ONE
Monday. 2:36am. Somewhere on the east coast.
I start with the app and cruise the wall. Why do I do this? Why can't I read a book or listen to music or something? Why can't I get into video games like Zac does? Or into sports like Ike? I could spend my time killing zombies or checking the scores. I don't need social media for that.
But I don't choose either of those worthy selections. Instead, I lie in my small, dark bunk, all alone, doing something that almost makes me feel guilty--I'm spying on my fans.
Sometimes I'm amused with myself. Sometimes I find it funny that the fans don't know I'm watching. I keep that to myself. It's kind of embarrassing that I think that way and I don't need to hear it from my brothers. So I lay there alone and I read conversations about me and the band.
They're all typical. They like how we look, some expressing it more creatively than others, they like this song or that song, they're buying this merch or that merch. It's all the same old stuff. My favorite things to read are the personal posts. I like learning about people. I like learning what they like, where they work, where they live--it sounds creepy on paper but people are interesting and different and it's cool to see them all in one place, easily accessible, right in front of you. Even though it does make you feel like a creepy stalker sometimes. I keep that to myself, too.
I lay there, cruising. This girl had a bad day, this girl's kid did something cute, this girl wants Zac to rock her world, these girls are fighting with each other, and this girl--wait, there she is. I smile into the dark and then immediately wipe the smile off of my face. I'm not sure why I did that. Nobody can see me. Is it guilt? Do I have something to feel guilty about?
She posts all the time. All hours of the day. She never really says why and nobody ever asks. All of them post at all hours of the day. She isn't anyone out of the ordinary. But her posts keep me company. She doesn't know it and I don't know any other way to describe it, but they do. She's entertaining. She's funny and she's bold and she likes some of the same weird shit I do. She doesn't know it, though. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on her. I depend on
her and I don't know how that makes me feel.
But I don't care how it makes me feel, either.
The app makes accessing an individual's other social media accounts extremely easy. Her Twitter account is my favorite and
thankfully it's not private because I can't very well follow her from the band's account without starting an uproar. I got her Facebook from the app and her Instagram when she commented on a few of my own photos--but if I want current updates, I check Twitter first. It's obviously where she spends most of her time. I tend to check for updates pretty frequently.
She doesn't have anything interesting to say on the app right now but tonight I want more. I go to Twitter. I check my notifications and my heart races in hopes of seeing her user name. I do. I always do. She favorites and retweets every single thing we tweet. She's probably on the street team. At least I convince myself that she's on the street team, because any other explanation for this much favoriting and retweeting could leave room for concern. Tonight she's tweeted our account. She does it frequently. Sometimes she includes our account when she's talking to her friends. This annoys Ike, but I don't mind it. I don't let him know I don't mind it, though. I don't let anyone know how I feel completely the opposite about it. How I look forward to it.
I put my phone down for a second and I close my eyes and smile when I remember the first time I noticed her. The app had been out about two weeks. She, along with countless others, posted constantly. But one day a girl had asked how everyone felt about the
band's new single and everyone loved it--except for HER. And I remember it striking a chord with me at first and it stung a little bit. We were proud of that song and we thought it was excellent. But she wasted no time speaking, not only of how she didn't like it, but also WHY she didn't like it and even further expressing her opinion of how bad of an idea she thought it was that we even released it in the first place. I remember having the phone poised and ready to tell her off before I had to remember who and where I was
and calm down. I found myself reading that comment over and over again, the one negative one out of the twenty other positive ones. I found myself scrolling for more of her posts. They weren't all so negative like that. She simply told things like they were. If she had an opinion, whether you liked it or not, she was going to tell it. After that, I had to respect her. I had to. I had to respect someone who wasn't afraid to tell you what their true feelings were no matter the circumstances. Besides, it wasn't like she was dogging the entire band or any of the other albums or anything, right? It's just ONE song.
So after that I started paying attention to her. I like when she posts. I look forward to her posts. She doesn't even know it.
It took me another couple of weeks of observation before the app began to make me anxious. There wasn't enough there and she never posted pictures like the other girls did. The profiles on the app leave much to be desired and one night I desired it. I found myself in her Twitter and Facebook accounts before I even realized I was doing it, surfing through all of her pictures. ALL of them. Hundreds of them. She isn't striking. My wife is twice the beauty this girl is. But the girl is attractive. She isn't perfect, but she's attractive. No. Attractive isn't it. There's SOMETHING about her, something that just radiates off the screen, something that draws me in...I wish I knew what it was.
It's only at night, alone in the dark, when I allow myself to be drawn in by her. It isn't sexual. She intrigues me. This mystery girl over the internet intrigues me.
I know her name. I've never uttered a letter of her name because if I do, then it becomes real. I don't want her to be real. I want her to remain my mystery.
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Wednesday. 10:07am. Random truck stop.
It finally happened. I figured it only had to be a matter of time. I dreamed about her last night.
I haven't cruised any social media in several days. I didn't last night, either. Maybe that's why I dreamed. I don't know. I've never heard her voice. I don't know how tall she is or how she walks or how she acts in public. But I didn't need to know any of those things last night and it didn't stop me from dreaming of her.
What does this mean? Am I crazy?
Because the dream was so vivid, I can't keep my mind off of her. Have you ever had one of those dreams? The ones that are so
real and so emotional that you think of nothing else for the rest of the day? Yeah, it was one of those.
I finally get some peace and quiet between the truck stop and the venue. I find a corner for myself in the common area of the bus and set up my laptop. I look around at Zac and Ike and Demetrius and Andrew. I know none of them can see what I'm doing. None of them have super-human x-ray vision or anything. But I don't take any chances, either. When I'm satisfied that nobody cares that
I'm there, I pull up the app on my phone. I browse listlessly. This girl is late for work. This girl has a hangover. This girl has made
a funny parody of one of our songs. I keep scrolling. And scrolling. I notice my scrolling is becoming unhealthily feverish. Where is SHE? I scroll back at least twelve hours and I instantly become frustrated. Pissed, even. I'm pissed off at her. How could she be so selfish? How dare she disappear for so long while I sit here and search for her?
I think I am, indeed, crazy.
I check her Instagram. She hardly posts there. I pull up her account on my phone. Nothing new. Goddammit.
I switch to my laptop and pull up Twitter. I don't know why I expect different results on the computer as opposed to my phone. I check my notifications. Nothing. I pull up her account. I have her Twitter handle memorized. Nothing. Goddammit. Facebook? Surely she's posted on her Facebook. But once again, nothing. I've been away from social media for three days. You mean to tell me that for three whole days she hasn't been online either? This has to be a crazy coincidence.
Either that or a cruel, cruel joke.
I don't know why I see it as a possible joke. She doesn't know. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on her.
Maybe I can lure her out. I don't know why I have this sudden, insatiable need right now, but I do, and I can't deny the thrill this feeling gives me. It's my own, personal secret. Nobody knows it but me. It's my private escape. SHE is my private escape.
So I post on the app wall. I know the app will crash. It always does but it's a small price to pay. I post something generic. The fans don't really care what I post, just as long as I do it. So I say, "Hey app users! Can't wait for tonight's show! How many of you will we see tonight?" Within seconds, there are five responses. None of them her. I know she won't be at tonight's show. I already know which show she's going to.
I'm nervous as hell.
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Thursday. 3:57am. On the highway.
Show ran late. Large crowd after. Zac and Ike were wired so we went to eat after we left the venue. Time went by so damn slow. No time to check my phone.
But here I am now. Alone, in the dark, in my bunk, my phone illuminating my small, dark, personal space. I pull up the app. I hate how far I have to scroll back to find my post from earlier. My finger flies until I find it. 68 replies? Holy fuck! Why am I surprised?
Turns out I don't have far to go. There she is. The very last one to post a response, twenty minutes ago. I told Zac he didn't need that fucking dessert. And now I'd missed her by twenty minutes.
It took her that long to get on the app? Is it possible to be that connected to someone you've never met? Is that what it is? Are we connected? Surely not.
I scroll all the way back to the top and I smile. She's cruising the wall right now, too. She's posted an explanation. "I've been away for a few days, I know. Work has been super busy! What did I miss?"
"ME!" I want to scream at my phone. "You missed ME!" But I can't. I can't make a sound and I can't type a response. She infuriates me.
Then I calm myself and remind myself of how crazy this is. Work, huh? Wonder what she does? She never has said. Not on any of her social media. I decide to fall asleep, going over the options. Pretty sure it's not fast food. She doesn't seem like the type. Maybe she's in management. I wonder if she has a take-charge personality? That would be hot. Retail? Government job? Teaching? No--not teaching. Is she a nurse? A nurse would be hot. Why do I keep referring to these careers as "hot?" I know I'm probably crazy, but am I a pervert, too?
It's her. She does this to me.
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Saturday. 4:02pm. Random hotel room.
I got back at her. I didn't get on social media for two more days. We'll see how SHE likes it.
Shit. Is there medication for this? What am I saying? She doesn't know. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on her.
By now I have a routine. I check the app first. I smile. She's back to herself again. She's posting her favorite song lyrics today. This seems to be a regular Saturday thing amongst the users. I like the ones she chooses. She likes our darker stuff. Our sexier stuff. Our unique stuff. It's like she speaks my language when she quotes things like, "I want to touch you, want to touch you right now" or "I've never had a true obsession but that's what you've turned out to be." It's like she KNOWS that I wrote those lyrics especially for her--even though I never knew she existed when I wrote them.
I keep scrolling and I come to a dead stop. Something she's said has garnered nearly 30 responses. That's a lot. I read her post eagerly. "Hanson tweeted me back! Happy day!" My blood boils as I rush over to Twitter. I didn't tweet anything. I ignore the notifications as I scroll through our tweets and I find where Ike has responded to her tweet. "Glad you like it! --Isaac" is all he says. Well what did she say?? I click the tweet and scroll through the conversation. SHE tweets us to say what a sexy song she thinks
Heartbreaker is. I am furious. Of ALL the tweets he could respond to, he picks hers.
I know that tweet was meant for me. I know I'm her favorite brother. She makes it no secret whatsoever.
I could have been the one to respond. I could have communicated with her myself. But no. Ike had to do it. Why hers? Why that one? Why this time? Does he have the same secret crush I have?
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Sunday. 11:12am. Back on the bus.
Saturday was our day off. We spent Saturday night at a festival, promoting our beer. I stayed pissed at Ike all night. I couldn't help it. He noticed it and he didn't understand it but I didn't care. It's one thing when a man moves in on your territory. It's another thing when that man is your brother.
Then, once again, I have to remind myself. She doesn't know, and neither does he. They don't know that I watch. They don't
know that I wait. They don't know that I depend on her.
I find a quiet corner with my laptop as we drive to the next city. My wife picks that time to Skype me. I don't want to Skype right now. But I do it anyway because I instantly feel bad for not wanting to do it in the first place. I talk to her and I talk to each of the kids. My smile is genuine and I miss them. All of them. At first I didn't want to Skype but now I'm glad I did. It puts me in a great mood and now I know I'm going to have a great show tonight. Sometimes talking to your family is just what the doctor ordered. We plan for my wife to visit one of the cities we'll be in next week. I can't contain my excitement.
I'm not pissed at Ike anymore.
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Tuesday. 1:45am. Somewhere in the Northeast.
This show tonight was exhausting. Not really sure what it was about this particular show, but it wore us all out. All of us. We didn't greet fans for too long before we desperately needed to call it a night. We munched on whatever we could find on the bus and then we were in our bunks before the bus even left the venue. I felt bad for abandoning a lot of our fans like that, but my body was singing my praises.
The Skype session with my wife and kids two days ago was more than enough to tide me over. But now I was alone, in my bunk, still trying to fall asleep. I light up my cell phone. I simply couldn't stay away that long.
Per routine, I pull up the app. I don't waste time reading through tonight. I instantly search for her. She's had a busy day today. I smile. I laugh at some things. She's very witty. She's had fun talking to her friends today. There's a small group of them that talk to each other on a regular basis. I've come to recognize a lot of them, but she is my favorite. She loves her friends and they love her. Why wouldn't they? They seem like a cool group and she seems like a great person. I find myself frowning a little. I want to jump into so many of the conversations, but I can't.
It gets lonely on the road. Busy, but lonely. Sometimes I wonder if it really is all about her or if I'm just lonely in general. It doesn't take long to think it through. It's definitely her.
Something compels me tonight to go straight for Facebook. I'm not sure why, but I immediately wish I hadn't. It's like she knows. Like she's punishing me for something. I Skype with my wife and two days later I find posts on HER Facebook page from her boyfriend. It almost feels like a response or something but there was no way she could know that I Skyped with my wife.
I feel my facial expression change to one of disgust as I scroll her Facebook wall. Her boyfriend has posted several pictures with sayings and shit about how beautiful she is and how much he loves her and blah blah blah. Of course she was all over them. Gushing over how she loves him too and how he's the best man in the world and all that bullshit.
Except that she's wrong. He's not the best man in the world for her. I am.
Did I just say that?
I put my phone down and close my eyes. I've had enough social media for one night.
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Wednesday. 2:05am. On the road again.
She's posted a picture on the app. I find myself grinning into the dark as I wait for the wall to load. This new update has really been kicking my ass lately. My grin turns into an immediate frown as it turns out to be a picture of her and her boyfriend. I hate him. I hate how she's proud of him and I hate how she loves him.
And then I remember and I smile again. She may feel all that for him, but I can see what she says about me and I know he's not reading any of that. He doesn't get to. He doesn't get to read the seemingly private things she talks about with her girlfriends on the
app wall. But I do. I know how sexy she thinks I am. I know how she lusts after me. I know everything she likes about me and
why. I know it all. But she doesn't know. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I
depend on her.
The sudden thought of knowing her thoughts about me garners a little action downstairs I wasn't exactly expecting. This is new. I've always been intrigued and entertained by her, but never sexually turned on--until right now. Not really knowing what to do at this point, I let my mind backtrack over the past month or so and I realize that my initial curiosity has lead to a full-on attraction to her. How did I not realize this until now? How in the hell did my dick know how I felt about this imaginary girl before I did?
Was this normal? Healthy? It couldn't be.
Quickly I put down my phone and change my thoughts to something, anything, to make it go away. It doesn't take long. Remembering how Zac showed me his chewed-up food the other night was an instant success.
Frustrated and confused, I attempt to sleep.
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Thursday. 5:47pm. Breaking from sound check.
I'm still pissed about the picture of her and her boyfriend, but my wife is meeting me tomorrow and I need to get my fix. I can't wait until after the show.
As always, I start with the app. Someone is spamming the wall with pictures of me and I smile. I know what this means. I love
to read her reactions to them. She always comments on them. I check the responses and smile again. I knew I could depend on her. I take her breath away, she says. "The things I would do to that man," she says. "Oh, the inappropriate thoughts I have about this pic," she says. She doesn't know it, but by now I would let her do whatever she wanted to me. Anything.
I keep scrolling and then I stop, unable to believe my eyes. This is new. Brand new. She's never done this before, and I know, because I make it a point never to miss a single one of her posts, no matter how far back I have to scroll.
She's calling me out.
Her reasoning is next to nothing, but that doesn't matter. An hour ago, she called me out. She said, "Judging by recent posts, I know at least Tay lurks on here. So, Tay, if you're lurking, the girls and I are requesting a selfie! We haven't had many IG posts from you lately!"
I haven't? I thought I posted pretty regularly?
I go check Instagram just to be sure. Nope, she's right. It's been a week.
I look around me to see where Ike and Zac are. I decide I have time to sneak off for a second so I head for the bathroom and close the door. I snatch the hat off my head quickly because I know she hates it. I fix my hair until it looks presentable. I position my phone, ready to snap the picture and then I stop and think about it for a second. What happens when I do this? If I do this, that means I've directly responded to her. She'll know. She'll know I paid attention to her.
I don't know why this freaks me out all of a sudden. We grant fan requests all the time. She's really nothing more than an ordinary fan. Except that, to me, she is. She doesn't know it, but she is. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on her.
But does she depend on me? Should she? Does it matter? For some reason I feel like she should and that I'm obligated to grant this random request amidst all the others. This is it. After I do this, she'll know. She'll know I paid attention to her.
What happens now?
I snap the photo of myself. I delete it and snap five more until I'm satisfied with it and then I post it on Instagram. My heart pounds and I don't know how quickly to expect a response.
Within seconds I have ten likes on Instagram. None of them hers. I get impatient and immediately go to the app to see if she's noticed. She hasn't, but one of her friends has beat her to the punch already. My heart quickly sinks as I have yet to witness her excitement as quickly as I'd hoped. What is she doing right now? I look for answers on Twitter and turn up nothing. Facebook offers very little clue, as well.
Ike and Zac call me to pick back up on sound check. I flush the toilet so I don't risk them knowing what I'm doing. Not that they'll see it, but sometimes I feel so exposed even though I know I'm not. Is it guilt that makes me feel that way?
I'm disappointed that I don't get to see her response before I have to go back onstage. Perhaps being occupied and passing the time will reward me with something from her when we're finished.
I've never been this anxious in my life.
Monday. 2:36am. Somewhere on the east coast.
I start with the app and cruise the wall. Why do I do this? Why can't I read a book or listen to music or something? Why can't I get into video games like Zac does? Or into sports like Ike? I could spend my time killing zombies or checking the scores. I don't need social media for that.
But I don't choose either of those worthy selections. Instead, I lie in my small, dark bunk, all alone, doing something that almost makes me feel guilty--I'm spying on my fans.
Sometimes I'm amused with myself. Sometimes I find it funny that the fans don't know I'm watching. I keep that to myself. It's kind of embarrassing that I think that way and I don't need to hear it from my brothers. So I lay there alone and I read conversations about me and the band.
They're all typical. They like how we look, some expressing it more creatively than others, they like this song or that song, they're buying this merch or that merch. It's all the same old stuff. My favorite things to read are the personal posts. I like learning about people. I like learning what they like, where they work, where they live--it sounds creepy on paper but people are interesting and different and it's cool to see them all in one place, easily accessible, right in front of you. Even though it does make you feel like a creepy stalker sometimes. I keep that to myself, too.
I lay there, cruising. This girl had a bad day, this girl's kid did something cute, this girl wants Zac to rock her world, these girls are fighting with each other, and this girl--wait, there she is. I smile into the dark and then immediately wipe the smile off of my face. I'm not sure why I did that. Nobody can see me. Is it guilt? Do I have something to feel guilty about?
She posts all the time. All hours of the day. She never really says why and nobody ever asks. All of them post at all hours of the day. She isn't anyone out of the ordinary. But her posts keep me company. She doesn't know it and I don't know any other way to describe it, but they do. She's entertaining. She's funny and she's bold and she likes some of the same weird shit I do. She doesn't know it, though. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on her. I depend on
her and I don't know how that makes me feel.
But I don't care how it makes me feel, either.
The app makes accessing an individual's other social media accounts extremely easy. Her Twitter account is my favorite and
thankfully it's not private because I can't very well follow her from the band's account without starting an uproar. I got her Facebook from the app and her Instagram when she commented on a few of my own photos--but if I want current updates, I check Twitter first. It's obviously where she spends most of her time. I tend to check for updates pretty frequently.
She doesn't have anything interesting to say on the app right now but tonight I want more. I go to Twitter. I check my notifications and my heart races in hopes of seeing her user name. I do. I always do. She favorites and retweets every single thing we tweet. She's probably on the street team. At least I convince myself that she's on the street team, because any other explanation for this much favoriting and retweeting could leave room for concern. Tonight she's tweeted our account. She does it frequently. Sometimes she includes our account when she's talking to her friends. This annoys Ike, but I don't mind it. I don't let him know I don't mind it, though. I don't let anyone know how I feel completely the opposite about it. How I look forward to it.
I put my phone down for a second and I close my eyes and smile when I remember the first time I noticed her. The app had been out about two weeks. She, along with countless others, posted constantly. But one day a girl had asked how everyone felt about the
band's new single and everyone loved it--except for HER. And I remember it striking a chord with me at first and it stung a little bit. We were proud of that song and we thought it was excellent. But she wasted no time speaking, not only of how she didn't like it, but also WHY she didn't like it and even further expressing her opinion of how bad of an idea she thought it was that we even released it in the first place. I remember having the phone poised and ready to tell her off before I had to remember who and where I was
and calm down. I found myself reading that comment over and over again, the one negative one out of the twenty other positive ones. I found myself scrolling for more of her posts. They weren't all so negative like that. She simply told things like they were. If she had an opinion, whether you liked it or not, she was going to tell it. After that, I had to respect her. I had to. I had to respect someone who wasn't afraid to tell you what their true feelings were no matter the circumstances. Besides, it wasn't like she was dogging the entire band or any of the other albums or anything, right? It's just ONE song.
So after that I started paying attention to her. I like when she posts. I look forward to her posts. She doesn't even know it.
It took me another couple of weeks of observation before the app began to make me anxious. There wasn't enough there and she never posted pictures like the other girls did. The profiles on the app leave much to be desired and one night I desired it. I found myself in her Twitter and Facebook accounts before I even realized I was doing it, surfing through all of her pictures. ALL of them. Hundreds of them. She isn't striking. My wife is twice the beauty this girl is. But the girl is attractive. She isn't perfect, but she's attractive. No. Attractive isn't it. There's SOMETHING about her, something that just radiates off the screen, something that draws me in...I wish I knew what it was.
It's only at night, alone in the dark, when I allow myself to be drawn in by her. It isn't sexual. She intrigues me. This mystery girl over the internet intrigues me.
I know her name. I've never uttered a letter of her name because if I do, then it becomes real. I don't want her to be real. I want her to remain my mystery.
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Wednesday. 10:07am. Random truck stop.
It finally happened. I figured it only had to be a matter of time. I dreamed about her last night.
I haven't cruised any social media in several days. I didn't last night, either. Maybe that's why I dreamed. I don't know. I've never heard her voice. I don't know how tall she is or how she walks or how she acts in public. But I didn't need to know any of those things last night and it didn't stop me from dreaming of her.
What does this mean? Am I crazy?
Because the dream was so vivid, I can't keep my mind off of her. Have you ever had one of those dreams? The ones that are so
real and so emotional that you think of nothing else for the rest of the day? Yeah, it was one of those.
I finally get some peace and quiet between the truck stop and the venue. I find a corner for myself in the common area of the bus and set up my laptop. I look around at Zac and Ike and Demetrius and Andrew. I know none of them can see what I'm doing. None of them have super-human x-ray vision or anything. But I don't take any chances, either. When I'm satisfied that nobody cares that
I'm there, I pull up the app on my phone. I browse listlessly. This girl is late for work. This girl has a hangover. This girl has made
a funny parody of one of our songs. I keep scrolling. And scrolling. I notice my scrolling is becoming unhealthily feverish. Where is SHE? I scroll back at least twelve hours and I instantly become frustrated. Pissed, even. I'm pissed off at her. How could she be so selfish? How dare she disappear for so long while I sit here and search for her?
I think I am, indeed, crazy.
I check her Instagram. She hardly posts there. I pull up her account on my phone. Nothing new. Goddammit.
I switch to my laptop and pull up Twitter. I don't know why I expect different results on the computer as opposed to my phone. I check my notifications. Nothing. I pull up her account. I have her Twitter handle memorized. Nothing. Goddammit. Facebook? Surely she's posted on her Facebook. But once again, nothing. I've been away from social media for three days. You mean to tell me that for three whole days she hasn't been online either? This has to be a crazy coincidence.
Either that or a cruel, cruel joke.
I don't know why I see it as a possible joke. She doesn't know. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on her.
Maybe I can lure her out. I don't know why I have this sudden, insatiable need right now, but I do, and I can't deny the thrill this feeling gives me. It's my own, personal secret. Nobody knows it but me. It's my private escape. SHE is my private escape.
So I post on the app wall. I know the app will crash. It always does but it's a small price to pay. I post something generic. The fans don't really care what I post, just as long as I do it. So I say, "Hey app users! Can't wait for tonight's show! How many of you will we see tonight?" Within seconds, there are five responses. None of them her. I know she won't be at tonight's show. I already know which show she's going to.
I'm nervous as hell.
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Thursday. 3:57am. On the highway.
Show ran late. Large crowd after. Zac and Ike were wired so we went to eat after we left the venue. Time went by so damn slow. No time to check my phone.
But here I am now. Alone, in the dark, in my bunk, my phone illuminating my small, dark, personal space. I pull up the app. I hate how far I have to scroll back to find my post from earlier. My finger flies until I find it. 68 replies? Holy fuck! Why am I surprised?
Turns out I don't have far to go. There she is. The very last one to post a response, twenty minutes ago. I told Zac he didn't need that fucking dessert. And now I'd missed her by twenty minutes.
It took her that long to get on the app? Is it possible to be that connected to someone you've never met? Is that what it is? Are we connected? Surely not.
I scroll all the way back to the top and I smile. She's cruising the wall right now, too. She's posted an explanation. "I've been away for a few days, I know. Work has been super busy! What did I miss?"
"ME!" I want to scream at my phone. "You missed ME!" But I can't. I can't make a sound and I can't type a response. She infuriates me.
Then I calm myself and remind myself of how crazy this is. Work, huh? Wonder what she does? She never has said. Not on any of her social media. I decide to fall asleep, going over the options. Pretty sure it's not fast food. She doesn't seem like the type. Maybe she's in management. I wonder if she has a take-charge personality? That would be hot. Retail? Government job? Teaching? No--not teaching. Is she a nurse? A nurse would be hot. Why do I keep referring to these careers as "hot?" I know I'm probably crazy, but am I a pervert, too?
It's her. She does this to me.
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Saturday. 4:02pm. Random hotel room.
I got back at her. I didn't get on social media for two more days. We'll see how SHE likes it.
Shit. Is there medication for this? What am I saying? She doesn't know. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on her.
By now I have a routine. I check the app first. I smile. She's back to herself again. She's posting her favorite song lyrics today. This seems to be a regular Saturday thing amongst the users. I like the ones she chooses. She likes our darker stuff. Our sexier stuff. Our unique stuff. It's like she speaks my language when she quotes things like, "I want to touch you, want to touch you right now" or "I've never had a true obsession but that's what you've turned out to be." It's like she KNOWS that I wrote those lyrics especially for her--even though I never knew she existed when I wrote them.
I keep scrolling and I come to a dead stop. Something she's said has garnered nearly 30 responses. That's a lot. I read her post eagerly. "Hanson tweeted me back! Happy day!" My blood boils as I rush over to Twitter. I didn't tweet anything. I ignore the notifications as I scroll through our tweets and I find where Ike has responded to her tweet. "Glad you like it! --Isaac" is all he says. Well what did she say?? I click the tweet and scroll through the conversation. SHE tweets us to say what a sexy song she thinks
Heartbreaker is. I am furious. Of ALL the tweets he could respond to, he picks hers.
I know that tweet was meant for me. I know I'm her favorite brother. She makes it no secret whatsoever.
I could have been the one to respond. I could have communicated with her myself. But no. Ike had to do it. Why hers? Why that one? Why this time? Does he have the same secret crush I have?
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Sunday. 11:12am. Back on the bus.
Saturday was our day off. We spent Saturday night at a festival, promoting our beer. I stayed pissed at Ike all night. I couldn't help it. He noticed it and he didn't understand it but I didn't care. It's one thing when a man moves in on your territory. It's another thing when that man is your brother.
Then, once again, I have to remind myself. She doesn't know, and neither does he. They don't know that I watch. They don't
know that I wait. They don't know that I depend on her.
I find a quiet corner with my laptop as we drive to the next city. My wife picks that time to Skype me. I don't want to Skype right now. But I do it anyway because I instantly feel bad for not wanting to do it in the first place. I talk to her and I talk to each of the kids. My smile is genuine and I miss them. All of them. At first I didn't want to Skype but now I'm glad I did. It puts me in a great mood and now I know I'm going to have a great show tonight. Sometimes talking to your family is just what the doctor ordered. We plan for my wife to visit one of the cities we'll be in next week. I can't contain my excitement.
I'm not pissed at Ike anymore.
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Tuesday. 1:45am. Somewhere in the Northeast.
This show tonight was exhausting. Not really sure what it was about this particular show, but it wore us all out. All of us. We didn't greet fans for too long before we desperately needed to call it a night. We munched on whatever we could find on the bus and then we were in our bunks before the bus even left the venue. I felt bad for abandoning a lot of our fans like that, but my body was singing my praises.
The Skype session with my wife and kids two days ago was more than enough to tide me over. But now I was alone, in my bunk, still trying to fall asleep. I light up my cell phone. I simply couldn't stay away that long.
Per routine, I pull up the app. I don't waste time reading through tonight. I instantly search for her. She's had a busy day today. I smile. I laugh at some things. She's very witty. She's had fun talking to her friends today. There's a small group of them that talk to each other on a regular basis. I've come to recognize a lot of them, but she is my favorite. She loves her friends and they love her. Why wouldn't they? They seem like a cool group and she seems like a great person. I find myself frowning a little. I want to jump into so many of the conversations, but I can't.
It gets lonely on the road. Busy, but lonely. Sometimes I wonder if it really is all about her or if I'm just lonely in general. It doesn't take long to think it through. It's definitely her.
Something compels me tonight to go straight for Facebook. I'm not sure why, but I immediately wish I hadn't. It's like she knows. Like she's punishing me for something. I Skype with my wife and two days later I find posts on HER Facebook page from her boyfriend. It almost feels like a response or something but there was no way she could know that I Skyped with my wife.
I feel my facial expression change to one of disgust as I scroll her Facebook wall. Her boyfriend has posted several pictures with sayings and shit about how beautiful she is and how much he loves her and blah blah blah. Of course she was all over them. Gushing over how she loves him too and how he's the best man in the world and all that bullshit.
Except that she's wrong. He's not the best man in the world for her. I am.
Did I just say that?
I put my phone down and close my eyes. I've had enough social media for one night.
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Wednesday. 2:05am. On the road again.
She's posted a picture on the app. I find myself grinning into the dark as I wait for the wall to load. This new update has really been kicking my ass lately. My grin turns into an immediate frown as it turns out to be a picture of her and her boyfriend. I hate him. I hate how she's proud of him and I hate how she loves him.
And then I remember and I smile again. She may feel all that for him, but I can see what she says about me and I know he's not reading any of that. He doesn't get to. He doesn't get to read the seemingly private things she talks about with her girlfriends on the
app wall. But I do. I know how sexy she thinks I am. I know how she lusts after me. I know everything she likes about me and
why. I know it all. But she doesn't know. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I
depend on her.
The sudden thought of knowing her thoughts about me garners a little action downstairs I wasn't exactly expecting. This is new. I've always been intrigued and entertained by her, but never sexually turned on--until right now. Not really knowing what to do at this point, I let my mind backtrack over the past month or so and I realize that my initial curiosity has lead to a full-on attraction to her. How did I not realize this until now? How in the hell did my dick know how I felt about this imaginary girl before I did?
Was this normal? Healthy? It couldn't be.
Quickly I put down my phone and change my thoughts to something, anything, to make it go away. It doesn't take long. Remembering how Zac showed me his chewed-up food the other night was an instant success.
Frustrated and confused, I attempt to sleep.
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Thursday. 5:47pm. Breaking from sound check.
I'm still pissed about the picture of her and her boyfriend, but my wife is meeting me tomorrow and I need to get my fix. I can't wait until after the show.
As always, I start with the app. Someone is spamming the wall with pictures of me and I smile. I know what this means. I love
to read her reactions to them. She always comments on them. I check the responses and smile again. I knew I could depend on her. I take her breath away, she says. "The things I would do to that man," she says. "Oh, the inappropriate thoughts I have about this pic," she says. She doesn't know it, but by now I would let her do whatever she wanted to me. Anything.
I keep scrolling and then I stop, unable to believe my eyes. This is new. Brand new. She's never done this before, and I know, because I make it a point never to miss a single one of her posts, no matter how far back I have to scroll.
She's calling me out.
Her reasoning is next to nothing, but that doesn't matter. An hour ago, she called me out. She said, "Judging by recent posts, I know at least Tay lurks on here. So, Tay, if you're lurking, the girls and I are requesting a selfie! We haven't had many IG posts from you lately!"
I haven't? I thought I posted pretty regularly?
I go check Instagram just to be sure. Nope, she's right. It's been a week.
I look around me to see where Ike and Zac are. I decide I have time to sneak off for a second so I head for the bathroom and close the door. I snatch the hat off my head quickly because I know she hates it. I fix my hair until it looks presentable. I position my phone, ready to snap the picture and then I stop and think about it for a second. What happens when I do this? If I do this, that means I've directly responded to her. She'll know. She'll know I paid attention to her.
I don't know why this freaks me out all of a sudden. We grant fan requests all the time. She's really nothing more than an ordinary fan. Except that, to me, she is. She doesn't know it, but she is. She doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know that I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on her.
But does she depend on me? Should she? Does it matter? For some reason I feel like she should and that I'm obligated to grant this random request amidst all the others. This is it. After I do this, she'll know. She'll know I paid attention to her.
What happens now?
I snap the photo of myself. I delete it and snap five more until I'm satisfied with it and then I post it on Instagram. My heart pounds and I don't know how quickly to expect a response.
Within seconds I have ten likes on Instagram. None of them hers. I get impatient and immediately go to the app to see if she's noticed. She hasn't, but one of her friends has beat her to the punch already. My heart quickly sinks as I have yet to witness her excitement as quickly as I'd hoped. What is she doing right now? I look for answers on Twitter and turn up nothing. Facebook offers very little clue, as well.
Ike and Zac call me to pick back up on sound check. I flush the toilet so I don't risk them knowing what I'm doing. Not that they'll see it, but sometimes I feel so exposed even though I know I'm not. Is it guilt that makes me feel that way?
I'm disappointed that I don't get to see her response before I have to go back onstage. Perhaps being occupied and passing the time will reward me with something from her when we're finished.
I've never been this anxious in my life.