by J. P. Grider
“In any event,” he droned on, “Catherine was so engorged with guilt and anger that she’d averted the blame toward you. Over time, she said, she’d even started to believe it. Her only comfort was that you seemed as miserable as she was. But when you’d started to resurface, she couldn’t handle it. She needed to take you down. She wanted you to feel as bad as she felt.”
I wiped my brow. “So she burned down my house?”
“She went crazy, Mr. Holland. And, by the way, she claims you’ve seen your…” he cleared his throat, “mistress, recently?”
“Um, you mean the one from seven years ago?” Yes. That’s who he’d meant. “Yeah. I ran into her in the city some time ago. Why?”
“Evidently, Catherine hired the woman to taunt you. But the woman claimed that Catherine was getting a little too obsessed, so she backed off and gave her back her money.”
This. Was. My. Life.
***
The brisk wind woke me from my musings. Abruptly, I sat up. I needed to run, yet had nowhere to go. My blood was racing so vigorously through my veins that it felt like even it wanted out of my body. I was devastated by the news of late, yet nothing comparatively close, to the torment going on in my heart caused by Mara.
What was her real reason for not wanting to marry me? Was she still hopelessly in love with Brad that she couldn’t betray him by committing herself completely to me? Or could she really not trust me? Was she wondering why I hadn’t been in to see her lately? Did she even care?
My interrogating thoughts never did take long to spiral downward, plummeting me into a deep abyss. My heart was hollow without Mara’s love and I was drowning in my own self-pity. I either had to talk to Mara to win her back or risk standing in quick sand again, unable to claw my way back out this time.
What I knew to be the right thing to do and what I’d actually do were two totally different actions. When the going got tough, the weak took off running straight in the opposite direction. Mara was right. Running is what I did best. I’d become too dependant on Mara’s affection and if she was right and I needed to find out what made me tick, then I needed to do it alone, but I was afraid to confront her about it. Scared of losing her forever. What if I ventured away from her for a while and she found she was easily content without me? Ineffectively avoiding her would give me the same unwanted result, but running away was what I did. It was what I knew and I was good at it. I’d disappeared for more than seven years; I could do it again.
In the end, that is what I did. I had shunned Mara. She’d recovered from her burns well enough to leave the hospital and I wasn’t there to see her through it. I failed her, once again. She had always wanted only the best for me, while my selfish, commiserating psyche delivered her my worst.
My mom and dad attempted to get me to talk to her, but I had declined, seeking martyrdom instead of paradise. My mom tried to show compassion, but Auggie had had enough. His son was a lost cause and I was an embarrassment to him. “No self-respecting adult acts this way, Taggart.” He had told me two days ago. “You’re not fit to be a man and I don’t see how you are going to pull off entertaining fifty thousand people two days from now.”
I wasn’t fit to be a man. Such encouraging words from such an endearing father. No wonder I’d turned out such a mess; confidence building was not my father’s strong suit, and I certainly wasn’t trying to construct my own self-esteem.
But I was making an effort to entertain a bunch of middle-aged fans so that they could revisit a time when their lives were not so encumbered. I was no different from my followers. We had all reached a time in our lives that came way too fast. Some were where they’d wanted to be; some were where they’d expect they would be; some resigned to a life they never really asked for and some, like me, were still searching for that all-important call to a more principled existence.
There was a part of me that would enjoy singing up on stage tonight. I was good at it and I knew it. Some would say that my life did have purpose; I was providing enjoyment to a mass amount of people through my music. As my idol, Bono so brilliantly stated, “It’s such an extraordinary thing, music. It is how we speak to God finally- or how we don’t. Even if we’re ignoring God. It’s the language of the spirit. If you believe that we contain within our skin and bones a spirit that might last longer than your time breathing in and out – if there is a spirit, music is the thing that wakes it up…and it seems to be how we communicate on another level.” And Like Bono, I wanted to give back with my gift of music. I wanted to pay back the people who counted on me to entertain them. Feeding their souls and awakening their spirits was just one way I could do that. And though I knew that was a valid purpose, deep in my bones I could feel, there was another reason for my being here on this earth. Another reason I was handed so freely, this beautiful passion for music.
****
Mara’s Letter to Bradley
December 30, 2010
Dear Brad,
Life has been rough lately. I haven’t written in a while. I’d been in the hospital. Tagg’s house caught fire, with me in it. Each day I am feeling better and better, though.
I am sorry I haven’t written in a while. Writing to you was a way of keeping you in my life. And that was good, at the time. But, I think it’s hindering me from moving on. Having you still be a part of my life is allowing me to hang on to the hurt and pain of losing you. I hadn’t realized this, but I need to let go of the pain in order to love again. It is a burden really, because my fear of losing Tagg, like I lost you, resulted in me losing Tagg anyway.
I need to end my correspondence, so that I am truly free to love Tagg. I need him back. I want him back. I know he doesn’t come without his faults, but aren’t we all at fault of something?
I loved you Bradley and I’d missed you terribly. But it’s time to close this chapter of my life and start a new one… with Tagg, if he will still have me.
Rest in peace, Brad. And know you were loved.
Love, Me
Chapter Thirty-Five
The limousine picked us up at the Teaneck Marriott at Glenpointe where Holland would stay after the concert. We all met in the afternoon to de-stress and ready ourselves for our New Year’s Eve reunion concert. I had plugged the white buds into my ears so I wouldn’t have to converse with anyone. And to be alone with my ever-changing, always-chaotic, obsessive thoughts. My head was back against the seat, eyes closed, when Sister Hazel’s song, Look to the Children appeared on the playlist. I hadn’t even remembered having possession of that song, but I kept it on. “And I wonder now, how a man gets so far down, where’s the pride and the glory, where’s the pot of gold and I…I look to the children.” Wow. Speaking of waking up souls. I don’t think I’d ever heard that song, but it was meant to be played on my Ipod today. Though, Sister Hazel’s lyrics weren’t meant to be interpreted as literally as I would construe them, they sparked a flicker of an idea that awakened a kindling in my sleeping soul. I sat up, breathing in an air so fresh that I was reborn. The flicker grew into a flame that ignited a conception so brilliant that I was no longer clinging to life and trying to survive. I was keenly alive and ardent with the willingness to bring my vision to life. I knew what I had to do and I would do it. With one song, I was given an idea – God chose to speak to me through the unlikely source of Sister Hazel, but He spoke to me nonetheless. And I would answer His call.
It was time. Holland was ready to reunite in concert. The band took to their spots on the darkened stage and I took mine on the platform that would raise me up to stage level, in front of tens of thousands of fans all in search of their faded youth. As the intro to our first number one hit, She’s My Only, began to crescendo, the platform slowly elevated me, from the floor beneath, onto the stage. I felt the knots twisting and wreaking havoc in my stomach already. But, the crowd went crazy. Holland’s magic reappeared effortlessly and immediately as if no time had passed since our last public performance. The sudden flow of cheers and chants sent chills thr
ough me, cooling and calming the nerves that could hinder my performance. I was ready now. The lyrics came out in my fluid vocals as I was transported back in time to 1992. It was utterly amazing. And, what made it even more transcendent was that when I looked into the boundless audience, Mara was sitting in the front row. Her eyes as wild for me as when she was fourteen years old. All of a sudden I could see that little girl out there in the audience, fifteen years ago. And, although it was much more than a decade ago, and she was so young, a part of me knew then; she was who I would fall in love with – Forever.
I needed to make things right with Mara. I needed to beg and plead and once again seek forgiveness for my never-ending mistakes. I was human and I was bound to make more, but I was certain that Mara loved me in spite of those mistakes. Maybe she wasn’t ready to marry me, but she never wanted to leave me. She only wanted to be able to trust me. And I believe she wanted me to be able to trust myself. In my quest to find the real Taggart Holland, I had mistakenly believed it was all or nothing. Black or white. But the shades of gray in between were part of the journey. I needed Mara along side of me on that journey. And at the risk of making yet another mistake, I believed she needed me.
Up here on stage, I almost felt invincible. If I could hone this fire burning inside my blazing blood, I could get Mara back, I was sure of it. At this moment, while my words cascaded melodically into the microphone, my thoughts of Mara were streaming from my mind and into my body. I could hear the pleading of my heart pouring out through my voice. The calls of my songs were crying out to Mara, the lyrics saying one thing, my soul begging, ‘take me back, Mara,’ ‘forgive me,’ ‘love me,’ ‘trust me,’ ‘Mara, I need you… right now.’
I knew the fans had recognized the sudden surge of raw emotion coming from me, because their cheers were louder, their yells sprightly and their shouts overflowing with encouragement, rooting me on and feeding my birr.
From the lowest section of my being, somewhere deep in my gut, I felt a change coming.
And it was going to be good.
The adrenaline was pumping vigorously through my blood, in tune with the rhythm of the drums’ beat pulsing beneath my feet. I had unleashed an animal inside of me and though part of it was due to being back up on stage, I knew its real origin. My audience could think it was their acclaim and they’d be right, to some extent. Applause and ovations and outbursts of cheers were exhilaratingly renewing. Music’s magical ability to turn back time and unbind us from our responsibilities, or bring us closer to truths, was its gift to the human spirit. And I was glad to have the talent to offer that gift. Though doing so on a concert stage, in front of thousands, was rewarding, I knew of a more fulfilling portal to uncover the wonders of music. And I needed Mara to help me do it.
Holland’s mix of yesterday’s hits and today’s songs of wisdom and life’s aches was a perfect blend of light and heavy. Reacquainting youth’s innocence with maturity’s sagacity. And tonight, it all came together in one unbelievably, spellbinding concert.
We counted down to the New Year and finished our set with the now familiar tune of Mara’s Song. It had been released early, like I’d intended, to help aid burn victims and their families. Tonight I introduced it as a special arrangement I had written for someone who had figuratively, and maybe literally, saved my life. Asking for her forgiveness in advance for possibly embarrassing her, I referred to the muse for Mara’s Song as the beautiful angel sitting in the front row. I could not sing the song without peering into my lifesaver’s milk chocolate eyes, so I did just that. And now the audience knew why I wasn’t gazing at the crowd. Singing my heartfelt declaration to Mara, after everything I had put her through, was almost impossible to do. The lump forming in my throat was impeding my performance and the tears stinging my eyes were contributing to a more bittersweet encore than I’d intended, but flawed or not, the crowd had appreciated Holland’s return… and so had I.
***
Back stage was not the usual debauchery Holland was once known for. We’d realized after the party at my house that we were far too old for all-night partying and we’d have to relinquish that particular pastime to the young bands just starting out. No, our back stage consisted of getting our belongings together and getting the hell out of there. We were tired and we needed to sleep.
In the limo on the way back to the Glenpointe, I phoned Mara. The phone rang four times before it stopped. I was prepared to leave her a message, but it wasn’t voicemail that I reached. It was Mara. My heart took a leap and my stomach twisted into a knot. “Hello?” Mara said for the second time. “Tagg? Are you alright?”
Oh how the sound of her voice captivated my heart. “Mara. I’m fine. Happy New Year. I, uh, know we have a lot to talk about, I’m…by the way, you’re not driving are you?”
“No, no, you’re dad is.”
“You’re with my Dad?”
“And you’re mom. They’re dropping me at my mom’s on their way home.”
“Whose home?” I was getting way off course here.
“You’re mom’s home. You’re dad is staying there tonight. Tagg, you were awesome tonight. Really awesome.”
Oh Mara. How I longed to hold you again. I closed my eyes to picture her perfect face. “Thank you, Mara. I didn’t realize you drove in with my parents, I guess, who else would you have gone with, right?”
“Tagg, you didn’t call me to talk about your parents. What’s going on?”
My chest clenched. “We need to talk and I need to beg you to forgive me for being such an ass, but I’d like to do it in person. Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Well, it is New Year’s Day. I’m having dinner at my mom’s. You’re welcome to come if you’d like.”
She was inviting me to dinner? I’d purposely kept my distance from her, because my pride had been bruised and she was cheerfully requesting my presence for New Year’s dinner. She was always so amazingly forgiving.
“You know what Mara, you enjoy dinner with your mom, but would you mind if we met later on in the day?”
“Sure. I’ll probably be home by seven. Does that work?”
“Yes. I’ll be at your house by then.”
“Goodnight Tagg, and good job tonight.”
“Goodnight Mara.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
New Year’s morning I woke up more refreshed than I had in a long time. There was finally purpose on my horizon. After showering, I gathered my stuff together, bought myself a cup of coffee down in the lobby and readied myself for my hour long drive home.
In the car, the radio’s DJ was recounting Holland’s sensational comeback, thanking us for our glorious and dignified return to the rock and roll world. He described our new music as retro, combining nostalgic tunes with the raw honesty of the new millennia. At least this DJs opinion was a good one. I’d hate to hear we made the effort only to fall flat on our faces.
I turned the radio off; I’d heard enough and I really didn’t need the accolades. I had more important business to take care of. And a whole lot of planning.
Before heading home, I decided to drive to Green Pond. I knew Mass was usually celebrated on New Year’s Day, so I thought I’d pay a visit to the down-to-earth, Father Tony. I entered the church a few minutes after Mass began, so I quietly slid into the last pew so I wouldn’t disturb the rest of the congregation. Mass at Saint Simon’s was always a pleasant experience. There was a closeness between its parishioners that resembled a tight-knit family. Father Tony’s homily didn’t relate so much to the gospel, about Jesus being born of a woman, but rather of the clichéd ‘New Year, New You’ subject. But for me, this was substantial, because for so long, I had been living through the motions of a life. At some points, I hadn’t even done that. The new Tagg wouldn’t do that anymore. Taggart Holland, whose soul finally came to life, had had an epiphany and he had finally figured out what he wanted to do when he grew up.
The new year held new beginnings and I hoped Mara would begin this new life with m
e. In whatever capacity she would have me.
With relish, I motored down Green Pond Road excited to begin my new purposeful existence, but unsure of how to go about implementing it. While kneeling in church, I prayed for a sign to help guide me. Of course needing a hammer to fall on my head, I should have expected that sign to be a literal one. About a mile down Green Pond Road, the sign I needed appeared on the side of the road. In the form of a FOR SALE sign. Craigmeur Recreation Complex was being sold by the County of Morris.
Immediately, my thoughts began to process. I made a quick U-turn and pulled up along the apron of Craigmeur’s entryway. I got out of my car and stood along the railing that overlooked a vast amount of mountainous space. There were wooden canopies covering picnic tables and quaint log cabins outlining the open fields. Large, enclosed gazebos stood along the precipice, inviting inspiration. Craigmeur Recreation Complex would be the perfect location for my new livelihood.
I jumped back into my car, eager for Monday to come so I could make phone calls and preparations. Until then, I had a love life to fix. Without the love of my life. My driving force. My mainspring. I would not have the vivacity to carry out my calling.
At seven o’clock that Saturday night, I was pulled into Mara’s driveway before she was. I didn’t wait in my Audi. I was standing along the edge of her property, earnestly waiting for her to arrive. I felt like a dog waiting for its master to return. I’m sure to the horses that grazed the land across the street, I’d looked like one too. In my defense, though, I hadn’t been this happy in a very long time and I was hoping Mara would welcome me with open and forgiving arms.
At ten after seven, her little white Beetle was growing larger as it drove toward me on the country road. I watched her smile as she turned into the drive and I ran up to follow the car in. I was beside her door before she even turned the car off. I opened it for her and practically lifted her from her seat, so I could give her a great, big, bear hug. I picked her up and brought her over to the trunk of my car. Her legs hugged my waist as we embraced. I pulled back slightly to look directly into her soul through those Hershey Kiss eyes of hers. “Mara. I am so, so sorry that I let my pride stand in the way again. I was never very good at rejection and I did the only thing I really knew. I ran…But I’m done running, Mara. I’ll go to AA. I promise I’ll stop drinking. I know my drinking gets in the way. It’s just how I cope. I’ll stop.” I was rambling, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to get this out. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to marry me and if you won’t ever be, than I’ll just have to deal with our relationship the way it is. I don’t want to live without you, Mara, but I don’t want you to think that I can’t." I ran my hand through my hair. I was nervous and excited at the same time. "I know you worry about me being too dependent on you for happiness. I don’t think that’s true. I think I found what would make me happy." I paused a second. "A purpose for being put here on earth. But, Mara. You are part of that purpose." I was practically on my knees now. "Yes, I could live without you, but I wouldn’t want to. My life would be incomplete. There would always be a missing link if you weren’t a part of my life, Mara. I don’t want to be missing a piece of who I am. Complete me, Mara…please.”
