Liam's Journey

by Heidi McLaughlin

  He looks at me and smiles. “Come on, it’s time for that tattoo.”

  “Harrison,” a very large man greets Harrison when we walk into the parlor. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Things are looking up Zeke. I’m going on tour with my buddy here and he’s an ink virgin, let’s change that.”

  Zeke sizes me up and I feel about two feet tall. In fact, I feel like the incredible shrinking woman, only in male form.

  “Come on back, we’ll get started.”

  Harrison pushes me forward to get my feet moving. Suddenly, I’m a ball of nerves. I just performed in front of thousands of people and didn’t have an issue, but now that someone is going to going draw on me permanently, I’m freaking out.

  “Have a seat,” Zeke says as he sits on his stool. “What do you want?”

  “I…” I shake my head. “I don’t know. I want one, but not sure how to decide.”

  Zeke snaps the plastic glove onto his hand, making me jump. He laughs. It’s clear that he’s enjoying my agitated and nervous state.

  “What’s close to your heart?”

  “My girl,” I admit without much thought. I glance at Harrison who looks at me questioningly. I’ll have to tell him about her now and he’ll probably wonder what other secrets I’ve been holding on to.

  “What’s her name?” Zeke asks, without looking at me. I break eye contact with Harrison to look at Zeke who is hunched over a table with a pencil in his hand.

  “Her name is Jojo.”

  He nods and starts writing or scribbling. I can’t tell. I’m glued to the chair I’m in, afraid to move. I look around at all the artwork on the walls and wonder if Zeke drew these or if they’re tattoos that people came in for.

  “Who’s Jojo?” Harrison asks, breaking my avoidance tactic.

  “My girl back home. Or she was my girl. I left her to come out here.”

  “Is she why you want to go home after a year?”

  I nod and look away. I don’t think I’m going to cry, but when it comes to her, you never know.

  “It’s good to have someone waiting,” is all he says. He’s wrong though. She’s not waiting. When I say I left her, I left her. She’s not sitting in her room writing me love letters or waiting for me to call her at the end of the night. She’s moving on, or at least I hope she is. In my mind she’s planning a future without me. She’s finding a new love, one that will treat her right and not disappear on her. She doesn’t need me to fill her thoughts or dreams any longer.

  Zeke shows me the drawing and my heart breaks all over again. The words I uttered to her replay in my mind. I sit up and pull my t-shirt off and show him where I want the tattoo. He smiles like he gets it and places the transfer paper onto my skin.

  “Harrison’s told me about you and I have a feeling you’re as private as he is. If I was you, I’d never take my shirt off after this or your girl will become famous.”

  His words strike a chord with me and I make a mental note to always stay dressed when I’m on stage. I know other artists like to walk around with their chest showing, but I don’t need to do that. Not now that her name is a part of me forever.

  She crawls over my body with her mouth teasing me. Her long dark hair creates a veil, shielding her face from me. My hand brushes her hair aside, cupping the back of her head. My fingers guide her up my torso as her lips blaze a path on my skin. Her blue eyes shimmer in the morning sun. I beg her with my eyes to please put me out of my misery.

  “Josie,” I whisper as our lips meet. “God, I’ve missed you,” I tell her as I bring my hips up to meet hers. She peppers my face with feather light kisses, pulling me to the edge. I can’t hold her in my hands long enough to quench the thirst I feel for her.

  “Liam, don’t leave me,” she purrs in my ears. Her words break me, shatter my heart. Why does she think I’d ever leave her? Doesn’t she know she owns me? “I love this,” she says against my skin, her tongue reaching out to trace her name. The name I had inked so I’d never forget her. “Do you love me Liam?”

  “More than my own life,” I reply as I place my hands on her leg, pulling them away so she’s straddling me. I need her. I need to feel her wrapped around me. “Marry me,” I murmur against her mouth. This is not the type of proposal I wanted for us, but the words are out of my mouth before I know it.

  “Yes,” she replies as I plunge into her and she bites down on my lip. Her back arches as I move my hips. I hold her to me, afraid that if I let go, she’ll disappear. I just got her back. I can’t let her leave me.

  “Oh Liam,” she moans as her hands push against my chest. I try to hold her, but she’s moving away.

  “Stay. I want you to stay.”

  “I can’t.”

  A loud crash startles me. I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. They’re damp as if I’ve been crying. I know I have, but I can’t admit that, at least not out loud. This dream or nightmare was disturbingly vivid. I can still feel her lips on my tattoo. I touch my scarred skin and wonder why my mind works the way it does.

  I throw back the cover and groan at the sight of my erection, a wet dream nightmare – wonderful – sign me up for the next case study in Dream Studies 101 I’m surely a top candidate. I throw on some sweats even and pad my way into the kitchen. Grandma should be awake by now.

  “Gram?” I call out, but receive no response. The coffee pot is on so I know she’s awake. I walk into the living room and stop dead in my tracks.

  “Grandma?” I say my voice barely above a whisper. She’s lying on the ground with her coffee cup shattered next to her. She’s the loud crash that woke me from my dream.

  “Grandma!” I yell this time as I kneel next to her. I shake her slightly at first then more firmly, but she doesn’t come around. “Holy fuck, Grandma, wake up, you’re scaring me.” I shake her some more, but there’s nothing. I feel for a pulse, trying to recall what I learned in health class, but can find nothing. I put my head on her chest and wait for the rise and fall of her breathing. Nothing.

  I reach for the phone and dial 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “My grandma fell, I think, and I can’t find a pulse and I don’t know if she’s breathing.”

  “Okay, what’s your address?”

  I recite the address and listen to the lady on the other end guide me through CPR. Why didn’t I pay attention in class when this was taught? I breathe into her mouth and start chest compressions, counting out the required times that is needed before breathing for her again, losing track of time as I repeat the process.

  “Grandma, come on. You can’t leave me,” I cry out. In the background I hear sirens, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I need her. “Grandma,” I yell as I push on her chest, one-one thousand, two-one thousand. I’m lifted off the ground and away from her only to be replaced by someone in blue.

  “What’s her name?”

  I stare at him while his lips move, but I can’t hear him.

  “What’s her name, son?”

  “B-b-betty.” I clear my throat. “Betty Addison.”

  Realization stretches across his face. He knows who she is and I don’t know if that makes him move faster or what, but he’s yelling out instructions and people are moving around her at lightning speed.

  He rips the top of her nightgown open, exposing her breasts and I have to turn away. I don’t need to see my grandma like this. It’s taking every ounce of self-control that I have to not pummel him to pieces, but I know he’s trying to help her. I hear “clear” and turn my head in time to see him place paddles on her chest. Her bodies convulses before slamming back down onto the floor. I look at the monitor that the paddles are hooked up to and see a flat line. I’m not a doctor, but even I know that a flat line isn’t good.

  “Clear,” he says again and it’s the same. He does it again and again, nothing changes.

  “Call it,” I hear someone in the background say. What does that mean?

  “Time of death,
10:31 a.m.”

  “Wh-what? I stammer.

  “I’m sorry, son.” The man in blue says as he stands. Someone walks behind him and places a sheet over my grandma, blocking her from my sight.

  My eyes begin to water as this man steps in front of me. His hand rests on my shoulder, but I’m looking past him. I’m afraid to take my eyes off of her. They roll her onto a board and place her onto a stretcher.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “We need to take her to the morgue.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t –”

  “Is there someone you need to call?”

  I look at him as if he’s an alien. Who would I call and why? I grab my hair and step away from him. I’m gasping for air. Something is pressing down on my chest making it impossible for me to breathe.

  “I have no one,” I repeat, over and over again. The man in blue puts his arm around me and directs me out of the room. He takes me outside and sits down with me on the bench.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, son.”

  I hate that he keeps calling me his son.

  “You’ll need to come down to the morgue and fill out some paperwork so they can release her body to you for burial. Here’s the address.”

  He sets a card in my hand and leaves. The blue and red lights are spinning, but no siren. I suppose that’s not needed any longer since the emergency is over.

  “Hi, I’m here on behalf of Betty Addison.” Sam’s voice carries down the empty corridor. I don’t remember how I got here, or even calling her, but here she is. And here I am sitting in a hard plastic chair with the smell of formaldehyde invading my airways.

  “Your name?” the lady behind the desk has an annoying, nasally voice that makes me what to gouge my eyes out.

  “Sam Moreno. I’m Mr. Page’s manager. His grandmother was brought in and I’m here to make arrangements for her body.”

  The clerk presses keys on the keyboard, each one more jarring than the next.

  “Her name?”

  “Betty Addison,” Sam repeats while handing the clerk a piece of paper. “Please sign this.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Your standard non-disclosure agreement, which I’m sure you’ve signed in the past. Mr. Page would like to keep his grandmother’s passing out of the press until such time he’s ready to make a statement.”

  “But she’s famous.”

  “Of course she is, this is Hollywood, isn’t it? Please sign it.”

  “You know I don’t have to,” the clerk responds with a snotty tone. I watch as Sam nods and pulls out her phone. “Barry, how are you? Great, listen I’m at the morgue and need a lawsuit drawn up against the Los Angeles Country Morgue. Oh you know, the norm, leaking the deceased names before we can get a press release out –”

  “I’ll sign it,” the lady huffs and Sam closes her phone.

  Sam takes the paper from her and stuffs it into a folder. “Please be so kind to remind the pathologist that he has a standing order with the county and that Mr. Page isn’t afraid to sue.”

  The clerk nods and hands a file to Sam. She walks over to me. She sits down and places her hand on my leg. The gesture, I find, is calming.

  “I’m sorry, Liam. I know how much she means to you.” It doesn’t escape my notice that she talks about my grandma in the present tense, as if she hasn’t left me yet.

  “I don’t know what happened. I heard something and it woke me up and I found her on the floor. I tried to bring her back but I couldn’t.” My voice breaks and I collapse into Sam’s arms. She holds me while I sob, soaking her jacket with my tears. She rubs my back, but not the same way my grandma would. Sam is almost detached and I forget that she works for me. She’s not here to comfort me, only here to make sure shit doesn’t go wrong. I pull away and shield my eyes from her. I can’t afford to be weak in front of her ever again.

  Sam pulls a file out of her briefcase and flips through it. “It says cause of death is a brain aneurysm, Liam. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done to save her. The crash you heard was likely her falling which is in line with the bruising she sustained.”

  “She didn’t tell me she was sick.”

  “She wasn’t, these things just happen.”

  Death just happens. Just like that, she’s gone and I’m alone again. I have nothing with her gone.

  “I’ll take care of everything. I know you don’t want to think about the future, but it’s like a flashing beacon in your face. You leave for your tour tomorrow, but need to get her affairs in order. I’ve already contacted her lawyer, she left everything to you. You just have to decide what you want to do with it all, but you can wait until you come back.”

  I shake my head. This is too much to handle. “I can’t go back there.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll send someone over to pack your clothes and you can stay at Harrison’s tonight.”

  I shake my head. I can’t do this without her support. She’s the reason I’m where I’m at today.

  “I can’t go on tour.”

  Sam sighs next to me. “Listen, Liam, I spent all of yesterday with your grandmother. She’s so proud of you. She wanted to be in the front row while you performed instead of being back stage – that tells me something about a person. She’s a remarkable woman and she’d want you to go out on tour and live your dream. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I understand what you’re going through because I’ve never lost someone close to me before. I understand the importance of family and that’s what I’m here for. I can’t take the place of your grandma, but I can help you live out her memory and I can be your friend.

  “She wouldn’t want you passing up your dreams like this. You can hold her in your heart when you can’t hold her in your hands, Liam. I’m not trying to pressure you, but I’ve seen this before with my father’s clients. Everyone has their own way of working out how they cope with grief. I’m just asking you not to let down Harrison and Way with your decision.”

  I think more about Harrison than I do Way. He’s been around the block before and he’s just along for the ride, but Harrison’s a different story. For years he’s been nothing but the house band drummer that helps people develop their sound. I helped make this happen for him. Once again, I’m letting someone down with my decision. Seems like no matter what I do, that’s always how things are going to be. If I bail this time, I’m letting myself down too.

  “I’ll go, but I can’t go back to the house, not now, not ever. Sell it or donate it, I don’t care.”

  “And what about her belongings?”

  “Put it in a storage unit, I guess, until I can find a place to live.”

  Sam nods and has her phone out before she’s out of her seat. She’s all business and for that I’m thankful.

  There isn’t a playbook or a call sheet that prepares for what life is like on a tour bus. There’s no one on the sidelines yelling calls out to you and there’s no one to pick you up if you fall down. When you see reports of an artist entering rehab and the cause is exhaustion – they’re not lying. Rehab is the only place where people can’t bug you twenty-four seven and you can sleep. Believe me, I’ve thought about it.

  I haven’t fallen, but I feel like it sometimes.

  Sam is a Godsend. If it wasn’t for her we wouldn’t have clean clothes, food on the bus or even know which way we’re heading. Disorientation is my sixth sense. I’m always disoriented. Is it night or day? Am I north or south? It doesn’t matter because Sam is there to make sure I’m where I need to be, when I need to be.

  Life on a tour bus, not gonna lie, it sucks. Yes we have all modern day amenities, but the constant movement is jarring. The first three days, I was sicker than a dog and thankful we were only performing five songs because anything more and I would’ve hurled onto the fans. ‘There, take that for standing in the front row with your barely there tank top on’.

  Sam, Harrison and Way have been like a family to me. We’ve been on the road for a month now and des
pite the fact that I had reservations, I’m happy I didn’t give up on this and that they didn’t give up on me. I could’ve turned into a has been before I was even a been. What a joke that would’ve made me.

  I miss my grandmother though and I don’t think that feeling is going to go away, not as long as I’m Liam Page. She’s so much a part of me, a part of who I am and who I’m becoming, that I can’t let go. The sleepless nights and writer’s block, I blame on her. I try to channel her thoughts into my lyrics and just when I think I have her lifeless body flashes before my eyes and I’m back to square one again.

  I finish the last verse and hold the note longer than usual. The crowd erupts and as much as I want, an encore isn’t happening. It’s not allowed. There’s another act after us and the stage has to be set up for them. We rush off and the roadies start to break down our set. Sam meets us in our dressing room with bottles of water and fresh fruit. She’s not very strict about any underage drinking on my part, she reminds me daily that she’s not my mother. But she does protect me and for that I’m grateful. She’s kept me away from a few sticky situations and her intuition is usually spot on.

  “There’s an after party tonight that we need to attend.”

  Harrison and Way both roll their eyes. Way is likely not to attend, but Harrison and I will because we want to stay in the good graces of Blaze.

  “I thought we could go to dinner first,” Sam says, as she hands us clean clothes. She starts to leave but turns back. “We’re almost done guys and let me just say, it’s been worth it. I think you’ll like the new contract that Moreno has drawn up and if you don’t, we can market elsewhere.” She shuts the door, leaving us to change.

  “Did she say new contract?” Harrison asks, as he slips a new shirt on.

  “Yeah, could it be we’re already done with our first one already?” I shrug because I can’t remember what we signed. I know Sam is our manager for at least three years. “I’ll ask her at dinner.”