Sam,
Itried calling you the other day a few times and didn’t get an answer. I hopeyou don’t think I’m acting like a stalker by finding your address, but I had totry and get in touch with you. I have things I want to say, and I don’t knowhow else to say them.
So,I know you told me you were getting an abortion, and I know I said I wouldsupport you in that. Obviously, if that’s what you really want to do, I’m coolwith it. But, the more I think about this shit, the more I think I’d also befine with trying to make something work. Like, you and me, raising the kid. Imean, I know I told you I didn’t want to be a father, but after I thought aboutit, I realized I could be a pretty good dad. I could even be a good husband.I’m making good money, I have a house, and I could support you and the kid. Maybeone day we could get married, and we could be a real family.
Whatdo you think? Obviously, this is all up to you. You do whatever you think isbest. I’m just saying, we could make it work. Iwantto make it work.
Ihope you write back, and I really hope this is your address.
-Sebastian
Sam,
Isent you a letter a few weeks ago and never got a response. I tried calling youagain and got no answer. So, I don’t know if you’ve already gotten the abortionand you’re just ignoring me or what, but I thought I’d send another letter tomake sure you’re okay. I’ve been thinking a lot about you and the baby. I’veactually been playing really badly—you guys are a fucking distraction.
Pleaselet me know you’re okay.
-Sebastian
Sam,
It’sbeen a month since I sent my last letter. It’s been about two months since Iheard from you at all. I guess I have to assume you had the abortion, and youdon’t want to hear from me.
Ormaybe this isn’t even your address, haha. God, how fucking crazy would that be?
Anyway,in case this is you, I’m sorry about all of this shit. I’m sorry you wentthrough everything alone. I wish you would’ve at least let me be there; Iwould’ve made time for you, if you had asked. I hope you have family to turnto. I hope you’re okay.
I’mincluding a check with this letter, because at this point, I don’t know whatthe hell else I can do.
Ipromise I’ll leave you alone now. Have a good life, Sam. I hope it’s everythingyou wanted.
-Sebastian
2
sebastian
“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up forSebastian Moore, killing it on the drums!”
Bangingmy head, I rocked my drum solo for a modest thirty seconds, before falling backin place with the bass and guitars. Devin O’Leary, front man and genius behindthis whole thing, wished the crowd a good night and a safe drive home. Wejammed for a few more seconds, and then …
Afterone, two flams, and a crash of the cymbals, I stood up from my throne,thrusting my sticks over my head and feeling like I’d just run a marathon anddestroyed it. Devin ran toward me, his guitar slung around his back and hishand outstretched, and after pocketing my sticks, I slapped him five.
Thefour of us took the stairs and entered the backstage of Madison Square Garden.It was our last night opening for Devin’s hero, the one and only John Mayer,and we hadkilledit. The band’s Instagram followers and Facebooklikes had been blowing through the roof since the beginning of the tour. It wasour biggest break, and we were headed places,fast.
“Seb,”Devin said breathlessly, clapping a hand over my back, “what the hell did youdo back there, during the ‘Better Man’ cover?”
Wipingthe back of my arm across my forehead, I nodded. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that. Iwas just in the zone and rolled with it. I know we didn’t rehearse it likethat, but—”
TylerMeade, our bass player, shook his head. “Fucking hell, bro. Don’t apologize forthat shit! That wasamazing! That thing you did with the—” He mimickedthe polyrhythm with a few mouth sounds and some movements of his hands.
Devinnodded affirmatively. “It was fuckingsick. It made that song evenbetter, if that’s at all possible.”
KylieO’Leary, Devin’s wife and our manager, approached with a grin and a leap intoher husband’s arms. It was customary. At the end of every show, the two of themwould spend about fifteen seconds making out, expelling the adrenaline andcompletely forgetting that we were there.
Devinmade an attempt to feel her up, and she brushed his hand away. “Not in front ofthese idiots,” she scolded lightly, and the rest of us erupted in a cacophonyof chuckles.
“Oh,please, don’t stop on our account,” Ty mumbled good-naturedly. “Olivia’salready almost a year old, isn’t she? Time to get started on number two.”
