BlueSilkenSky
Rock n' Roll Doggie VIP PASS
This is one chapter long and I wrote it directly after Dancing With The Devil. Its working title was "Pop Tart: Return of the Angel of Holland" which sounds like a bad movie of some sort. The new title doesn't make much sense, but there you go. I'm not sure if this is an official sequel to DWTD, because I can't decide if it actually happened or not, but whatever. Here's On Axis.
“And now you wish she’d never
Come back here again
Oh, never
Come back here again
You see her, you can’t touch her
You hear her, you can’t hold her
You want her, and you can’t have her
You want to, but she won’t let you
She’s not so special, so look what you’ve done, boy.”
She wakes me through the hazy afternoon nap, cutting out the glare of the television. I blink, trying to sort myself out. She’s standing in front of me, arms akimbo. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
“Wha-“ I sit up, trying not to slump over again. “Why… why is it so dark?”
Her muscles do not soften. “You tell me. Have you been entertaining anyone?”
I look around, listening. No noises come from the bedroom. Thank God.
“No.”
She leans into my face. “Give me the remote.”
“But I was watch-“
“No, you weren’t. You were sleeping.” She turns the TV off.
I stare at her as she opens the window. We’ve been together through thick and thin, but lately she’s been pestering me more and more. What is it to her? My life is and has been my own for quite a while. It’s no business of hers.
“I only came here to give you something.” She sighs.
“What?” Suddenly my stomach rumbles. “Is it something to eat?”
Shaking her head, she fishes around in her pockets, finally pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. I stare at it, surprised. The words leap out at me acutely. U2 CONCERT.
“Why are you-“
She cuts me off. “I know you hated the last album. I know you don’t want to remember. I know that stress is not good for you right now. But I want you to come with me. I still love U2 more than any other band. I just thought it would-“
Her words end as I stare at my palm again. U2 CONCERT. I haven’t seen one since the wild and wonderful Zoo days. Sure, I’ve heard that they’ve embarked on a new tour to support their newest album. But I haven’t been following it. I haven’t been keeping track of much of anything these days.
“I’ll come.” Even to me, my voice sounds dead.
She sighs in relief. “Good.”
When she’s gone, I get up and gaze out my window, watching her walk down the steps in the pouring rain. I admire her for coming over here. She rarely visits me in person these days. I follow her car as it pulls off from the sidewalk and speeds down the road, and my thoughts turn to my hunger. Maybe there’s some leftovers in the fridge… maybe even a leftover drink… However, a pain in my stomach reminds me of why I can’t drink one.
Turning away, I open another window and think back on the new U2 album, clutching the ticket tight in my hand. Just like the past two, it had arrived to stores looking like trash. I still bought it. My friend had gotten in line outside a record shop, ready to be the first one to get her hands on a copy. I wasn’t ready for that kind of dedication. I’d bought it on a day when I had nothing better to do.
She tells me that I hated the album. That’s because she thinks I hated it. In reality, I loved it. Pop- what a throwaway title. She should have known better, judging from my previous tastes, that I would fall in love with something named that. Pop. Just the title was trashy. Once it sang its insides to me, whirring in the stereo, I perceived that all was not as lighthearted as it seemed.
First off, there was Mofo. Surely a song entitled “Motherfucker” would have to be serious. It was. The techno sounds threw me off for a bit, but I eventually found that at the very core of it was a lament for a lost parent, much like another favorite of mine- I Will Follow.
Then If God Will Send His Angels… Believe me when I say I’m not into the ballad type of stuff. And yet this slow song grabbed me. It was about all the pain and suffering in the world and the lack of God to do anything about it. I may not believe in God, but I believe in lack thereof.
But none of that first half fluff could prepare me for the sheer mudslinging, blood and guts on the second. Last Night On Earth- a song that made me feel extremely guilty, for unknown reasons. Gone- another song laden with guilt. It terrified me to play it. Please- a raw cry for justice. Wake Up Dead Man- I could only get through the first half before turning it off in pain.
But amidst all the emotional risks that the second half of Pop took, there was one song that simply took me by the hand, led me deeply into a story that I of all people knew all too well.
If you wear that velvet dress…
Coming out of the night- for it had been night when I’d played this, feeling phantom fingers of regret slide across my body in bed- the song had entered my soul, giving me a slow taste of hope. A guitar solo had rung across the room, and I envisioned the moon spinning like a mirrorball, whispering of its arcane secrets.
It’s okay…
So, I am bound and prepared to face a U2 concert for what must be the hundredth time in my life. With Pop in my ears, what can possibly happen? This time, I won’t make the mistakes of Zoo. I have learned. I have finally grown.
***
My friend picks me up from my silent abyss of a house on the night of, driving me down to Feyenoord Stadium. At once I begin to get chills. This feels too familiar. I don’t mention it to her.
Upon entering to pick up our front-row seats, my jaw drops. It stays open until my friend informs me I look like a horse. The PopMart stage is enormous. A huge golden arch surrounds the top of the stadium, invoking MacDonald’s. Suddenly I’m very hungry… Beneath it is a huge plastic lemon, spinning away on axis. I can’t help but stare in perplexity at it. To top all that off, a fake olive speared on a toothpick towers above immensely, taking its place next to the arch. How I would love a martini, forbidden to me for so long, with a hamburger and maybe some lemonade…
She tugs on my hand. “Come on! We’re supposed to be sitting, not gawking!”
So I sit and watch the opening acts perform. They’re quite good. A while after the last band leaves the stage, the lights dim. I stiffen. She clutches at my hand. I stare downwards, trying not to relive the last couple of years. This time is not like then…
Loud music comes on over the speakers.
POP… POP POP… MUZIK. POP… POP POP… MUZIK.
Some people are already rocking in their seats. I stay completely still. Suddenly a gasp runs across the entire area. The band must have entered, but I can’t see them.
And… just like that, I can. It’s a little hard to recognize them at first. Flanked by bodyguards, the band strolls down the aisles set aside specifically for them. I do a double take, as the first member I’ve spotted is Adam. And he is wearing… a gas mask? What the hell. His outfit is orange. No offense towards him, but I prefer his Zoo look.
The next band member I spot is Larry, bringing up the rear- he looks more normal, in a gray tank top and some nice, slightly tight pants… I reprimand myself and try not to look at him again. Do not even go there. That was a while ago.
Edge has grown his facial hair out since the last time I’ve seen him. He now sports a mustache- it suits him- and a black cowboy hat, covering up his head. His outfit is black, with sequins spelling out his name on his shirt- MR. THE EDGE. I nudge my friend, and her eyes light up with desire when she spots her true love.
But my mind, despite itself, is focused on one thing- Where’s Bono?
Eventually I get the answer. He’s parading down the aisle in a loose robe that covers his head, punching the air menacingly. He dances backward, warding off imaginary blows with his fists. I cannot take my eyes from him- he’s a blur of angry motion. He boxes and spars with his invisible partner, and looks to be winning.
U2 ascends the stage and the music changes abruptly to the start of Mofo. Bono grabs the microphone while flipping off the cameras that surround him. For the first time, I realize that the arch’s background is the biggest video screen I have ever seen in my life. Bono is as large as the stadium.
“Mofo!” he cries, his voice sounding raspy. “Mooooooooofo!” The song keeps building, up and up...
“MOOOOOOFOOOOOOOOO!”
Edge, who is now armed with his deadliest weapon, sends a blasting note from the guitar that rips my ears, sounding like an airplane taking off. (My friend disagrees. She says it’s obviously just a random sound effect, as if she knows The Edge’s mind better than I do.) I sway a little. The music stops dead-
“Lookin’ for to save my, save my soul,” Bono murmurs. All instruments kick back in.
“Lookin’ in the places where no flowers grow…”
I forget myself. I forget what this man once meant to me. I forget that I shouldn’t be enjoying this. I stand up and start jamming. My friend is doing the same.
“Looking for to fill that God-shaped… HOLE!” Bono shouts. I’m unfazed- this is exactly how I remember him.
“Mother, mother-sucking-rock-and-roll…”
“Mother…” Edge wails.
“Mother hopping, sugar popping dropping rock and roll.”
“Mother!”
“Holy dunk space junk, coming in for the splash…” I never understood what these lines meant. Now I see that even Bono doesn’t know. Edge sings, but I don’t understand a word of it. My friend tells me it’s “little red dress,” but I have other thoughts.
“White dopes on punk staring into the flash…” Again, Edge sings with a heavily applied effect on his voice.
“Lookin’ for my baby Jesus under the trash,” Bono huffs. Again, there he goes with finding diamonds in the rough… I suppose I’m attracted to that philosophy, if only a little.
“Mother, mother-sucking-rock-and-roll,” is sung again. And this time, Bono continues to howl.
“Mother… mother…! Mother… mother… mother!” He halts right in place of his prancing around. All of the superficiality is gone. He is exposed in front of me- and I realize, even exposed without the robe. I stare. Bono wears a muscle shirt, red sunglasses, and… short hair. Could this be? Short, brown hair? It can’t be Bono…
“Mother…” Bono sings to the world, to her, to us. “Am I still your son? You know I’ve been waiting for so long to hear you say so… Mother, you left and made me someone. Now I’m still a child… no one tells me…”
His voice is bellowing.
“NO!”
Once again, the effect is not frightening. I’m speechlessly transfixed.
“NOOOO!” Bono screams, and the song crashes back in- unfortunately the outro is shortened. Bono doesn’t even sing the next verse, instead going into the moans at the end-
“Soothe me, mother… Move me, father… Woo me, sister… Show me, mother… Move me a mountain… Move me a mountain…”
And the song ends. Zoo TV is dead. PopMart reins supreme. My life as I used to know it is over. And I Will Follow begins.
“Rotterdam!” Bono cries, and the crowd- my crowd- rings out a huge rumble. “I will… SWALLOW!!!” If I was watching this on TV, I would put my face in my hands. But instead I cheer, and when Bono comes walking around I fling my hands in the air, as if rocking out- it’s kind of hard to when I Will Follow is blasting in my ears. Bono is about to pass, but he stops dead for one second and stares at me. I can see behind his sunglasses that he’s recognized me, that he is shocked to the core. But the expression is gone as he moves on.
The whole show goes smoothly, but I enjoy it a little less after that shared look. Tension seems to run from me to Bono, like power lines. Even when I place my eyes on Edge or Adam I can still feel the electricity. I tell myself it’s all in my mind.
When Edge and Bono go down to the B-stage and sing Angel of Harlem- oh, the good old days- I hear a changed lyric.
“Angel... angel of Holland…”
No one knows better than me who the Angel of Holland is.
The PopMart concert is great fun, but when the encore time rolls around I start feeling strangled. I turn to my friend to ask if we can leave now, but it’s too late. To my astonishment, the lemon beneath the arch begins to travel down to the front of the stage. It silently glides along on a cable, ending up near us. The front turns and opens. Inside, four men stand at attention. Smoke rises up as a remix version of the song Lemon plays overhead.
Larry comes out first, still dressed sensibly. Adam comes next, wearing futuristic shades. Edge follows behind, decked out in a white cowboy suit- my friend is stupefied- and lastly, Bono appears, dressed all in what appears to be plastic bubbles. They extend all the way down from his jacket to his pants. The opening song, played on the loudspeakers before the show, suddenly sounds in my head. POP… POP POP…
This bubble-Bono has a different set of shades covering his eyes. I wonder why he feels the need to hide from us for so long. U2 goes out to the main stage and Edge picks up a guitar. The riff of the song Discotheque fills the stadium.
“You can reach, but you can’t grab it… You can hold it, control it, but you can’t bag it…”
The atmosphere is tense for such a fluffy song. Bono seems to be demanding eye contact, which I readily give him, trying to see through the shades. “You know you’re chewing bubble gum… You know what that is, but you still want some. You just can’t get enough of that lovey dovey stuff…”
His words have hit me- hit me hard. I glance away in pain.
As the song winds down, Edge continually makes his guitar groan, slowly breaking it into pieces. Bono stands alone, and whispers into the microphone. “Tonight…”
My eyes are glued on him.
“The moon is playing tricks again… And I’m feeling seasick again, the whole world could just dissolve… into a glass of water…”
My heart speeds up, contrasting to the song’s slower tempo. Bono strolls along the side of the stage, searching for something…
Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.
“We’ve been here before,” Bono sings. Indeed we have. Discotheque is still cooling off behind him. “Last time you scratched at my door. The moon was naked and cold, and I was like a two year old who just wanted more…”
With that, he plunges into the audience. I shake as his hands move towards me- and at the last moment, I shove my friend in front of myself. Bono’s grip collides on her skin. For a second he looks surprised. My friend is surprised too. Bono hauls her up onstage and wraps both arms around her.
“If you wear that velvet dress…” he murmurs, slowdancing with her. My friend sinks into his grasp. “If you wear that velvet dress…”
He closes his eyes, and for me the world fades into a blur.
“Tonight, the moon is a mirrorball… Light flickers from across the hall… Who’ll catch the star when it falls?” The question is left hanging in the air as Bono presses his lips to my friend’s cheek and squeezes her. He relaxes his grip and sends her back down into the pit with me, and U2 begins to play With or Without You.
I look at my friend. She’s still in shock. “Was that-?”
“I don’t know,” I say. The crowd drowns my words out. “Now you’ve been touched by Bono too.”
With or Without You is tired, and my focus is removed from it soon enough.
The second encore speeds things up again. U2 comes out playing a song I’ve never heard before. It has a pretty sexy guitar riff. Bono acts slightly maniacal. He pretends to be the Devil, then an angel, trying out different roles.
“They’ll want you to be Jesus, they’ll go down on one knee… but they’ll want their money back if you’re alive at 33! And you’re turning tricks, with your crucifix… You’re a star.”
As Bono sings the end of the song, emoting “Hold me, thrill me…” the gigantic video screens, which I’ve all but forgotten about, light up with images. The first one bowls me over. A smirking Devil stares into a mirror, carefully applying lipstick. Fortunately the image goes away soon, or I would have had a heart attack.
Mysterious Ways… The song is funky, but I don’t care for a dance. At last, U2 plays One and the concert is over. Bono sings Unchained Melody over the outro.
“Oh, oh my love… oh my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch…”
The lights go up. I blink. Seas of people are leaving Feyenoord. I turn to my friend. She stares deeply into my eyes.
“What are you thinking?”
“You know,” I gasp.
Her eyes widen. “Don’t you do it…”
But I do. I abandon her and rush to safety backstage.
Faces stare at me in the underworld. Maybe they remember who I am. I don’t see anyone I recognize. Frustrated, I quickly walk to where I know the dressing rooms are and pray under my breath that Bono has his own room like on the Zoo TV Tour.
The first closed door has several voices coming out of it. I’m not in luck. I scurry down the hall, halting at the last door I see. Silence radiates from it. I knock hard on the door with my knuckles.
Just the person I’ve been hoping to find answers it. I barge in quickly. “Hello, Bono.”
He stares. The shades are finally off, and I see he’s in the process of getting dressed.
“Who are-“
“You know who I am,” I say. “I could tell.” I sit down in his chair, exhausted from running.
Bono makes no move, but his eyes slowly shift. It’s dawning on him again. “Angel of Holland?”
“That’s me,” I say. “Pleased to see you again.”
He moves. He rubs his hands over his eyes, and takes a step forward. “I… haven’t seen you in so long…”
“Been a while since 1993,” I say.
“Was it really that short of a time?”
“Only three years.”
Seeing as I’ve taken the only chair in the room, Bono leans back against the wall. “I knew it was you as soon as I saw your dancing during I Will Follow.” I assume this isn’t a compliment, and say nothing, forcing Bono to continue the conversation.
“Well… what are you doing here?”
I shrug. “I wanted to greet an old friend.”
Bono doesn’t buy that. He moves forward, leaning into my face. “Tell me, Marieke… what are you doing here?”
I swallow at hearing him say my name. “I don’t know, Bono. To be honest, I really don’t know.”
Bono laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’ve changed a lot… You’ve just changed so much…”
“Of course I did,” I state. “I grew up.”
Bono sizes me up. “Damn right you did.” I cross my arms, frowning.
“Now what have I done?”
“Everything,” I hiss.
It’s taken me a while, but finally I’ve gotten my old anger at this man worked up again. Thinking back on it, I realize that he really has done everything to me.
Suddenly another knock sounds at the door, accompanied by a voice- “Bono? You still in there?” Bono and I glance at each other, and he turns his head and calls back, “Wait a sec.” Bono crosses the room in a few short strides and kneels at my feet.
“You’re not still…”
I glower at him.
“Wait.” He looks towards the door, and back at me. “Here, come to my room. I’ll give you my keys… We can…” He swallows and doesn’t finish the sentence, instead rooting around in his pockets. I stare at him, making sure I’m not misinterpreting his words like last time.
The knock sounds again, and Bono curses. “Where are those damn keys…” He finally comes up with them, and offers them to me. “Don’t worry, Marieke. This time will be different, I promise.” So he does mean what I think he means…
“Stop!” I cry, pushing the keys away from me. Bono stares unfathomably at me for a few seconds, and in one fluid motion gets to his feet and opens the door a crack, just enough to see the person outside, but not enough for them to see me.
“Hey mate, can you cancel whatever I have planned after this? I… don’t feel up to it right now.”
“You sure? You looked great onstage…”
“Well, I don’t feel great,” Bono growls. “I’ll just stay here at the stadium. Have someone stay to pick me up later, okay?”
The man mumbles an affirmative and Bono closes the door, turning all his attention and body back to me. “Now tell me, why don’t you want to come to my room?”
I blink, suddenly unable to say anything. It’s hard to confess this now, when I’ve been almost denying it myself. But Bono has to know…
“I’m… with child.”
His blue eyes- blue eyes! How could I have forgotten?- remain unchanged for a millisecond, but quickly widen and liquefy. He sucks in a breath.
“Who did you give your body to?” Smoldering anger lashes out from his tongue. Why is Bono so opposed?
“It’s not like that,” I try to assure him. Not this time… though Heaven knows how many times it has been like that…“We consented. This is something we wanted.”
Bono can’t seem to get over his shock. He gazes upwards, until his eyes flicker back onto me. “Is the father… anyone I know?”
I sigh, reading his mind. “It’s not Jack Stuart. You wouldn’t know him. He’s from Rotterdam.”
Jack Stuart… the one man I expected not to get involved with, ever. Of course, I’d broken that vow. He may not be the father of my unborn child, but we hadn’t been completely innocent during my first visit to his house after the Zoo TV Tour ended. Maybe his recent breakup had inspired such behavior. Whatever the reason, I can definitely say now that I’ve had romantic relations with every man I’ve grown close to besides my father. Including my now-husband.
Including this man.
“Was he here with you tonight? I didn’t see anyone…”
“No,” I say. “But you did meet my friend Lina. You danced with her.”
“I was aiming for you…”
I don’t respond. Now that we’ve gotten that altercation out of the way, it’s time for my anger.
I stand up, startling Bono. “You don’t know what’s gone on in my life since 1993! You have no idea what tribulations I’ve been through… You don’t know what it’s like to be so poor you have to prostitute yourself to make money, just to survive! You don’t know how it feels to know you’re responsible for a friend’s suicide… You don’t know the pain of losing a parent.”
At that, Bono winces.
“…Actually, I do…”
And I remember. How stupid of me to say that, when I’ve just been reminded about Bono’s mother through Mofo and I Will Follow…
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I forgot.”
“That’s okay.” He stares at me. “You know, when I asked you to come to my room, I meant so we can talk.”
“Oh…” How foolish of me to think otherwise! Bono, though he is a flirt, remains to be a married man. Never mind what happened between us last time… It was a fluke, a one-time thing.
“Which parent did you lose?” Bono asks in a low voice.
I look away from him. “Same one you lost.” I’d known it was only a matter of time, and yet I still feel somehow responsible.
Bono is silent for a few seconds, and then- “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you, but I had nothing to do with any of it. I know how it feels to lose someone in your life- really, I do. But how can you blame me for that?”
“You don’t know,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “You don’t know…”
Suddenly his tone changes. “You really had to do that to yourself? You put yourself through…” He’s seemingly too disgusted to finish. I hate it when people get that way about it. Maybe I should just stop telling people what I used to do for a living…
“It was the only way I could think of to make money,” I say. “I got a good deal out of it too. My pimp was so nice I decided to marry him.”
“No…” Bono whispers, almost noiselessly.
I nod my head. “Lina used to work for him, but she passed him off to me. He got her pregnant too…”
“Stop.” Bono is shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
I fall silent and place my hand on my stomach, unthinkingly.
“You did that to me, you know.” The accusation had to come out.
“What do you mean? How did I have anything to do with that?!”
“You just did,” I say. “I quit my job to stay with you on the Zoo TV Tour… Lina quit her job because she got so depressed without me… When I came back, I had so little money… You gave me the taste of sex… You made me hungry for it…”
“Oh God.” Bono briefly covers his face. “Marieke, no… it was your decision. I’m sorry…”
“If you hadn’t fired Eric Vandom from Zoo TV, he might still be alive!” I shout suddenly. Bono lifts his head to gaze at me, almost devoutly. I wish he’d stop that…
“Eric Vandom?... oh, yes. I haven’t heard anything like that,” Bono says. “But I didn’t fire him, Marieke. He made the decision. He realized he couldn’t stay on tour…”
No matter what my friends have tried to tell me over the years, I still believe somewhere inside myself that I was the reason Eric killed himself. I still remember very clearly the way I had shouted at him… his tears, the words he had groaned- “Great God, Marieke, you’ve broken me. I can’t DO this anymore!” If only my letter had arrived on time… Shoving the blame on Bono seemed to be the only thing I could do. If he hadn’t left the tour, maybe his broken heart would have healed.
But now that Bono is telling me that Eric left on his own accord, I am speechless. This means that he killed himself because of me, all along…
“So many people have been hurt because of me,” I whisper, half to myself. “I killed Eric…”
Bono makes a move as if he wants to put his arms around me, but he stops at the last moment. “You did no such thing, love. No one knows what goes on in the mind of a suicidal man.”
I shudder when he calls me love. I don’t want to be called love. “Bono, you’re not making it any better.”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Tell me… why did you come here if all you wanted to do was complain to me about things neither you nor I can change?”
Oh, he thinks he’s gotten me pinned to a corner. Well, truthfully I don’t know. Maybe there’s something inside me that still thinks that Bono is the perfect person, that he can fix all wrongs. I know now rationally that this is not true. Bono is not perfect and he can’t fix what’s already been broken. The illusion is shattered.
I walk over to him. “Bono. I have to go now.” My mind wishes that he would show a sign of caring. But instead of protesting, Bono says, “Then get out of here. You’re not supposed to be backstage anyway.”
I start to turn away and Bono grabs me by the arm. He pulls me into his body and we share a bittersweet kiss. It could have happened, his lips seem to say. We could have had it all. But both of us have changed. Bono has embraced fun to the farthest limits, building an entire supermarket around himself every night, while I have quit fun cold turkey and learned the meaning of life. I’ve taught myself to support others who are not me.
We break apart for the very last time, and Bono sighs. “I wish, Angel…”
“Don’t,” I say. “Please don’t wish that.”
His eyes flash. “I wasn’t going to say that! I was going to say, I just wish I hadn’t picked up on your emotions beforehand. All the way back during Zoo TV. I wish I’d realized sooner what was going on.”
Oftentimes I’ve wished the same, but there’s no going back now. Through these past three years I’ve grown to despise the man I once loved more than life. Now things are just confused. I know Bono will never take an interest in me again, and I don’t care if he does or not.
As I open the door, I say, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Who?”
“Just follow me.”
Bono does. We walk back out into the stadium where crewmen are dismantling the stage set. A lone figure stands out in the pit, arguing with security guards. I jump down from the stage and wave to her. “Lina!”
My friend rushes towards me. “Marieke, you scared me…”
Bono is hulking behind us, unsure of what to say. I motion him forward.
“This is Bono,” I say. “He’s an old acquaintance, if you will.”
My friend looks starstruck. “Oh my God… oh my God…”
Bono shakes my friend’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lina.”
She stares dazzled after him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead!”
“Can you take me to meet Edge?”
As they depart together, I turn around. My friend will come out of the meeting as a new person, and I will be in the parking lot to take care of her. A small hole begins to fill in me despite myself. After years of longing to have it out with Bono, I’ve at last gotten my wish- but things didn’t turn out quite the way I’ve wanted them to. The baby moves inside me, and I imagine he is dreaming.
“Shhh,” I calm my stomach. I don’t expect the delivery to be hard- after all, he is Herman’s son, who is probably the calmest person I know. We need each other…
He wasn’t even fazed when I turned up unexpectedly on his doorstep, holding my ballooning belly. His was the only place in Rotterdam I could think of to go- my best friend hates children, and would not have helped in my delivery. I remember how collected he was, how he brought me a glass of water once the ordeal was over and checked for me- “It’s a girl.”
I hope that girl knows her father was in town tonight. I know I can never allow them to meet, but she must respect his legacy. And now there’s a new baby growing within me, a boy this time, born out of a strange, more sanitary love. I never would have expected to fall in love with Herman, but then again, I wouldn’t have expected to bear Bono’s child either.
My friend appears in the parking lot, looking excited, and she runs over to me and hugs me. We drive away from the first man I ever believed I loved.
No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden.
“And now you wish she’d never
Come back here again
Oh, never
Come back here again
You see her, you can’t touch her
You hear her, you can’t hold her
You want her, and you can’t have her
You want to, but she won’t let you
She’s not so special, so look what you’ve done, boy.”
She wakes me through the hazy afternoon nap, cutting out the glare of the television. I blink, trying to sort myself out. She’s standing in front of me, arms akimbo. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
“Wha-“ I sit up, trying not to slump over again. “Why… why is it so dark?”
Her muscles do not soften. “You tell me. Have you been entertaining anyone?”
I look around, listening. No noises come from the bedroom. Thank God.
“No.”
She leans into my face. “Give me the remote.”
“But I was watch-“
“No, you weren’t. You were sleeping.” She turns the TV off.
I stare at her as she opens the window. We’ve been together through thick and thin, but lately she’s been pestering me more and more. What is it to her? My life is and has been my own for quite a while. It’s no business of hers.
“I only came here to give you something.” She sighs.
“What?” Suddenly my stomach rumbles. “Is it something to eat?”
Shaking her head, she fishes around in her pockets, finally pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. I stare at it, surprised. The words leap out at me acutely. U2 CONCERT.
“Why are you-“
She cuts me off. “I know you hated the last album. I know you don’t want to remember. I know that stress is not good for you right now. But I want you to come with me. I still love U2 more than any other band. I just thought it would-“
Her words end as I stare at my palm again. U2 CONCERT. I haven’t seen one since the wild and wonderful Zoo days. Sure, I’ve heard that they’ve embarked on a new tour to support their newest album. But I haven’t been following it. I haven’t been keeping track of much of anything these days.
“I’ll come.” Even to me, my voice sounds dead.
She sighs in relief. “Good.”
When she’s gone, I get up and gaze out my window, watching her walk down the steps in the pouring rain. I admire her for coming over here. She rarely visits me in person these days. I follow her car as it pulls off from the sidewalk and speeds down the road, and my thoughts turn to my hunger. Maybe there’s some leftovers in the fridge… maybe even a leftover drink… However, a pain in my stomach reminds me of why I can’t drink one.
Turning away, I open another window and think back on the new U2 album, clutching the ticket tight in my hand. Just like the past two, it had arrived to stores looking like trash. I still bought it. My friend had gotten in line outside a record shop, ready to be the first one to get her hands on a copy. I wasn’t ready for that kind of dedication. I’d bought it on a day when I had nothing better to do.
She tells me that I hated the album. That’s because she thinks I hated it. In reality, I loved it. Pop- what a throwaway title. She should have known better, judging from my previous tastes, that I would fall in love with something named that. Pop. Just the title was trashy. Once it sang its insides to me, whirring in the stereo, I perceived that all was not as lighthearted as it seemed.
First off, there was Mofo. Surely a song entitled “Motherfucker” would have to be serious. It was. The techno sounds threw me off for a bit, but I eventually found that at the very core of it was a lament for a lost parent, much like another favorite of mine- I Will Follow.
Then If God Will Send His Angels… Believe me when I say I’m not into the ballad type of stuff. And yet this slow song grabbed me. It was about all the pain and suffering in the world and the lack of God to do anything about it. I may not believe in God, but I believe in lack thereof.
But none of that first half fluff could prepare me for the sheer mudslinging, blood and guts on the second. Last Night On Earth- a song that made me feel extremely guilty, for unknown reasons. Gone- another song laden with guilt. It terrified me to play it. Please- a raw cry for justice. Wake Up Dead Man- I could only get through the first half before turning it off in pain.
But amidst all the emotional risks that the second half of Pop took, there was one song that simply took me by the hand, led me deeply into a story that I of all people knew all too well.
If you wear that velvet dress…
Coming out of the night- for it had been night when I’d played this, feeling phantom fingers of regret slide across my body in bed- the song had entered my soul, giving me a slow taste of hope. A guitar solo had rung across the room, and I envisioned the moon spinning like a mirrorball, whispering of its arcane secrets.
It’s okay…
So, I am bound and prepared to face a U2 concert for what must be the hundredth time in my life. With Pop in my ears, what can possibly happen? This time, I won’t make the mistakes of Zoo. I have learned. I have finally grown.
***
My friend picks me up from my silent abyss of a house on the night of, driving me down to Feyenoord Stadium. At once I begin to get chills. This feels too familiar. I don’t mention it to her.
Upon entering to pick up our front-row seats, my jaw drops. It stays open until my friend informs me I look like a horse. The PopMart stage is enormous. A huge golden arch surrounds the top of the stadium, invoking MacDonald’s. Suddenly I’m very hungry… Beneath it is a huge plastic lemon, spinning away on axis. I can’t help but stare in perplexity at it. To top all that off, a fake olive speared on a toothpick towers above immensely, taking its place next to the arch. How I would love a martini, forbidden to me for so long, with a hamburger and maybe some lemonade…
She tugs on my hand. “Come on! We’re supposed to be sitting, not gawking!”
So I sit and watch the opening acts perform. They’re quite good. A while after the last band leaves the stage, the lights dim. I stiffen. She clutches at my hand. I stare downwards, trying not to relive the last couple of years. This time is not like then…
Loud music comes on over the speakers.
POP… POP POP… MUZIK. POP… POP POP… MUZIK.
Some people are already rocking in their seats. I stay completely still. Suddenly a gasp runs across the entire area. The band must have entered, but I can’t see them.
And… just like that, I can. It’s a little hard to recognize them at first. Flanked by bodyguards, the band strolls down the aisles set aside specifically for them. I do a double take, as the first member I’ve spotted is Adam. And he is wearing… a gas mask? What the hell. His outfit is orange. No offense towards him, but I prefer his Zoo look.
The next band member I spot is Larry, bringing up the rear- he looks more normal, in a gray tank top and some nice, slightly tight pants… I reprimand myself and try not to look at him again. Do not even go there. That was a while ago.
Edge has grown his facial hair out since the last time I’ve seen him. He now sports a mustache- it suits him- and a black cowboy hat, covering up his head. His outfit is black, with sequins spelling out his name on his shirt- MR. THE EDGE. I nudge my friend, and her eyes light up with desire when she spots her true love.
But my mind, despite itself, is focused on one thing- Where’s Bono?
Eventually I get the answer. He’s parading down the aisle in a loose robe that covers his head, punching the air menacingly. He dances backward, warding off imaginary blows with his fists. I cannot take my eyes from him- he’s a blur of angry motion. He boxes and spars with his invisible partner, and looks to be winning.
U2 ascends the stage and the music changes abruptly to the start of Mofo. Bono grabs the microphone while flipping off the cameras that surround him. For the first time, I realize that the arch’s background is the biggest video screen I have ever seen in my life. Bono is as large as the stadium.
“Mofo!” he cries, his voice sounding raspy. “Mooooooooofo!” The song keeps building, up and up...
“MOOOOOOFOOOOOOOOO!”
Edge, who is now armed with his deadliest weapon, sends a blasting note from the guitar that rips my ears, sounding like an airplane taking off. (My friend disagrees. She says it’s obviously just a random sound effect, as if she knows The Edge’s mind better than I do.) I sway a little. The music stops dead-
“Lookin’ for to save my, save my soul,” Bono murmurs. All instruments kick back in.
“Lookin’ in the places where no flowers grow…”
I forget myself. I forget what this man once meant to me. I forget that I shouldn’t be enjoying this. I stand up and start jamming. My friend is doing the same.
“Looking for to fill that God-shaped… HOLE!” Bono shouts. I’m unfazed- this is exactly how I remember him.
“Mother, mother-sucking-rock-and-roll…”
“Mother…” Edge wails.
“Mother hopping, sugar popping dropping rock and roll.”
“Mother!”
“Holy dunk space junk, coming in for the splash…” I never understood what these lines meant. Now I see that even Bono doesn’t know. Edge sings, but I don’t understand a word of it. My friend tells me it’s “little red dress,” but I have other thoughts.
“White dopes on punk staring into the flash…” Again, Edge sings with a heavily applied effect on his voice.
“Lookin’ for my baby Jesus under the trash,” Bono huffs. Again, there he goes with finding diamonds in the rough… I suppose I’m attracted to that philosophy, if only a little.
“Mother, mother-sucking-rock-and-roll,” is sung again. And this time, Bono continues to howl.
“Mother… mother…! Mother… mother… mother!” He halts right in place of his prancing around. All of the superficiality is gone. He is exposed in front of me- and I realize, even exposed without the robe. I stare. Bono wears a muscle shirt, red sunglasses, and… short hair. Could this be? Short, brown hair? It can’t be Bono…
“Mother…” Bono sings to the world, to her, to us. “Am I still your son? You know I’ve been waiting for so long to hear you say so… Mother, you left and made me someone. Now I’m still a child… no one tells me…”
His voice is bellowing.
“NO!”
Once again, the effect is not frightening. I’m speechlessly transfixed.
“NOOOO!” Bono screams, and the song crashes back in- unfortunately the outro is shortened. Bono doesn’t even sing the next verse, instead going into the moans at the end-
“Soothe me, mother… Move me, father… Woo me, sister… Show me, mother… Move me a mountain… Move me a mountain…”
And the song ends. Zoo TV is dead. PopMart reins supreme. My life as I used to know it is over. And I Will Follow begins.
“Rotterdam!” Bono cries, and the crowd- my crowd- rings out a huge rumble. “I will… SWALLOW!!!” If I was watching this on TV, I would put my face in my hands. But instead I cheer, and when Bono comes walking around I fling my hands in the air, as if rocking out- it’s kind of hard to when I Will Follow is blasting in my ears. Bono is about to pass, but he stops dead for one second and stares at me. I can see behind his sunglasses that he’s recognized me, that he is shocked to the core. But the expression is gone as he moves on.
The whole show goes smoothly, but I enjoy it a little less after that shared look. Tension seems to run from me to Bono, like power lines. Even when I place my eyes on Edge or Adam I can still feel the electricity. I tell myself it’s all in my mind.
When Edge and Bono go down to the B-stage and sing Angel of Harlem- oh, the good old days- I hear a changed lyric.
“Angel... angel of Holland…”
No one knows better than me who the Angel of Holland is.
The PopMart concert is great fun, but when the encore time rolls around I start feeling strangled. I turn to my friend to ask if we can leave now, but it’s too late. To my astonishment, the lemon beneath the arch begins to travel down to the front of the stage. It silently glides along on a cable, ending up near us. The front turns and opens. Inside, four men stand at attention. Smoke rises up as a remix version of the song Lemon plays overhead.
Larry comes out first, still dressed sensibly. Adam comes next, wearing futuristic shades. Edge follows behind, decked out in a white cowboy suit- my friend is stupefied- and lastly, Bono appears, dressed all in what appears to be plastic bubbles. They extend all the way down from his jacket to his pants. The opening song, played on the loudspeakers before the show, suddenly sounds in my head. POP… POP POP…
This bubble-Bono has a different set of shades covering his eyes. I wonder why he feels the need to hide from us for so long. U2 goes out to the main stage and Edge picks up a guitar. The riff of the song Discotheque fills the stadium.
“You can reach, but you can’t grab it… You can hold it, control it, but you can’t bag it…”
The atmosphere is tense for such a fluffy song. Bono seems to be demanding eye contact, which I readily give him, trying to see through the shades. “You know you’re chewing bubble gum… You know what that is, but you still want some. You just can’t get enough of that lovey dovey stuff…”
His words have hit me- hit me hard. I glance away in pain.
As the song winds down, Edge continually makes his guitar groan, slowly breaking it into pieces. Bono stands alone, and whispers into the microphone. “Tonight…”
My eyes are glued on him.
“The moon is playing tricks again… And I’m feeling seasick again, the whole world could just dissolve… into a glass of water…”
My heart speeds up, contrasting to the song’s slower tempo. Bono strolls along the side of the stage, searching for something…
Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.
“We’ve been here before,” Bono sings. Indeed we have. Discotheque is still cooling off behind him. “Last time you scratched at my door. The moon was naked and cold, and I was like a two year old who just wanted more…”
With that, he plunges into the audience. I shake as his hands move towards me- and at the last moment, I shove my friend in front of myself. Bono’s grip collides on her skin. For a second he looks surprised. My friend is surprised too. Bono hauls her up onstage and wraps both arms around her.
“If you wear that velvet dress…” he murmurs, slowdancing with her. My friend sinks into his grasp. “If you wear that velvet dress…”
He closes his eyes, and for me the world fades into a blur.
“Tonight, the moon is a mirrorball… Light flickers from across the hall… Who’ll catch the star when it falls?” The question is left hanging in the air as Bono presses his lips to my friend’s cheek and squeezes her. He relaxes his grip and sends her back down into the pit with me, and U2 begins to play With or Without You.
I look at my friend. She’s still in shock. “Was that-?”
“I don’t know,” I say. The crowd drowns my words out. “Now you’ve been touched by Bono too.”
With or Without You is tired, and my focus is removed from it soon enough.
The second encore speeds things up again. U2 comes out playing a song I’ve never heard before. It has a pretty sexy guitar riff. Bono acts slightly maniacal. He pretends to be the Devil, then an angel, trying out different roles.
“They’ll want you to be Jesus, they’ll go down on one knee… but they’ll want their money back if you’re alive at 33! And you’re turning tricks, with your crucifix… You’re a star.”
As Bono sings the end of the song, emoting “Hold me, thrill me…” the gigantic video screens, which I’ve all but forgotten about, light up with images. The first one bowls me over. A smirking Devil stares into a mirror, carefully applying lipstick. Fortunately the image goes away soon, or I would have had a heart attack.
Mysterious Ways… The song is funky, but I don’t care for a dance. At last, U2 plays One and the concert is over. Bono sings Unchained Melody over the outro.
“Oh, oh my love… oh my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch…”
The lights go up. I blink. Seas of people are leaving Feyenoord. I turn to my friend. She stares deeply into my eyes.
“What are you thinking?”
“You know,” I gasp.
Her eyes widen. “Don’t you do it…”
But I do. I abandon her and rush to safety backstage.
Faces stare at me in the underworld. Maybe they remember who I am. I don’t see anyone I recognize. Frustrated, I quickly walk to where I know the dressing rooms are and pray under my breath that Bono has his own room like on the Zoo TV Tour.
The first closed door has several voices coming out of it. I’m not in luck. I scurry down the hall, halting at the last door I see. Silence radiates from it. I knock hard on the door with my knuckles.
Just the person I’ve been hoping to find answers it. I barge in quickly. “Hello, Bono.”
He stares. The shades are finally off, and I see he’s in the process of getting dressed.
“Who are-“
“You know who I am,” I say. “I could tell.” I sit down in his chair, exhausted from running.
Bono makes no move, but his eyes slowly shift. It’s dawning on him again. “Angel of Holland?”
“That’s me,” I say. “Pleased to see you again.”
He moves. He rubs his hands over his eyes, and takes a step forward. “I… haven’t seen you in so long…”
“Been a while since 1993,” I say.
“Was it really that short of a time?”
“Only three years.”
Seeing as I’ve taken the only chair in the room, Bono leans back against the wall. “I knew it was you as soon as I saw your dancing during I Will Follow.” I assume this isn’t a compliment, and say nothing, forcing Bono to continue the conversation.
“Well… what are you doing here?”
I shrug. “I wanted to greet an old friend.”
Bono doesn’t buy that. He moves forward, leaning into my face. “Tell me, Marieke… what are you doing here?”
I swallow at hearing him say my name. “I don’t know, Bono. To be honest, I really don’t know.”
Bono laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’ve changed a lot… You’ve just changed so much…”
“Of course I did,” I state. “I grew up.”
Bono sizes me up. “Damn right you did.” I cross my arms, frowning.
“Now what have I done?”
“Everything,” I hiss.
It’s taken me a while, but finally I’ve gotten my old anger at this man worked up again. Thinking back on it, I realize that he really has done everything to me.
Suddenly another knock sounds at the door, accompanied by a voice- “Bono? You still in there?” Bono and I glance at each other, and he turns his head and calls back, “Wait a sec.” Bono crosses the room in a few short strides and kneels at my feet.
“You’re not still…”
I glower at him.
“Wait.” He looks towards the door, and back at me. “Here, come to my room. I’ll give you my keys… We can…” He swallows and doesn’t finish the sentence, instead rooting around in his pockets. I stare at him, making sure I’m not misinterpreting his words like last time.
The knock sounds again, and Bono curses. “Where are those damn keys…” He finally comes up with them, and offers them to me. “Don’t worry, Marieke. This time will be different, I promise.” So he does mean what I think he means…
“Stop!” I cry, pushing the keys away from me. Bono stares unfathomably at me for a few seconds, and in one fluid motion gets to his feet and opens the door a crack, just enough to see the person outside, but not enough for them to see me.
“Hey mate, can you cancel whatever I have planned after this? I… don’t feel up to it right now.”
“You sure? You looked great onstage…”
“Well, I don’t feel great,” Bono growls. “I’ll just stay here at the stadium. Have someone stay to pick me up later, okay?”
The man mumbles an affirmative and Bono closes the door, turning all his attention and body back to me. “Now tell me, why don’t you want to come to my room?”
I blink, suddenly unable to say anything. It’s hard to confess this now, when I’ve been almost denying it myself. But Bono has to know…
“I’m… with child.”
His blue eyes- blue eyes! How could I have forgotten?- remain unchanged for a millisecond, but quickly widen and liquefy. He sucks in a breath.
“Who did you give your body to?” Smoldering anger lashes out from his tongue. Why is Bono so opposed?
“It’s not like that,” I try to assure him. Not this time… though Heaven knows how many times it has been like that…“We consented. This is something we wanted.”
Bono can’t seem to get over his shock. He gazes upwards, until his eyes flicker back onto me. “Is the father… anyone I know?”
I sigh, reading his mind. “It’s not Jack Stuart. You wouldn’t know him. He’s from Rotterdam.”
Jack Stuart… the one man I expected not to get involved with, ever. Of course, I’d broken that vow. He may not be the father of my unborn child, but we hadn’t been completely innocent during my first visit to his house after the Zoo TV Tour ended. Maybe his recent breakup had inspired such behavior. Whatever the reason, I can definitely say now that I’ve had romantic relations with every man I’ve grown close to besides my father. Including my now-husband.
Including this man.
“Was he here with you tonight? I didn’t see anyone…”
“No,” I say. “But you did meet my friend Lina. You danced with her.”
“I was aiming for you…”
I don’t respond. Now that we’ve gotten that altercation out of the way, it’s time for my anger.
I stand up, startling Bono. “You don’t know what’s gone on in my life since 1993! You have no idea what tribulations I’ve been through… You don’t know what it’s like to be so poor you have to prostitute yourself to make money, just to survive! You don’t know how it feels to know you’re responsible for a friend’s suicide… You don’t know the pain of losing a parent.”
At that, Bono winces.
“…Actually, I do…”
And I remember. How stupid of me to say that, when I’ve just been reminded about Bono’s mother through Mofo and I Will Follow…
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I forgot.”
“That’s okay.” He stares at me. “You know, when I asked you to come to my room, I meant so we can talk.”
“Oh…” How foolish of me to think otherwise! Bono, though he is a flirt, remains to be a married man. Never mind what happened between us last time… It was a fluke, a one-time thing.
“Which parent did you lose?” Bono asks in a low voice.
I look away from him. “Same one you lost.” I’d known it was only a matter of time, and yet I still feel somehow responsible.
Bono is silent for a few seconds, and then- “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you, but I had nothing to do with any of it. I know how it feels to lose someone in your life- really, I do. But how can you blame me for that?”
“You don’t know,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “You don’t know…”
Suddenly his tone changes. “You really had to do that to yourself? You put yourself through…” He’s seemingly too disgusted to finish. I hate it when people get that way about it. Maybe I should just stop telling people what I used to do for a living…
“It was the only way I could think of to make money,” I say. “I got a good deal out of it too. My pimp was so nice I decided to marry him.”
“No…” Bono whispers, almost noiselessly.
I nod my head. “Lina used to work for him, but she passed him off to me. He got her pregnant too…”
“Stop.” Bono is shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
I fall silent and place my hand on my stomach, unthinkingly.
“You did that to me, you know.” The accusation had to come out.
“What do you mean? How did I have anything to do with that?!”
“You just did,” I say. “I quit my job to stay with you on the Zoo TV Tour… Lina quit her job because she got so depressed without me… When I came back, I had so little money… You gave me the taste of sex… You made me hungry for it…”
“Oh God.” Bono briefly covers his face. “Marieke, no… it was your decision. I’m sorry…”
“If you hadn’t fired Eric Vandom from Zoo TV, he might still be alive!” I shout suddenly. Bono lifts his head to gaze at me, almost devoutly. I wish he’d stop that…
“Eric Vandom?... oh, yes. I haven’t heard anything like that,” Bono says. “But I didn’t fire him, Marieke. He made the decision. He realized he couldn’t stay on tour…”
No matter what my friends have tried to tell me over the years, I still believe somewhere inside myself that I was the reason Eric killed himself. I still remember very clearly the way I had shouted at him… his tears, the words he had groaned- “Great God, Marieke, you’ve broken me. I can’t DO this anymore!” If only my letter had arrived on time… Shoving the blame on Bono seemed to be the only thing I could do. If he hadn’t left the tour, maybe his broken heart would have healed.
But now that Bono is telling me that Eric left on his own accord, I am speechless. This means that he killed himself because of me, all along…
“So many people have been hurt because of me,” I whisper, half to myself. “I killed Eric…”
Bono makes a move as if he wants to put his arms around me, but he stops at the last moment. “You did no such thing, love. No one knows what goes on in the mind of a suicidal man.”
I shudder when he calls me love. I don’t want to be called love. “Bono, you’re not making it any better.”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Tell me… why did you come here if all you wanted to do was complain to me about things neither you nor I can change?”
Oh, he thinks he’s gotten me pinned to a corner. Well, truthfully I don’t know. Maybe there’s something inside me that still thinks that Bono is the perfect person, that he can fix all wrongs. I know now rationally that this is not true. Bono is not perfect and he can’t fix what’s already been broken. The illusion is shattered.
I walk over to him. “Bono. I have to go now.” My mind wishes that he would show a sign of caring. But instead of protesting, Bono says, “Then get out of here. You’re not supposed to be backstage anyway.”
I start to turn away and Bono grabs me by the arm. He pulls me into his body and we share a bittersweet kiss. It could have happened, his lips seem to say. We could have had it all. But both of us have changed. Bono has embraced fun to the farthest limits, building an entire supermarket around himself every night, while I have quit fun cold turkey and learned the meaning of life. I’ve taught myself to support others who are not me.
We break apart for the very last time, and Bono sighs. “I wish, Angel…”
“Don’t,” I say. “Please don’t wish that.”
His eyes flash. “I wasn’t going to say that! I was going to say, I just wish I hadn’t picked up on your emotions beforehand. All the way back during Zoo TV. I wish I’d realized sooner what was going on.”
Oftentimes I’ve wished the same, but there’s no going back now. Through these past three years I’ve grown to despise the man I once loved more than life. Now things are just confused. I know Bono will never take an interest in me again, and I don’t care if he does or not.
As I open the door, I say, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Who?”
“Just follow me.”
Bono does. We walk back out into the stadium where crewmen are dismantling the stage set. A lone figure stands out in the pit, arguing with security guards. I jump down from the stage and wave to her. “Lina!”
My friend rushes towards me. “Marieke, you scared me…”
Bono is hulking behind us, unsure of what to say. I motion him forward.
“This is Bono,” I say. “He’s an old acquaintance, if you will.”
My friend looks starstruck. “Oh my God… oh my God…”
Bono shakes my friend’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lina.”
She stares dazzled after him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead!”
“Can you take me to meet Edge?”
As they depart together, I turn around. My friend will come out of the meeting as a new person, and I will be in the parking lot to take care of her. A small hole begins to fill in me despite myself. After years of longing to have it out with Bono, I’ve at last gotten my wish- but things didn’t turn out quite the way I’ve wanted them to. The baby moves inside me, and I imagine he is dreaming.
“Shhh,” I calm my stomach. I don’t expect the delivery to be hard- after all, he is Herman’s son, who is probably the calmest person I know. We need each other…
He wasn’t even fazed when I turned up unexpectedly on his doorstep, holding my ballooning belly. His was the only place in Rotterdam I could think of to go- my best friend hates children, and would not have helped in my delivery. I remember how collected he was, how he brought me a glass of water once the ordeal was over and checked for me- “It’s a girl.”
I hope that girl knows her father was in town tonight. I know I can never allow them to meet, but she must respect his legacy. And now there’s a new baby growing within me, a boy this time, born out of a strange, more sanitary love. I never would have expected to fall in love with Herman, but then again, I wouldn’t have expected to bear Bono’s child either.
My friend appears in the parking lot, looking excited, and she runs over to me and hugs me. We drive away from the first man I ever believed I loved.
No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden.
