Jimmy’s singing is a little sharp. It could be the nerves that have his words speeding out, or he could be feeding off of my anxiety. Instead of pointing it out by encouraging him to relax, I goof it a bit so I have an excuse to correct us both. While we don’t nail it like The Fab Gods would, it’s close enough for today. Fresh air seems to breeze in as I see that this arrangement might work.
We get a little more daring. Our rendition of “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey” sounds halfway decent—that is, until Jimmy tries to mirror me doing Harrison’s licks. It sucks—like big time. He can’t keep up the pace, but that is fine because I just need a rhythm guy. He can easily handle that.
Jimmy is insistent that he gives it another shot. He takes a seat on the sofa, grabs determination, and dives in. As much as I respect that, his second time sucks too. He still has no idea what is going on, yet he tries again, like he wants to impress me—and he is. It’s unfortunate that it hasn’t helped his playing. It’s also making it hard for me to finish relaxing. He then gets this crazy air about him where he kicks his dweeby self in the ass and mans up. It sucks considerably less. This kid knows how to earn respect.
The fourth time, he stands, grabs a stance, and nails the riff! Like, dead freaking on! Then he nails it again, and again. We start getting creative, and soon we’ve re-arranged the saints known as The Beatles. We’re so good at changing it up together that I’m half afraid Judy’s going to run out here with a knife and off me for blasphemy.
I’m going for the impossible. If I can find someone to compose with, I’ll be golden. I don't know which is getting me more riled, not being able to finish a song or how it drove me to re-expose myself to Larry’s world. The memory of that stupidity makes me tense to the point where my face gets stern, and I roll my neck and shoulders. Now that he’s come into his own, Jimmy sees through me and puts down the guitar. “Hey, man, you okay?” He’s got that suspicious, sideways look he and Paul get when they want the straight truth and don’t you dare give them a line of baloney. What I fear he really means is, what are you on?
Not cool.
I try to play it casual by leaning against the workbench. “Do me a favor. Put the guitar back on and try something for me.” Jimmy cocks his head. I can’t avoid the question for long, but he nods, telling me that he’ll see where this is going. There is that second chance thing rearing its head. “Listen to this.” I slip him a few bars of the song I've been working on. It's the first love song that I’ve ever written.
Huh. Maybe it’s not me that’s the problem. Maybe it's the building realization that my feelings are out of control. Being in love is one thing, but the intensity at which I am feeling it is another.
When I reach the place that keeps stumping me, my head rattles. “I can't put a finish on it. I’m missing a critical puzzle piece.” I scrub my scalp in frustration. It reminds me of a junky itching for a fix. The truth is, I don't want a simple finish because a song that represents feelings like I have for Lizetta requires something special.
Jimmy's tension over playing with me has stepped aside so that a greater concern for my health can waltz in. That’s bad. I’m not cranked out; I’m just lost. I try to emphasize how serious I am by giving him the bars one more time, and then shoot a look requesting help that I hope doesn’t make me look like a scared little girl. Seriously, I need to get past this hurdle.
He strums a few cords like he’s just trying to appease me enough so that we can talk about whatever the real problem is and—
Holy, God! What did he pull that tune out of?
He starts to remove the guitar strap.
“No. Play that again.” He re-shoots me the notes with a scrunched face that screams he is doing it so we can move on to talking. It sounds like angels guided his fingers. “That's perfect!” And it really is. Now that the kid’s head is in a different space, he’s golden. That’s what I need. I’m a different person now. Everything needs to be approached differently. Music is no exception.
“All right, Jensen, you better level with me, because something weird is going on with you.”
I set my axe down and look straight at him. If I'm going to expose myself, I'm doing it fully. “I’ve come to understand that one of the reasons why I was always wasted was because I couldn't find balance. After watching my brother die, I threw myself into a band of junkies instead of getting the emotional support I needed. When I walked away from them, I put myself at zero. Then I met Lizetta. She helped my emotions balance, but that did nothing to bring back the other half of my soul that had been torched out. Do you realize what you just did?” He shifts his eyes like he’s afraid to find out. I’m surprised my excitement hasn’t clued him in. “You went on instinct and nailed something I've struggled with for weeks.”
His eyes go from stern and concerned to wide. He gets it. A smile creeps across Jimmy's face, and I can swear the kid is starting to blush. I feel like an idolized God, and it's damn cool. It also makes me choose my words carefully. There is no need to go into the part about really attempting to compose together yet. Even though we may be onto something, once I come down from the stress-induced high, I may ask myself what the hell I was thinking. “We have the potential to work well together. Do you want to start up a band?”
Jimmy's face goes from red to white. He jets out his chin like he’s sizing me up. “You're serious. Like, you're really serious.”
“Yeah, I am.” I take a seat on the sofa, that longs to send springs up my butt, because I want to really talk to the guy, like true friends. “You should know something else. I'm just as serious about Lizetta.” As soon as the words come out the pressure in my veins releases, and my brain says, “Ahh ...” It’s really going to suck if Jimmy says no.
He's not going to say no.
Then again, he hasn't said yes.
His steps toward the sofa are hesitant. Slowly he sits, implying he is uncertain about pretty much everything right now. “You really think I'm good enough to play in a band? With you?”
I shrug. “Why not? You were able to pick up the pieces on that song, and you only partially suck at singing.” I give him the typical nudge that shows I am joking.
“Yeah, I'm totally stuck on rhythm guitar, aren’t I?”
“Oh, hell yes! There's no way you're touching lead with this wizard around.”
His features go deadpanned. “Can I at least name the band?”
This kid is killing me. “Oh yeah, sure. We’ll be known as Jimmy and The Frickin’ Rainbows! That'll bring in the chicks.”
He leans back and crosses his arms, still playing with me. “Hey, you just told me my sister has you whipped, which, by the way, has been blindingly obvious for months, so you can forget about other chicks. And while we are on the subject, I would not exactly be heartbroken if she moved. I’ve been dying to get my hands on her room.”
My smile gets so big I must look like a cartoon cat that found some lasagna to scarf. I don't think the song my heart is beating out can get much happier, but then Jimmy proves me wrong. “Yeah, man. You’re on.” And with a firm handshake, we put the finish on it.
Now it is time to take on the really scary battle of the day. I hoped that working with Jimmy would get my mind off of last night but …
Why would I have a dream about Laura that makes me wake with a hard on? Not being able to find Lizetta was about as scary as Laura turning into a huge needle. Still, why would I wake in a way that—
No. I can’t possibly still want Laura.
I look down to my zipper.
Can I?
My head slams back against Bertha’s headrest, bringing Laura’s house into view. If I wanted to see Laura, I’d be knocking on the door or have parked in the driveway where the roar of Bertha’s engine could command attention. Instead, I’m halfway down the street, tucked between two cars. Laura would have to come outside to see me.
Please come outside.
No! Don’t! Stay inside, or away, or whereve
r the hell you are. Don’t see me!
My hand is on the key and about to turn over the ignition when I stop and drop it to my lap. No running. I’m going to face this. I face four beers in my fridge each day to remind me that I am stronger than they are. I’ve earned the right to have a good life and am embracing that, so I can certainly face this last hurdle. There is a hold on me here, and I need to escape it.
I kissed Laura in my dream last night. I kissed her, and it felt amazing. It was bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss—just like heroin.
A needle came out of her head, and I died. Even just a moment with her can take away every gain I’ve gotten—the perfect woman, my mom back, a second family, and a new partner. So why am I here, risking it all?
Because I don’t want to admit what I still want.
The last time I saw that garage, I pulled my stuff from there and bailed without looking back—or so I’ve told myself.
Though Bertha was packed to her headliner, she felt empty. That is, until the corner of my eye caught the passenger seat. Then my heart jumped forward in an attempt to escape my chest.
In the seat sat an amp and a bunch of cables, yet the way it was loaded reminded me of a person. “Laura,” I whispered.
The guilt of abandoning her on the floor like a heap of laundry pulsed through me. Pain came to my forehead from it meeting the steering wheel, and out poured the tears. Laura had once been such a natural beauty. The day we met, she stole my breath, despite the fact that my brain yelled that she was bad news. It’s been nearly two years, and my head still screams it, yet I remember how her eyes shined like shooting stars that I wanted to catch. To this day, even with all of the ugliness she has shown, that is how I picture her.
I pulled out of the driveway, about to go back for her, but as soon as I started to turn the wheel, I jerked it in the opposite direction. The movement was so swift that I’m still not sure that I was the force that moved it.
Laura, I’m sorry. You are a star in your own right, but my guilt for leaving you behind has to end. It’s not you I’m hot for; it’s for another taste from that needle you stuck in my arm. That stuff is so bad that sometimes once is all it takes to get you panting for more. I hate you for what you did, but I also love you. I’ll stop lying to myself about that, but loving you does not make you the woman for me. I never told you how I felt because I knew we’d end either by my leaving or my dying. If there ever was any hope for us, you killed it when you stuck that needle in my arm.
I thought I had come full circle when I made amends with Mom, but I was wrong. Now is when I finish facing everything. My declaration is stated out loud, because I want to absorb every bit of this moment as deeply as possible. “Goodbye, Laura. Most of all, goodbye, heroin. I won’t let the urge to try you again ever sway me into nightmares, or let it draw me back here. I am stronger than you, and you will never be capable of giving me the happiness that I have given myself.”
Bertha and I make our escape. We’re rounding the corner when I hear The Beatles playing “Blackbird”, Lizetta’s ring tone. Her timing drives home what I already know; my future is calling. I’ve finished leaving behind the crap and am flying into the light of the life I have earned. I hit the speaker button and tell Lizetta I’m driving towards my angel. I’ll hang out in the lobby of Good Samaritan for hours if it means catching a glimpse of her.
Happiness radiates from me. I am on the right road.
My foot depresses the pedal and—and—
Nothing.
Bertha stalls. Just like that. Bam! She stalls on me. White smoke blankets my view from the rear view mirror. Yeah, nothing will stop Lizetta and I, except maybe a blown gasket a few blocks away from Laura’s house. Roadside assistance better come fast and get us out of here. How would I even begin to explain this if I ran into one of the wasteoids that float in and out of that house?
This is the problem with trusting the universe. Sometimes you can’t be sure if you are getting a mixed message, or if you are just the victim of bad luck.
Screw this madness! I’m taking matters into my own hands.
Bertha’s door gets slammed after I step out. That was dumb. I need that open.
I yank the door so hard that I’m surprised that I don’t dislocate my shoulder. Then I grab the wheel with my right hand, place my left on her frame, and push.
The strain is heavy on the first step, then a little less on the second. No one ever said being on the right road was easy, but four steps in, I have Bertha going at a tolerable pace.
Bertha gets light. I look behind me, expecting to see someone helping, but I’m as alone on this journey as ever.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Saturday, July 15
The near demise of Bertha has made Jensen’s week stressful. If he hasn’t been working or studying, he’s been under her hood with Paul. I’ve missed our dates, but staying with Jensen every night, taking him to work each morning, and cooking for him while he studies, have turned us into a team. Now that Bertha’s repairs are finished, I dread the perfection of this week coming to an end.
The sound of the shower stops and is followed by the whoosh and splash of a filling tub. I grab a glass of orange juice and head down the hall. He may not even want it, but bringing Jensen juice is a great excuse to hang out with him while he’s naked.
As he lounges, not a single sud covers his perfect-to-me body. In my eyes, his toned yet not over-built torso, and flat abs that lack a six-pack, make him look like a real man. The scruff from skipping a day of shaving nearly has me purring. To complete the picture of perfection, the faintest amount of steam curls around him. He’s beautiful.
“Did you come to join me?” he asks.
Not long ago, I would have said that it doesn’t take a physics major to compare the size of that tub to the glories that are me and conclude that Jensen’s idea is a terrible one. While the thought still crosses my mind, my inner voice smacks it down. All I really want to do is love him, and that is more important than self-doubt or the few extra pounds I carry.
Yes, a few. Not a ton, or a hundred—a few, and those are diminishing because I am taking better care of myself—and because Jensen always steals my fries.
I crouch down and hand him the glass. He spins to sit in the center, grabs my face, and gives me a luscious kiss before taking a swig. His eyes glide down and he craves a hefty helping of dessert. “Come on. Join me.”
As enticing as the bad boy gleam is, all I want is a moment to enjoy the peace he brings to my soul.
Warm water drips onto my knees as he takes my hands. “Come on.” He winks, and instead of my hormones going haywire like they normally do, I feel grounded. “Nah, I'm too busy sitting here, loving you.”
His playful smile leads way to eyes filled with warmth. As much as the naked body before me is amazing, it’s the love that Jensen gives me that makes him the picture of perfection.
Seriously, God, why did you choose to make me so lucky? So many people struggle to earn redemption and never feel they accomplish it. I simply surrender my life to the ways of the universe and get rewarded many times over.
Truthfully, the surrender wasn’t that simple—not by a long shot—but man, was it worth it.
The water swishes as I set the glass on the edge of the tub and replace it with her hands. The pang of love swirls up and locks in my throat, causing me to try to swallow it down. “How is it that any time any other girl has even remotely hinted at love I have freaked out, yet you say something like that and all I want to do is curl you in my arms and surrender everything?” I love this woman so much that my eyes actually start to show it with moisture. “Maybe it is because with you I know that surrendering my heart doesn’t mean surrendering who I am.”
But I do want to surrender, not just to her, but also to us. Etta comes bopping in and completes the picture. This is what I tried to convince myself I had before with people who were bad influences. Now it is real, and each day that Lizetta spends here drives home that this is
what is meant to be.
Not long ago, I watched a man die. He was a man with dreams—a man who had let the amazing moments he could have had slip away, only for them to be replaced with actions that led to his downfall. I was almost that man, and because I am not, I need to do what is in my heart. I’m serious about her, and I know she feels the same. Spending this last week with her has been nothing short of perfection. Jimmy is right; it’s time she moved in. But how do I ask? I don’t want to just spit it out. It should be something special. Maybe I should just let my heart talk. So far, every time I have put faith in a higher source to guide me, it has led to happiness. Surely this will be no different.
“Lizetta, only you can take a mundane moment and turn it into something so beautiful that it alters how I see my life. Times that people strive to have come so easily to us because we stop and smell the roses. Will you marry me and spend the rest of our days finding joy when it is most fleeting? Please say yes, and build a garden of wonder with me.”
Holy … What did I just say?
I need to retract that, pronto! It’s too soon!
My mouth springs open so I can back peddle. I won’t be able to save face, so I need to suck it up and …
And look at that beautiful face. Look at those green orbs of heaven that are filling like pools at the top of a waterfall in a Greek temple. They steal the breath I need to form words, and I realize that while I was thinking something else, what I said was exactly what I meant.
This moment right here, this is what life is about.
Did he just …?
From the time we are little girls, every woman dreams of the one who will sweep her off her feet with words of love in an opulent setting. Only Jensen could touch my heart in such a way that would turn a bathroom into a palace.
Lights flash as I blink away the tears filling my eyes. Jensen has left me dumbfounded.
Something To Dream On Page 13
