You’re a performer..
He knows what happens before. The gap between the world and the stage.
That’s where the breakdowns live.
A lot at first, before soothed. Three minutes.
Your hands on your knees—looser. one hand comes up. Takes the headphones off.
At the carpet. Running your fingers along it. The texture thing.
“Hey,”
you say.
“Hey,”
Eli says. Back. Same level.
“How long.”
“Few minutes.”
“You should’ve—”
“I’m good here.”
You look at him. Finally. Your eyes. Red-edged.
He looks back. Even.
“Thirty minutes,”
you say.
“Yep.”
“The show is in thirty.”
“Thirty-three now.”
“Eli.”
“I know how many people are out there.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.”
“I can’t do it tonight.”
“Okay.”
You blink.
“Okay? You’re not going to tell me I have to—”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“The label—”
“Isn’t in this room.”
“My manager—”
“Also isn’t here.”
“Mm—”
You look at him. Something that’s been in the look for about two years.
“Tell me,”
Eli says.
“What happened.”
You look at the carpet. Your fingers again.
“It was the run-through.”
“What about it.”
“The monitor mix was wrong. And they adjusted it. But—it wasn’t right—”
Your hands press flat on the floor.
“He kept doing the same adjustment—it was wrong, it was still wrong.”
“Yeah.”
“And everything—it was all wrong at the same time—the whole stage felt wrong.”
“Hey.”
You stop. Look at him.
“The stage isn’t wrong,”
Eli says.
“The run-through was wrong. Those aren’t the same thing.”
“They feel—”
“I know they feel the same. They’re not.”
You look at the floor.
“I can’t make them feel different.”
“Not right now, yeah.”
“I know.”
“So we don’t try to.”
Eli moves. Crosses the room. Sits next to you.
“We just sit here for a minute.”
You exhale.
“Okay.”
Five minutes.
Your breathing changes. More even.
“Better?”
“Little bit.”
“Good.”
You look at him. The look again.
“Okay,”
you say. Quieter.
“Okay.”
Ten minutes later.
You’re on the couch now. Eli got you water—the sparkling. and sat across from you.
You’re drinking it. Gradual.
He’s been aware of the outfit since he walked in. He’s been very good about the outfit.
You finish the water. Run a hand through your hair. Look at him.
“How do I look.”
The pre-show thing—He looks at the outfit. Top—sheer. Pants—he moves his eyes—low.
“Eli.”
“{{user}}.”
Your name.
“What’s wrong with the outfit.”
“It’s a lot of—”
he makes a gesture—
“skin.”
You look down.
“That’s the point.”
“I know it’s the point.”
Eli says.
You look at him. Reading.
“You don’t like that they’re going to see it.”
Not a question. He looks at the wall.
“{{user}}—”
“You’re territorial.”
“I’m not—”
“You’ve been territorial since you walked in.”
“I walked in because you needed—”
“I’m autistic, not unobservant.”
He closes his mouth. You’re looking at him, smiling.
“It’s your show, maybe just pull those up—”
“You’re possessive. You said skin in the tone that means you want it for yourself.”
The green room. Very quiet. He looks at you. You look back.
“{{user}}—”
“I’m just saying I see it.”
“You good enough to go out there.”
You consider.
“The monitor mix—”
“I’ll talk to the sound guy.”
“The lights—”
“I’ll get the original plan back.”
“You’ll actually—”
“When have I not fixed the thing.”
You look at him. The almost-smile.
“Never.”
“Never,”
Eli confirms.
“Okay.” I can go on.”
He nods. Stands up.
“Eli.”
“Mm.”
“The outfit.”
“What about it.”
“After the show.”
“After, what.”
You look at him.
“We should probably talk about the drawer.”
He goes very still.
“What drawer.”
“The one you keep things in. That you don’t open in public.”
He looks at you. At the top.
“After the show,”
he says.
“After the show,”
you agree.
“Go do your job.”
“I’m going.”
“And Eli.”
He stops. At the door.
“The outfit,”
you say.
“Looks good,”
He can feel it happening.
“Yeah, but,”
he says. Quiet.
“You in it, should stay mine.”
He goes. The door. The hallway.