’t,” he said softly.
We spent a few extra minutes soaking in the beauty, sadness, loneliness, and peace of this place. Looking up, I imagined what it would look like if the buildings still existed. Too many lives were lost that day. You don’t realize the sheer impact of it until you’ve seen the thousands of engraved names on the stone lining the fountain. That’s when it really hits home.
I didn’t want to cry, or interrupt this beautiful day with my emotions, but I couldn’t stop the silent tears that slid down my cheeks as Chris hugged me close against him. I laid my head against his chest and wept not only for those who lost their lives, but for those who were left behind. For the women who brought flowers and laid them on the ground under their sons’ names. For the men who knelt in prayer beneath their wives’ names. For the firefighters who lost their brothers. For all the tears that were being shed around me because they were missing someone. For all of those who didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.
Chris cradled my head against his chest. “You’re a beautiful person, Salem,” he said with conviction, “inside and out.” His voice wavered with suppressed emotion.
I looked up at him, seeing compassion and empathy in his eyes. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Cupping my cheeks, he gently wiped my tears away with his thumbs. He kissed me softly on the forehead and whispered, “I knew it was something we shouldn’t miss while we were here.”
Just then, he reached down and clasped my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. We walked back toward the subway while he quietly hummed the tune of Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” under his breath. The smooth timbre of Chris’s voice, as it resonated in my ears, drowned out the noise on the streets, the blaring horns, the roar of a thousand voices talking on their cell phones, and the pounding jackhammer from the construction sites. And for a moment, he was mine.
I was emotionally drained, but apparently Chris wanted to make one more stop before we headed back to the hotel to get ready for dinner.
“Empire State Building,” Chris announced with a smile, perking up from the sadness we’d just walked away from. “We’re going to the top.”
A spark of excitement hit me. “Really?”
He nodded. “The New York skyline is something you don’t want to miss. The view is amazing.” He spoke like he’d seen it a hundred times.
“Great. This will be fun.” I tried to stuff down my fear of heights as it knotted my stomach.
He pulled on our joined hands. “But first, we need to make a stop.”
“Okay.” I bit my lip nervously, wondering where he was taking me then he walked us into an outdoor supply store. Outdoor supplies?
I hung out near the books, flipping through the pages while Chris made his purchases, paying no attention to all the tents and footwear on the shelves.
“Going camping?” I asked, once we were outside in the coolness and chaos of blinking lights and honking taxis.
“Nah,” he said, adding cryptically. “Not any time soon.”
I left it alone as we rode the subway back to Spring Street. Chris hopped off with a spring in his step, tugging me along next to him. We exited the station, which was near that same wall outside the pizza place where Joe sat on his pile of newspapers with Buster in his lap. The cardboard sign had blown over from a draft of wind, and the empty pizza box flapped open in the breeze. Joe smiled when he saw us coming and Buster’s tail wagged excitedly. I wondered if he remembered us from earlier and thought we had more food for him.
Chris held the bag out to the man, and my heart stopped. He bought this stuff for Joe. I was so touched by his gesture that I took a step back so Chris wouldn’t see the tears that had sprung to my eyes. A confused Joe sifted through the large bag and pulled out two thick pairs of wool socks. His eyes immediately shone, glazing with emotion as he gave us his gummy smile.
“Thank you,” he said softly, nodding as if to shake the tears away.
Chris smiled. “Keep warm.”
Joe tugged the plastic bag off of the large item in the bag, and I watched him unfold a Western Mountaineering Alpinlite sleeping bag. Joe looked up with tears in his eyes. “I…I don’t know what to say…Thank you so much.”
This was breaking my heart. Rock stars weren’t supposed to be this selfless. That’s just it, Salem. Chris isn’t a rock star. He’s just Chris. The same Chris you’ve always known.
Chris nodded, taking a deep breath. He turned his face away, but I didn’t miss that his eyes were glassy too. Joe reached both hands out and took Chris’s hand. Bus
ter licked their hands, barked, and ran around in a circle chasing his tail. Chris rubbed Buster’s head then patted Joe on the back.
Joe’s voice wavered. “God bless you, son. How can I ever repay you?”
Chris shrugged, humbled. “I was just thinking the same thing in regard to you serving our country.”
Joe shook Chris’s hand fiercely. “It was an honor.”
I saw a man snapping pictures out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored him. This was a precious moment that didn’t need to be tainted by the tabloids.
****
Chris was right. The view truly was spectacular. We took a few pictures from the observatory. I think my favorite part of the whole day was watching Chris cut loose and let go. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. We took turns snapping silly pictures with our phones, posing in the goofiest ways with the skyline in the background. My favorite was the one where I was smiling at the camera and he looked like he was about to eat my face. I texted that one to Alexis.
Me: Having a great time with your favorite rock star.
Alexis: Mom! No fair! J/K Glad u r having fun. C u tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Ugh. My weekend with Chris was almost over. I wasn’t ready. My heart pinched at the thought. I didn’t want to say goodbye. This was the happiest I’d been in a while. Chris made me laugh. We had such a great time together. I knew I would miss the warmth of his hand in mine. I’d miss the closeness I felt in his arms when he hugged me. I’d miss his smile, his laughter, and the giddy look on his face when he really let himself go. I was just getting used to having him around. It was already breaking my heart to have to let him go again.
Later that night I crawled under the down comforter in my hotel bed. My legs were tired and my feet ached, but my heart was refreshed.
I curled myself into a ball and fell promptly asleep with a smile on my face.
****
It seemed as if I had just closed my eyes when I heard a knock at my door. The knocking didn’t stop until I opened it.
“Chris?” I said, rubbing my tired eyes and glancing at the clock. 2:15am.
