Gus by Kim Holden Page B

weeks.
    And Impatient? She's another mental game that I can't shake. She doesn't like me. The past two weeks avoiding all actual verbal interaction is key for her again. It's like those few days when we talked and acted friendly never existed. Like they were some weird dream I conjured. I wish it never would've happened, because then I wouldn't miss it. I wish this didn't bother me so much, but it does. It's like I have people throwing themselves at me, wanting a piece of me, all day, every day. I love the fact that she doesn't do that. That also means she won't have anything to do with me. Shit, I'm drinking way too much these days to analyze like this.  
    She's back to using sticky notes for all of her reminders or instruction; it's her sole source of communication again. I don't know what happened between us, but I'm kinda pissed. Or maybe I'm lonely. Hell, I don't know. But I usually don't respond anymore. I just want to talk, not write notes. She still gets shit done despite my lack of participation or cooperation, though. It's nothing life or death, but she takes her job seriously. And as much as I resented the whole PA idea at first, it's been for the best. She's efficient and thorough, and if I have to admit it, even if she doesn't like me she's got my back work-wise. She's going out of her way to meet her obligations.  
    I'm beginning to resent being an obligation. Especially if that's all I am to her.

    It's five-thirty and we just wrapped up soundcheck. The venue sells pizza, so I grab a few slices and a couple of beers and head back to the bus to eat while the guys go to a steakhouse down the street. Vegetarians and steak don't mix, so I'm sticking to three slices of veggie and three slices of cheese.  
    The bus is quiet when I climb on and take a seat at the table. Silence is rare when you share a bus with so many people; I don't take it for granted. I feel like it's the only time I can get out of my head and just relax. When I'm finished with the pizza, I reach in my pocket for my phone. It's not there. I try the other pocket. Not there either. The terror is fucking immediate. I feel that flash of panic when you realize you've lost something important. When it subsides, I decide to check my bunk. I hope I didn't lose it again. I've gone through four phones in as many months and it's always a pain in the ass to get it replaced.
    I pull back the sheets and blanket, lift my pillow, check under my laptop, and shuffle through some paperwork Impatient left for me to sign. Nothing. "Shit. Where in the hell is it?" I'm talking out loud, as if the damn thing is going to come out from its hiding spot.
    "It's charging."
    I jump out of my fucking skin at the words, and turn. Impatient is sitting in her bunk across the aisle from mine.
    Those are the first words she's spoken to me all week. She's sitting in her bunk reading a book and she's laughing at me. She's stifling it, but she's laughing nonetheless.
    Her laughter immediately lightens my mood. " Jesus fucking Christ," I say. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought I was alone this whole time. You could be a fucking hired assassin, you know that?"
    She's back to her book now. Any hint that this person has a sense of humor has vanished. Without looking at me, she says, "On the counter, by the toaster."
    I walk to where she's instructed and, sure as shit, there sits my phone, plugged into the community charger. Exactly where I left it earlier.
    I disconnect it and take it back to my bunk with me, pushing aside the mess I made during the mad hunt, and climb in. My eyes keep drifting back to her bunk as I scroll through missed texts and emails. From this high angle I can't see anything from the chest up but I can see the book resting in her lap and her long legs stretched out. Those damn legs. They're crossed at the ankle. I was right about her being a runner. She runs every day. It's the first thing she does when the bus stops.  
    I don't know why but I have to talk