Ryan Adams and You

This was written awhile back.

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You’re in love with Ryan Adams. The last time you saw him, he invites you to a house party and it sounds promising. You walk up to him when you first come in but he hardly glances at you because he’s talking to his friends. You walk outside and don’t want to go back in for awhile, despite how cold it is that night. You’re not sure if you should stay or go. You look at your cell phone. You find old messages from him telling you that he loves you, telling you that he can’t imagine being anywhere without you. And you fell for it. You consider texting him about ignoring you, but decide to leave quietly instead to avoid feeling embarrassed about being there and being ignored.

Just as you are about to leave he steps outside and asks where you went, he says that he was looking for you and was hoping that you’d come. He embraces you, but you don’t move. “You ignored me,” you pout. He tells you that he’s sorry. That he was talking to his friends. He asks you to look at him and he tells you that he loves you and would never intentionally hurt you. You give in even if you still don’t believe him.

He holds your hand the whole night while inside but spends the rest of the night not talking to you, but to his friends. You both drink. It makes you forget about being embarrassed about constantly thinking that he’s not talking to you. You get to carry him to bed that night and fall asleep with him, you make him breakfast at noon.

The next evening he’s playing at Largo. You go and meet up with friends. One talks to you about Ryan’s new girl, a blond girl in a blue dress, sitting up front in a reserved area. Your friend is telling you about it, thinking that you have been over for awhile now, since you never “officially” got back together. She mimics those stupid quotes with her fingers when she says “officially” and it makes you want to slap her.

Ryan’s on stage, singing songs that he told you that he wrote for you, but that you know were probably written way before he met you. You try to do that math in your head but you’re too drunk to concentrate. He sings to this blonde girl. She’s smiling, her friends playfully tease her and they laugh together. You’re drinking, you stare at her. You try to leave at the end of the show, but he sees you and calls you over. You don’t see blonde girl. He puts his arm around you but you move out of it when you see blonde girl walking up to him. You decide to leave right away. He calls out for you but you ignore him.

At three in the morning you get texts from him. He wants you to come over, he thinks you should consider moving in. You read every message over and over again trying to understand exactly what he means but you don’t respond. You don’t want him to think you’re interested.

Next Friday he’s standing on your porch. He wants to come in. He’s got a guitar and wine with a gold bow wrapped around it. He says it’s for you but the label on the bottle congratulates Ryan on his “Gold” release. You drink amid a burning anger. He drinks with a drunk, horny smile. He convinces you to come to another show that night, on the premise of talking about everything afterward.

You don’t talk to him the entire way. But the blonde girl isn’t there this time. He sings to you this time. Intentionally staring at you when he says the words, “I ain’t got nothing but love for you now.” It sounds so desperate and pleading. Completely passionate and poetic. You try to convince yourself that he wrote that song for you, but you’re still not sure. You get upset again when you think about anyone else it could have been for.

He’s all over you after the show. He tells everyone to treat you well, that you’re his favorite person and that all of the bartenders, managers, music journalists, and friends that occupy the venue after the show should treat you as such. A manager asks you if you want a free drink. Another unnamed industry person tells you that if you have any trouble ever coming to shows when Ryan’s not sober, to call him.

You feel happy to be with Ryan and to be acknowledged, but you wonder if this is routine. If favorite person was code to all the people around him that it means just the favorite person of the minute, and it was their responsibility to make said favorite person feel welcome so that he can get laid.

You go home with him because he tells you that he needs you. That he can’t face sobriety without you. You both drink and make love. You know doing this is wrong, you know you’ll regret it, but you can’t help it and just give in with complete blind hope. In the morning you go through his phone when he’s asleep. You don’t know blonde girl’s name so you have no idea who is who on his outgoing calls list. You go through his bathroom drawers.

You make him breakfast but have to leave at noon before he’s awake. On the drive home you kick yourself for not remembering to check his text messages. You go home and check your voice mail and text message log for anything incoming and recent. You have no missed calls.