Long Way Gone (26 page)

My body turned blue and pale, the light left my eyes, and the crimson trail stopped pouring out my mouth. He held me there several minutes. Finally he walked out of the water and laid my lifeless body on the ground in the lush grass, where Daley cradled me. Pulled me to her chest. Trying to rock me back to this world.

But she could not.

Long way gone.

Behind me, I could hear sirens and see flashing red and white lights.

To my right, Blondie appeared. He was lined up in a perfect row with all the others. Stretched out as far as the eye could see. He'd changed his clothes. He was wearing white, barefoot, his hair was swaying, he was sweating. I heard the faint, fading echo of music. Like the last note of a measure. Blondie looked as if he'd just finished one dance move and was waiting on the music to start for the next. Off to one side stood a bunch of folks holding musical instruments. Most I'd never seen. Dad had a guitar around his neck. Oddly, it had ten strings. Next to him was a vacant spot. I was about to step into the spot next to Dad when Blondie held up his hand and waved a single index finger. “Not yet.”

I looked down at me, at Daley, at Big-Big, at the chaos and frantic
movements, but all I heard was the most beautiful singing coming from the voices around Blondie. I pointed down at me. “But I'm dead.”

“You were dead.” He paused. The book he'd been reading in the back row of the audience he now held in his hand. It was a black notebook. Like mine. He'd scribbled some words on the inside. His handwriting was the most beautiful I'd ever seen. He tucked it between my belt and back and then reached inside me and took something out. Something dark and painful. Then he squared up to me, pressed his lips to mine, and exhaled. The breath filled me. Warmed me. He said, “Now you're alive.”

At that second the world of light that I'd been standing in became dark, and I felt cold like I'd never known. Except my lips. Which felt warm. Moist. And they tasted salty. That only meant one thing.

Daley's tears.

And somewhere in that darkness, I heard the whisper of my father.

For obvious reasons, the opening of my eyes caused a bit of a ruckus. Paramedics appeared a few minutes later, placed an oxygen mask on my face, inserted a needle in my arm, and started asking me questions I couldn't answer then and can't answer now. I'll tell you the same thing I told them: I was doornail dead. Looking down on myself. No pulse. No nothing. Then in a blink, I felt grass beneath me, felt cold, and tasted salt. Then I started getting warmer and turned from blue to a better shade of red. I don't understand that. One second I was gone. The next second I was not. I have no words for that. I do know this—somewhere between here and there, whatever had been broken in me was made no longer broken, and however it happened, I didn't cause it and I didn't deserve it. I'm not certain about a whole lot, but I know two things without a doubt: I'm alive and I didn't fix me.

As I was riding in the back of the ambulance, with Daley's arms wrapped around me, Blondie appeared. He sat next to the paramedic
who was squeezing the IV bag to force fluids into my system faster. It was the first time I heard a softness in Blondie's voice. He said, “You don't have to understand this. But you do have to live.”

I woke in front of the fire in my cabin. Wrapped in a sleeping bag with Daley intertwined around me like a vine. I could not have extracted myself if I'd wanted to. Big-Big sat on the couch. One leg crossed over the other. He was sipping coffee, waiting on me. When my eyes focused, he stood, ran his fingers along the inside of his suspenders, and then looked down at me as he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, which he then folded and refolded.

“Look here, you little squirt, I told your daddy I'd look after you.” He set down his coffee cup and turned toward the door. Palm down, he sliced his hand sideways through the air. “I'm done.” He stood staring out across a cloudless blue sky. “No mo'. I'm getting too old to be caring for you. It's time we start doing this t'other way 'round.”

“What way is that?”

He laughed. “The way where I don't go in the river no mo'. Nothing but a crazy man go in that thing. It's too cold. You'll catch the pneumonia.”

He pulled open the door and looked at Daley. “Three o'clock?”

She smiled and pointed at the porch. “We'll be here.”

Big-Big shut the door and I heard his truck engine fade off down the mountain. I asked, “Three o'clock?”

Daley nodded matter-of-factly. “And not a nanosecond later.”

She snuggled closer, which I hadn't thought possible moments before. “What's happening at three?” I asked, though I had a feeling I knew the answer.

She closed her eyes, pressed her ear against my heart, and tapped her finger on my chest. “The beginning of you and me.”

I
t was Sunday evening and a Christmas Eve snow feathered the street, muting the excited voices and giving an amber reflection to the flickering gaslights. I'd asked Frank to be in charge of parking cars. Tanned from the islands, he'd gladly agreed.

The town was quiet and shut down save the Ptarmigan Theatre, which was packed to overflowing. We'd brought in a few dozen extra chairs, but they had filled quickly. Those without a seat stood along the sides or in the back two and three deep. Mary sat up front. Wrapped in a blanket and a new Mellie that Daley had bought her. Her new BFF. She was beaming. Big-Big sat with one leg crossed over the other. Content and full of life.

Daley and I were recording our second album in a free concert. A live acoustic version of both old and new. Our producer, a midthirties sound genius named Andy, had brought in the best engineers from Nashville and LA to capture what he called the “exquisite acoustics” of the old stone walls. Given the success of our first album,
Live at the Falls
, anticipation was high. At five minutes to seven, the orchestra was seated and tuning. The choir stood backstage awaiting their entrance, swaying in purple velvet robes that would have made my dad smile. Andy wanted to create an environment as much as a sound, so in the days prior he had installed a lot of indirect lighting, giving the room a warm, firelit feel.

Daley sat on the stage talking quietly with folks in the audience.
Answering questions. She loved this
part. I
, on the other hand, was looking for someone who didn't want to be found. But I had an idea where he might be.

I pulled up my collar to shield me from the cold and walked out the fire exit into the alley behind the theatre. My no-show had built a fire in the fire pit and stood warming himself against the single digits. Over the last year, when we'd finished our lessons, we'd do this. Standing by the fire had become our thing. The place where my heart poured into his. And his into mine. Snowflakes hung in his black hair. He heard me coming but didn't look. I stood next to him warming my hands. “Hey, big guy. How you doing?”

Jubal shook his head once and didn't take his eyes off the flames.

I'd been where he was. No need to rush him. They'd wait for us. When he looked up at me, I said, “You scared?”

He nodded. The confident and verbal kid I'd met at his grandfather's graveside and the kid I'd gotten to know over the last year had been replaced by a muted, squirming boy looking for an exit. A bench to crawl under.

A minute passed. Finally he whispered. “What if I freeze up? Forget everything?”

I shrugged. “We'll start over.”

“What if I freeze again?”

I chuckled. “We'll start over again.”

“What if—”

I gently tapped his temple. “Song doesn't come out of here.” I tapped his chest. “It comes out of here.” I inched closer to the fire. “Your heart will remember what your mind forgets.”

“How do you know?”

“Music just works that way.”

“You ever get scared?”

“Not now.”

“Were you ever?”

“Once.”

“Where?” He was stalling, but I understood.

“First concert.” I pointed south. “The Falls. My dad found me hiding under the piano bench.”

“What'd he do?”

“Set me on the bench, lifted my chin, and told me that, no matter what, he was proud of me. That I could do no wrong. That all I had to do was open my mouth and let out the breath I'd been holding my whole life.”

“Did you?”

“Yep.”

One side of his mouth turned up.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I said.

He nodded, but he still had his back turned toward the door.

“You don't have to play tonight.”

He looked both relieved and confused. “Don't you want me to?”

“Of course. But the world won't come to an end if you don't.”

“So I can stay here?”

“Yep.”

“You won't be mad?”

“Nope.”

“What about Miss Daley?”

“She won't be mad either.”

His shoulders relaxed. When I turned to go, he grabbed my arm. “That's it?”

I turned around. “Jubal, can I let you in on another secret?”

He waited.

“The secret is that we
play
music. We don't
work
music.”

His nose wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“Making music isn't something you have to do. It's something you
get
to do. It's fun.”

“You won't be mad if I mess up this recording and tick off that guy back there with the headphones looking at all those lights?”

I looked at him with a wrinkle between my eyes. “Where did you get the idea that you had to be perfect? I didn't teach you that.”

“But all those people on the TV shows always get raked over the coals by the judges as soon as they finish singing or playing.”

“Is that where this is coming from? TV? I'm going to talk to your mom about canceling the cable.”

He laughed.

I said, “Let me set the record straight on something. You're not playing for judges. If anyone in that room tonight listens to you and doesn't like what you play, they need to go suck on a lemon.”

He liked that.

“And further, if they utter one negative word about you, it's got to go through Daley and me to get to you. Jubal, you might as well understand this now. Music is a gift. We make it to give it away. All those people in there, they might not know it, but they need what you got, because you're the only one out of something like six billion people on the planet who has your song. God chose you. Not your grandfather. Not me. Not Daley. Not anyone else. So you can bottle it up and drink it all alone out here by the fire if you want, but before you let the fear of failure keep you from walking in there and playing, you should know that some of those people in there are sick. Some have been burned. Broken. Left out in the cold. Some are wrestling with painful words spoken over them by someone they love or walking around in chains of their own making. A few are dying inside. Whatever the reason, when you sit down in front of them and say, ‘Let me play a song for you,' you're giving them something that no amount of money can buy.”

He looked confused. “What's that?”

“Hope.”

He considered this.

“Think about it. It's Christmas Eve and there's a couple hundred people sitting in what was once an old, abandoned church. Waiting on three people to walk up onstage and make some noise.” I inched closer. My voice barely a whisper. “You know why they're in there?”

“Yeah, 'cause you and Miss Daley are really good.”

“Nope. There are lots of people that are really good.”

“Then why?”

“Because they are all living with the singular hope that maybe tonight, in this place, under this blanket of snow, within the sound of our voices, God can take their pain and give them something in return that makes all the broken and dying stuff new and alive again.”

“You really think it's that important?”

“I do.”

He stared up into the snow. Then at me. His big, brown eyes as curious as his question. “Can He?”

“He did with me.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Before I met you, I'd made a pretty big mess. He took the ashes of my life and gave me something beautiful in their place.”

“You tell me about it sometime?”

“Sure.”

He nodded as if he understood. “Uncle Coop?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

His lips grew tight and his face took on an unashamed confidence I'd grown to love. “You think my grandfather knew that?”

“Don't know. What I do know is this—the kind of music we were made to play breaks chains. It walks deep inside us and everyone within earshot, drives a stake in the ground, and silences the thing that's trying to kill us. And I think your grandfather knew a good bit about that. I think that's why he did what he did, and I think that's what he was doing when I met him, and I think that's why he gave you that guitar.”

“I wish he were here.”

“Me too.”

Jubal turned and began walking toward the entrance. When he got to the door, he pulled it open and spoke around it. “Okay, but if I screw this up, it's your fault.”

He disappeared inside, and I stood there laughing while the snow settled on my shoulders.

On the other side of the fire stood Blondie. He was sucking on a Tootsie Pop. When he spoke, he pointed it at me. “Nice job.”

“I had a good teacher.”

He stuck the sucker back in his mouth and gave me an approving nod. “That you did.”

I turned. “You coming?”

He stepped around the fire, alongside me. “Wouldn't miss it.”

I nodded toward the door Jubal had just passed through. “Can he see you?”

Blondie motioned with his sucker while one end of his mouth turned up. “Not yet.”

I laughed. “This ought to be good.”

When I walked onto the stage, Daley brushed my arm and stomach with her hand. Another sonar ping. I loved it when she did that. I took my seat opposite her, and she turned toward the audience.

Daley stepped from her stool and stood next to Jubal, putting her hand gently on his shoulder. “Ladies and gentlemen, Cooper and I would like to introduce to you Jubal Tyre.” She smiled. “He's the newest member of our band, and at twelve he's also the youngest.”

Laughter and applause rippled across the audience.

“We've asked him to play and sing on this record for reasons that will soon become obvious.” She returned to her stool and sat waiting on me. I turned on my mike and glanced at Jubal.

My voice echoed across the stone walls. “You ready?”

He smirked. “Waiting on you, Old Man.”

More laughter. I set Jimmy across my knee, touched the strings with my fingers, and looked toward the back where Andy sat in headphones staring at a flashing board. “Andy, you ready?”

He adjusted a slide control and then gave me a thumbs-up. I studied the audience, letting my fingers roll across the strings. Jimmy's aging and rich voice rose out of his bullet-holed body and resonated off the rafters, where Blondie sat swinging his feet. The choir began parading single file into place, humming as they walked. While they made their way across the stage, Big-Big walked to the piano bench behind me, sat down, and began quietly constructing the scaffolding we would soon stand upon. Jubal began lightly embellishing the melody, filling the air above the piano. Mary, sitting just a few feet in front of me, stopped twitching.

I said, “Let's start at the beginning. The first date I had with my wife was an impromptu at the Ryman. She caught me with my hands on her guitar, so I wooed her with this one . . .”

Given Jubal's innate talent, one of the first songs I had taught him was “Let It Out.” He started tapping out a percussive rhythm on the body of his guitar, I re-created the shrill sound of the wind with whistles, and Daley sang my song back to all of us. It was a good beginning.

Midway through I quit playing, the stage lights dimmed, and the spotlight singled on Jubal, who didn't seem to mind at all. It was fun to watch him come into his own, listen to the audience's surprise at his ability, hear the resulting applause, and then watch the smile spread across his face. I don't think he was scared anymore.

Over two hours we played all of Daley's number ones. Several songs off our new record. A few covers that had become favorites. We closed the concert with “Long Way Gone.”

I said, “This last song was twenty-five years in the making, and the last time I tried to play it for a group of folks like you, it didn't go so well, so—”

The audience identified the song, laughed, and began clapping in anticipation. For many of them, it was the reason they'd come.

“It follows the course of my life. From promise to pain to . . .” I stretched both hands high into the air. Palms out. Reaching out as far as I was able. When I did, Blondie stood up on the rafters and pulled back
the ceiling. I continued, “To coming home. It's called ‘Long Way Gone,' and it goes something like this.”

We walked off the stage to a standing ovation. Backstage we stood in a circle. The player's high. Even Big-Big. We'd had a lot of fun. While Daley and I felt like we'd taken a deep breath, Jubal's attention was elsewhere. He kept staring around the corner.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “You good?”

He pointed toward the stage. “What's up with that guy?”

“Who?”

He pointed toward the center of the stage where his guitar stood. “The dude playing my guitar.”

The stage was empty.

I smiled. “How big is he?”

“Bigger than Big-Big.”