The Rocker's Muse

His smile faded. “Why do you ask?”

I chewed my bottom lip. “I got to watch some of the performance from backstage, and you seemed…I don’t know…a little hoarse at times, maybe?”

Tristan stared at me for the longest time.

“What?” I finally asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just—you’re right. No one else has called me on it. I want to say I’m surprised you noticed, but I’m not.” He sighed. “Guess I didn’t do a good job hiding it after all. Did I sound that bad?”

While I hoped not to insult him, I wanted to be honest. “I’ve listened to enough of you live to know what you sound like at your best,” I admitted. “You sounded different to me tonight, like you might’ve been struggling a little. But, Tristan, you’re an amazing singer no matter what.”

He exhaled. “Thanks for not bullshitting me. I’m surrounded by people who only care that I show up so they keep making money. None of them would ever bring this to my attention.”

“Is there something going on with your voice?”

“There is.” He nodded. “But I haven’t told anyone.”

Feeling dread in the pit of my stomach, I swallowed. “What is it?”

“I was diagnosed with polyps on my vocal cords. It’s been challenging to hit the notes I used to. I’ve known about them for a while, but they seem to have caught up with me all of a sudden.”

My heart sank. “Is there a treatment?”

“There is, but it’s surgery. That totally freaks me out. I’ve read there’s a risk of permanent damage. Can you imagine? And then a lot of times, the polyps just come back anyway. They say the best first step is to rest the voice, which I’m hoping to do once this tour season is over. Surgery is a last resort. I’ve just been struggling through it. And apparently, not hiding it very well.” He shut his eyes momentarily. “It’s scary when you’ve worked your whole life for something, and it could all be taken away. Let that be a lesson, Emily. Don’t base your entire self-worth on something that could be fleeting.”

“What would you do if you weren’t a musician?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He looked away. “The thought of that terrifies me. I don’t have a plan B. I never did.”

“But you don’t have to work another day in your life, and you’d be okay.”

He shook his head. “It’s not about that. Without music, I wouldn’t have a purpose. I’d have money, but money means shit if you don’t have a reason to live.”

Now I felt stupid. Financial security wasn’t everything. As poor as I was, I understood that.

“This situation has made me realize I threw all my eggs into one basket,” he continued. “And that was probably a mistake.”

“You might not be where you are if you hadn’t, though. So, it’s a catch-twenty-two.”

“That’s true.” He nodded.

I wracked my brain for something that might make him feel better. “So, if your near-death-experience theory is true, and there’s some purpose in everything we go through, is there a lesson you think you were put here to learn? Maybe this challenge with your voice is part of it.”

“Interesting.” Tristan scratched his chin. “Maybe I need to learn to accept failure to truly understand that success doesn’t define a person. Or maybe I need to figure out how to be at peace without success—just be at peace with myself and nothing else. Learn to love myself, I guess. There’s no way to be sure what the hell it all means.” He looked at me pointedly. “What happened with your mom’s boyfriend could have a purpose, too, even if it’s hard to see.”

“Or maybe I was a really bad person in another life, and that was my punishment,” I countered.

“Maybe what happened was his punishment. But your lesson. And maybe the lesson is that you need to learn to forgive yourself.”

“Very convenient story you’ve crafted there.” I sighed. “If life is a set of challenges, can I unsubscribe from the game?”

He smiled. “Not an option, beautiful. That’s why we have to enjoy ourselves along the way. We have to make life about more than the uncontrollable shit that gets thrown at us. Happiness isn’t something that just happens. It’s a choice, the way we react to life. Each person’s happiness is their own responsibility.”

I tilted my head. “That sounds a little too simple. I choose to be happy, therefore I am?”

“Happiness is more the result of choosing not to engage in the bullshit that brings us down, the negative self-talk, the worry and fear. When you move toward things more likely to bring you joy, that’s where choice comes in. And happiness is the result. At least in my experience.” He took a sip of water. “Look, I’m not perfect at it. But I’ll give you an example of one thing I did right. Tonight, I was feeling like shit. So I told the guys I didn’t want to go with them to downtown Detroit. I almost made the mistake of staying alone and wallowing over my shitty performance. But when you came onto the bus, I took the opportunity to ask you to hang out with me. Now I’m happy instead of miserable. That was the result of my choice.”

I smiled.