Если я останусь

           Hewasalwayssurroundedbyfunky,livelypeople,bycutegirlswithdyedhairandpiercings,byaloofguyswhoperkedupwhenAdamrock-talkedwiththem.Icouldn’tdothegroupiething.AndIdidn’tknowhowtorock-talkatall.ItwasalanguageIshould’veunderstood,beingbothamusicianandDad’sdaughter,butIdidn’t.ItwaslikehowMandarinspeakerscansortofunderstandCantonesebutnotreally,eventhoughnon-ChinesepeopleassumeallChinesecancommunicatewithoneanother,eventhoughMandarinandCantoneseareactuallydifferent.

           IdreadedgoingtoshowswithAdam.Itwasn’tthatIwasjealous.OrthatIwasn’tintohiskindofmusic.Ilovedtowatchhimplay.Whenhewasonstage,itwasliketheguitarwasafifthlimb,anaturalextensionofhisbody.Andwhenhecameoffstageafterward,hewouldbesweatybutitwassuchacleansweatthatpartofmewastemptedtolickthesideofhisface,likeitwasalollipop.Ididn’t,though.

           Oncethefanswoulddescend,I’dskitterofftothesidelines.Adamwouldtrytodrawmeback,towrapanarmaroundmywaist,butI’ddisentanglemyselfandheadbacktotheshadows.

           "Don’tyoulikemeanymore?"Adamchidedmeafteroneshow.Hewaskidding,butIcouldhearthehurtbehindtheoffhandquestion.

           "Idon’tknowifIshouldkeepcomingtoyourshows,"Isaid.

           "Whynot?"heasked.Thistimehedidn’ttrytodisguisethehurt.

           "IfeellikeIkeepyoufrombaskinginitall.Idon’twantyoutohavetoworryaboutme."