I’m being selfish. As much as that painting haunts me, it was done for Jensen. Maybe there is something in there that can help him move forward. “Arlene, do you know what the vision meant?”
Arlene speaks directly to Jensen. “The ground represents the paths we walk every day. Some patches bring us happiness, others blight. Sometimes you have to walk through the bad to get to the good.”
He nods while giving a little smirk. I hope I can keep his smile building. “What about those stars?” I ask. “Why are the center ones so bright? Is it his future?”
Arlene’s demeanor goes through an odd transformation. She sets down her glass with care and blinks slowly once, then again. It’s how I might look if I were pondering the meaning of life. “Dad said, Jensen will have two sources of light that are heaven sent. The first he would stumble across, and that would be the one to ground him. It would then return to the center of the sky so spirits could be released to their full potentials. Though he is never to seek them out, he is always to be open and to accept them for what they bring into his world.”
“Sounds like Lizetta and Etta to me,” Jensen says.
Yes! This makes so much sense! The Tower was Etta on the side of the road. Jensen stumbled across her, and she became the grounding force that led him to me. Simple.
But if the grounding force returns to the sky, doesn’t that mean death? That sounds really bad for Etta. Maybe we should have brought her with us.
What am I thinking? She’s safe as can be with Griffin, and her health is improving everyday.
I reach for a cookie when a centipede crawls up my spine. There is no bug, but that doesn’t stop me from scratching. The night Jensen told me about his past, he said that I ground him. Then it was a beautiful thing to hear. Now the memory freaks me out. If I am the one who grounds him, who is the other woman? In my dream she claims glory, meaning Jensen and I are doomed.
Nah! Etta is both the first woman and The Tower. It’s simple.
Yeah, if it’s so simple, why did a pang just grip through my gut? And why is Arlene shifting in her seat? “Did your father say anything else?” I ask.
Her brow scrunches. “Come to think of it, he had me do something odd with the ground. Then he rattled on about how it held the key to the prophecy.”
“Prophecy?” That word is freaking the living monkey poo out of me. “Your dad didn’t say when all this might happen, did he?”
“Umm … Not that I remember. I wanted to write it down, but he said that since he saw it in a vision, only the vision should remain.” Arlene cocks her head, then shakes it. I feel like she is dismissing a thought. Suddenly her hand smacks the arm of her chair. “I just thought of another funny story! One morning, Dad turned back Eddie’s clock by an hour. Once he was ready for school, Eddie realized what time it really was and went back to bed. Then Dad reset everything to the exact position it had been in before Eddie woke. When the alarm went off again, Dad convinced him that he dreamt getting up. Dad would have gotten away with it too, if Eddie hadn’t shaved the first time around.”
Jensen laughs at the memory, and I do my best to play along. “Jimmy would freak if I did that to him!” Ugh! Why can’t she give me something concrete? The cards were right. I’m going to die, but it will be because all this stressing out will cause a brain hemorrhage.
I finally get a bite of a Rocky Road cookie. It’s flavorless to me. In my mind, that just reinforces there is something very, very wrong.
It’s dark as sin as I leave the house. If Jensen’s home, I’m gonna hang out there—again—and see if I can catch her.
My heels remind me of a pounding hammer as I head for the car. I miss the click of stilettos. The heels on these boots I found at the thrift store are clunky, but at least they are tall and way better than combat boots. Now I feel less like a dork.
The streetlights around here suck. I can’t see shit as I fumble through my keys while on the approach to my car. The toes of my right foot step on something thick and soft, and my ankle twists out. Shit! My left foot trips over the heel of my right. I throw my arms out, but my right elbow smacks the pavement. Fuck, that hurts!
Massaging my throbbing ankle does nothing to ease the pain. I catch sight of what tripped me and scamper up. “Holy shit!” It’s some furry, dead thing. Gah! Is that a rat?
I put my weight on my left foot, and then kick the thing with my right. Fucking shit that hurt! The thing sails into the light.
I hobble over and look down at the stuffed pig that has likely sprained my ankle. How the fuck am I going to drive over there now? Crap, I need a drink!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tuesday, July 4
Larry has his ass firmly planted on the sofa while watching Attack of The Killer Tomatoes, smoking weed, and drinking Jack. I wish there were another way to get what he’s got. A respectable job, another source—anything so that I don’t have to beg him for the fix I don’t need. Thankfully, it only took a few days for my ankle to heal; else I’d really be in a state.
I only allow myself to use that stuff on the weekend. Even though it is a Tuesday, it’s a holiday and some people took yesterday off. That makes today part of a long weekend.
Larry doesn’t even look at me when I step up to him. His eyes stay on the TV as he hands me the goods. I reach out, and he yanks it back. “Talk to Jensen recently?”
“No. He’s made it clear that he’s finished with both of us, so I’m done.” I am so not done. I just want to do this my way, because Larry’s way sucks.
He tucks my fix under his butt. “Yes, you are.”
Shit. I’ve got nothing. No fix. No money. Not even a leaf of weed or a shot of booze.
He fakes a sigh of pity. “Well, I suppose there is another way.”
Now I get eye contact, just before his eyes go to his zipper. “Oh, hell no!” Related or not, the guy is vile. I’m not touching that rod of syphilis for anything.
He shrugs it off with a laugh. “Maybe you should pay your ex a visit then. You get him back, the band gets to sign on the dotted line, the money rolls in, and you get a modest salary as backstage manager. Simple. Else …”
His eyes go back to his zipper. Gross! “What the hell am I supposed to do that I haven’t already done?”
He looks to his pants again.
“I’ve already tried that with him. How about you let me come up with a real plan?”
Larry shrugs and unzips his pants. I make for the door, and I swear to God, I still hear his laughter as I drive off.
I don’t know what makes me more of an idiot—wanting a fix, considering succumbing to Larry for it, or watching the outside of my ex-boyfriend’s apartment while trying to get the courage to exit the car. I still have no idea what type of car his girlfriend drives, but the only car I see here is Jensen’s monstrosity. That thing is the sickest color Satan ever puked up.
This is so not going to work. Why am I even bothering with this lame attempt?
Because Larry has what I want. There. I admitted it. Big whoop! If this fails, then I’ll go back to my plan to become besties with whatever piece of trampitude Jensen is banging.
I make for the stairs. What do I say? “If you don’t come back to the band so they can sign that contract, if the record company still gives a crap after all this time, I’ll keep being used like a blow-up doll by your former friends?” Better yet, how about the truth. “Dammit, Jensen, I loved you. Your leaving turned me into a mess. That little experiment we did with heroin is now a lifestyle for me. Please help, because without you I may not make it.”
Now I’m on to something. I started earning his trust last time. I’ll stick with the truth, because now that he has seen that I can be on his side, maybe he will believe me when I tell him that I need his help.
I don’t need his help. I need Larry’s.
Fuck, I need Jensen’s help.
Shit, when am I going to accept that I just plain need help?
I’m about to hit the first stair when the
door opens. Jensen steps out with that mutt of his.
Etta and I plan to go for a quick bathroom walk before heading off to Lizetta’s for what Paul called a family barbecue—just him, Lizetta, Jimmy, Judy, and me. Naturally, I’m to bring Etta, because, as Paul said, “Lizzie would roast us both if you don’t. Besides, I think she sees it as a celebration now that Etta’s all healed up.”
Once I cross the threshold, a woman in what can hardly be called a mini-skirt and long sleeved T-shirt with half of if ripped away to show her skeleton heads up the steps. Ah, shit! Laura. But long sleeves? Ten bucks says she’s gotten so sloppy about her habit that she shooting into her arms now.
Etta gets sent back inside, even though I really want to ask her to sink her teeth into Laura’s throat. Thing is, I’m so embarrassed by this girl that I don’t even want Etta to know I talked to her.
Laura glances up at me, and every bit of joy inside me shatters on the ground. God help her, she looks used and discarded. My gut twists at her sight, but because her shallow eyes and weathered skin scream heroin, I can’t let her near me. “Stop. Stop right there.”
She halts, and those empty eyes lock into mine. I take one step down, and then two more, then stop. I’m two steps away from taking her into my arms and begging her to stop using. I want her to move in with me so I can watch over her. I want to become her savior. But none of that can happen, because if I get near this girl, I will compromise myself, and I will lose every gain I’ve spent months making.
Why is it that everything always comes down to me being selfish? I quit using for selfish reasons, I freaked out over Eddie while talking to Lizetta because it could have been me who was killed, and now this. Being selfish now may be justified, but it still breaks my heart. “Whatever it is you came for, the answer is no.” I don’t even give myself the option of thinking further about it before heading back inside and locking the door. My new family can wait until my old hell is long gone before I leave this apartment—which is again, selfish.
Goodbye, Laura. My heart bleeds for you, but I can’t tell you that, or I’ll crumble.
The door shuts behind him. It’s not the respectful click of last time, nor is it the quiet walking away of when he left. It’s a slam—a loud, punctuating slam. It happened without a hello or a how are you. We were two steps away from each other when he turned his back on me, again.
I take two steps forward and whimper out the plea I should have made before he shut the door. “Help me. Please. I can’t find the strength to stop abusing myself.”
Jensen has left me no choice but to take those two steps back, and then several more while accepting that I may soon fall. He could not have made it any clearer. We’re done—for good.
Tears burn my eyes so hard that I can barely see the road. With nowhere to go, I sit in my car outside of the place I used to call home. It’s now hell, and it’s the last place I want to be.
I want to be safe at home.
Home isn’t safe.
I slip off to the liquor store and abuse the tab Larry has for when he sends me on runs. I park in a shaded spot a block from my house, crawl into the backseat, and wait for seemingly endless hours in the summer heat. My hand goes to the door, and then retracts. Again I try to sleep. How much time will pass before I start to cave again? An hour? Five minutes? I unlock the door, and then lock it again. I drink more before trying to sleep off what my brain is screaming for me to do. He was kidding, right? He would just give it to me. I wouldn’t have to …
Why should he be different? I have to do it with everyone else.
Again I go to open the door. Could I really do it? It’s just a blowjob. It wouldn’t be the first time I closed my eyes and dreamt I was elsewhere.
I chug, and then try to sleep again.
I keep playing the game until I pass out. When I wake, it’s no longer the weekend, and I have three more days to find a new trick with Larry so that I can load up again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday, July 8
It is dusk. This field is the same place that I always go when I need to think, only this time the grass looks more like streaks than blades. I must be dreaming about Mom’s painting that now sits in my living room. “This is a part of you, Jensen. It belongs in your home.”
The deep blue sky is partially obscured by clouds. I catch a glimpse of golden hair as a figure dashes past and into the distance.
Lizetta!
I'm on my feet and running towards her, yet she is already out of view. The sun begins to set. As the sky grows dark, its texture changes from a three-dimensional eternity to a wall of brushstrokes. Stars pop into the night sky, as if being dabbed on.
Did I imagine Lizetta? My body quakes at the thought of even a moment where she isn’t real.
The sky loses its brushstrokes and becomes clear again. Footsteps race up from behind, and I turn in hopes of greeting my love—but it’s not her.
Laura has always made my brain hazy, and in my dream, it’s no different. The closer she gets, the more my heart races. It must be fear of what she represents, but as her lips approach mine, I can't help but cave.
“No!” my brain screams. “You cannot succumb, no matter how much you love her.” Bliss consumes me. My bones melt, and I collapse. Laura looks down, and with her building smile, crackling erupts from her skull. Rubble falls, and a needle rises out of her brain. Golden light beams from her eyes and engulfs me. A silver tail trails behind as I sail upward, but my body turns gray and shatters when it drops to the ground. Medusa has reduced me to stone.
Laura runs into the distance. Her arms are open to the world while she twirls like a kite and is raised high into the wind. I'm yanked up and pulled behind her, destined for the stars.
The sensation of being pulled jerks me awake while gasping for air. Etta goes up on all fours with her ears up while fully alert and sensing threat. There may actually be one, because when I look down, a part of me is standing up and saying hello. “Don't even think about it. There is no way you are entering that Pandora's box again. We’ve got it way too good now.”
The sheet becomes a towel for my perspiration before I roll to a cooler spot. The red glow of the alarm clock tells me that it is three thirty in the morning. Fear still runs through me. I need to hear Lizetta’s voice and know that she is not an apparition, but it’s far too early to call.
That’s crazy. This love thing is constantly proving it’s deeper than I think.
My body sinks back into the bed. I’ll focus on something else. The field was peaceful. I’ll put myself back there.
My mind lays me down in a sea of green and wildflowers. I imagine drifting away …
I spring alert. My brain told me that I love Laura.
No, that can’t be right. That has to be caused by the guilt of telling her to go away without letting her get a word in.
But in my mind, I kissed her. My body reacted.
She also turned into a syringe and injected me with bliss.
It must have been a warning. That’s all. And guilt. I feel guilty for pushing her away again, but I had to do it for self-preservation. Still …
I settle into the bed, then get edgy and toss over, then do it again. I look down at the reason. “I don’t know what got you started, but you are on your own.”
Still, he won’t let me sleep.
Self-embitterment groans out as I head for the living room. Etta stays behind. Smart dog. I don’t even want to be around me right now.
With my trusty axe in hand, I whip through some Stones and some Zep to loosen up, and then zip through some of my favorite, self-written gems. They sound pretty good.
Now that I’m back among the sane, I pull out my latest endeavor, a song for Lizetta. I’m so close, but I can’t get it to work. The melody is a mess—but it’s not. The chord progression is wrong—but it’s not. I need help—serious, freaking help.
Five hours later, I place a call and pray I can make magic happen.
How loudly Be
rtha’s door slammed when I arrived at Lizetta’s reflected a lot of things. One of them is how pissed I still am with myself for what happened with Larry over a month ago. Forgiveness for my stupidity is not an option. What did I hope to accomplish that was so important that it was worth risking everything for? After that dream last night, I think I know, and it is not cool.
Another reason for my edginess lies in approaching Jimmy. He actually stammered when I called and asked if he wanted to hang out and play today. Shoot, his voice even cracked, reminding me of a pubescent boy, when he said, “Sure!” I’ve got to tread lightly with my intentions. He deserves that.
The way my brain is flying reminds me of being on coke. That's the level of agitation I'm trying to conceal. I don’t want Jimmy to know that I am looking for someone to be Lennon to my Harrison and get his hopes up. Not only is he the brother of the woman I'm realizing I need like air, but I refuse to return to being a selfish bastard with a devil-may-care-so-screw-you attitude.
It’s amazing how much space is in this barn when the Bel Air is out. The more time I spend here—surrounded by the tools of the gearhead trade, memorabilia from old gas stations, and a sofa that looks like putting it in a dumpster would show it mercy—the more I wonder what is in store for Lizetta and me. Will I have a life like Paul’s? Surrounded by nice things and the need for a man cave such as this haven? I'm surprisingly cool with that. In fact, after the hellhole I lived in with the band, “domestic tranquility” has a beautiful ring to it.
Jimmy and I give harmonizing on “Rain” a shot. We sound surprisingly listenable. So far, I’ve only suggested playing Beatles’ songs because they are such church-worthy deities around here that if we played “Good Morning”, the chickens and dogs in the backyard would probably chime in at the right spots. Jimmy deserves every advantage possible during this stealth audition.
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