Make Me Bad: Private Lessons (30 page)

“I can’t,” I whisper, feeling my eyes well up with tears.

“Just think about it,” she says, patting my back.

I know she’s not saying the rest. I know my father would
help me if I asked. All I have to do is say the word and he would put me in
touch with the biggest people in the business. He would fall all over himself
trying to help me now.

I would probably be a sensation overnight...That's how
desperate he is to have me back in his life.

But my momma knows better, she still harbors hatred towards
him too. She's only kept in touch with my father infrequently at best.

My momma and I spend the rest of her visit cleaning out my
closet; she was always good at those kinds of things. After she leaves, I can't
help but think about what she said about my music career. The truth is, she's
usually right.

I haven’t been back to Nashville since that summer when I
was fifteen. I stopped speaking to all my old friends, and they eventually gave
up on me. I try to block out any memory of that town the best I can.

Well, actually, I went back once the year after it happened
because I had to testify in court against my attackers. But I don’t consider
that a real visit back, I literally stayed in a hotel in the suburbs and only
left the room to appear in court. 

That was also the last time I spoke to my father, if you
consider it speaking. It was more business-like and in the presence of a lawyer
as I had to rehash every awful, terrible detail of what those two monsters did
to me.

I can’t ever forgive my father and he knows that, whether
I’ve spoken the words  out loud or not. I heard his drinking had gotten worse
afterwards, but a small part of me feels smugly satisfied – that’s what he
deserves after he left me on my own that night.

I realize that my thoughts are turning too dark and I try to
practice what my therapist has taught me. I take deep breaths, re-direct my
thinking and envision something that makes me happy. I remind myself of all the
ways that I am brave, and I tell myself that I am no longer a victim.

Sometimes it all feels like a bunch of crap.

When redirecting my thoughts doesn’t work, I opt for a glass
of wine instead. I can thank my father again for my need to watch my drinking.
I know that I have addict blood in me. I’ve always been very careful to only
have a drink or two at a time and usually the thought of turning into my father
is sobering enough.

I won’t ever let myself get like him, but I still know that
possibility is a there, a cancer waiting to grow inside me.

Luckily, my crappy mood is gone when I wake up the next day,
and I have the entire day to myself before I’m scheduled to play a set at High
Notes, a big music bar in Bristol.

~~~

Hours later, I walk into High Notes, dressed in my favorite
pair of blue jeans and a silky purple top. My blonde hair is smooth and styled
to perfection and I feel great. The regulars are happy to see me and I tell
myself that this is all I need. People that come out to see me, willing to pay
to watch me play and possibly buy a CD if I make one myself.

Who am I kidding?

At nine o’clock, I step out to take my place, alone with my
guitar. Sometimes I get a few guys to play back up for me, but tonight it’s
just the guitar and me.

I always liked music as a kid, and I knew that my dad helped
others make music. But it wasn’t until I returned to Bristol for good, that I
really began to fall in love with music. It’s hard to explain, but it helped
fix what had broken inside me. I taught myself acoustic guitar, and I
discovered that I could sing.

So naturally I threw myself into my music; I don’t remember
much of my junior or senior year in high school because I was so focused on
honing my talent.

Music gave me something to focus on, something I could
control, it gave me a voice again, and it helped me forget about Blake.

Well, I never really forgot about Blake but it helped ease
my heartbreak. I’ve learned that some things are just too painful to revisit
and are better left in the past.

I didn’t date for the rest of high school, I was too afraid
to have anyone touch me. Just the thought of it made my heart race and my palms
sweat. I managed to have a boyfriend or two in college, but I could only become
physical if I had been drinking. It’s no surprise those relationships didn’t
work out.

As I settle into my stool and play a few chords, I shake out
my head to clear it. I’ve come a long way and I’m not going to sink back into
thoughts of things that happened thirteen years ago.

I take a deep breath, and start my song, letting the music
pour out of me. My hands know to play the right notes, and I close my eyes as
my voice fills the room. I don’t open them until I’m halfway through the song,
and what I see nearly stops me cold.

There, three rows back and dead center, sits my father. It’s
like seeing a ghost and it takes every ounce of me to not grab the sides of the
stool for support. I somehow manage to compose myself enough to get through my
set. No one in the audience would have known about the emotional turmoil going
on inside my head.

I smile and bow, grinning as I wave at the audience, and
walk offstage on wooden legs. I slip into one of the back rooms to stow my
guitar, and my hands are shaking as I gulp down an entire bottle of water.

“Paige, is everything okay?” Mikey, one of the bartenders
asks.

“Oh, sure, I’m fine,” I lie, as I take much longer than
necessary packing up my few small belongings.

“Oh okay. Well, you sounded amazing like always.”

I smile and thank him. Mikey is nice and I’m sure he wishes
we were more than friends. He’s always eager to help me, and giving me a drink
and telling me how great I’m doing.

One time he had too many drinks after his shift and asked me
why I don’t date anyone. I was vague, and he got this sweet puppy-dog look in
his eyes and promised that he would take good care of me and treat me right. Sometimes
I wish that I wasn’t broken inside, that I was able to give nice guys like
Mikey a chance.

I take my guitar and try to mentally prepare myself before I
walk out into the bar. Sure enough, there’s my dad waiting by the door. Even
after all these years he knows me well. He knows that I would head straight for
that door, not caring about him sitting in the audience.

I walk mechanically across the room and his eyes catch mine.
While it’s my dad for sure, he looks different. Older of course, but haggard.
The years have not been kind to him. You can still tell he’s handsome in a
rugged kind of way, but not the kind of handsome he was back when he was
married to my mom.

“Paige,” he whispers as I approach. Now it’s his turn to
look like he’s seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. I can’t hide the
hostility or the coldness in my voice.

“I had to see you. You’re Momma has told me for years that
you play music and I just had to see it for myself. I miss you so much, honey.”
He chokes on the last word.

This is pure hell, his voice evokes all kinds of childhood
memories, and part of me wants to throw myself in his arms again and be Daddy’s
Little Girl once more, but there’s another part of me, a harder part, that
wants to vomit at his feet.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” I say, standing my ground.

“Please, honey. I had no idea you could sing like that, no
idea you could play. To think that my little girl has that kind of talent
inside her,” he doesn’t finish his thought, but only shakes his head in wonder.

“I’ve got to go, Dad,” the word feels foreign on my tongue,
“it’s been a long day and I have an early shift tomorrow.”

My dad looks wounded. “You used to call me Daddy,” he says
softly.

“Yeah, well that was before my innocence was ripped away,” I
spit back.

He recoils as if I slapped him, but the words are out and
I’m not taking them back.

“Paige,” he pleads, his voice gruff with emotion. “There
aren’t words for me to convey how I felt about what happened, how I still feel
about what happened. Those demons will never let me go and I pay everyday for
what my drinking did to you that night. I let my little girl down.”

“Don’t,” I warn him, I can’t take much more. It’s too much
to stand here and talk to my dad about what happened at his house that summer.

“Please, Paige. I would do anything to make it up to you. I
want a relationship with my baby girl. Can’t you find it in your heart to let
me back in your life? I’m not asking for forgiveness. The Lord knows I don’t
deserve it, but I can’t lose you forever. I’ve already lost so much time with
you.”

“I can’t do this now,” I say, my voice breaking.

“Please, talk to me honey.” But my dad can see he’s losing
me. “I’m going to stay in town another night. How about you come by my hotel
when you’re finished working tomorrow? Please. We can talk.” He pauses when I
don’t respond. “I’m staying at the Hampton Inn. Room 413.”

“We’ll see,” I say and before he can say anymore, I push
past him and step into the warm air outside.

It’s summer. I wonder if I could ever return to Nashville,
especially in the summer.

~~~

I don’t get much sleep because I’m too busy tossing and
turning and thinking about my father showing up in Bristol. I show up at the
coffee shop with dark circles under my eyes, but Lily, my co-worker is smart enough
not to say anything.

I would almost call her my friend, but I don’t think I can.
I think you’re supposed to hang out with friends outside the workplace and I’ve
never done that with Lily. I shouldn’t be surprised, because I haven’t ever
managed to keep any friends.

I considered calling my mom to ask her advice about what to
do with my father, but I know what she would say. She would tell me to go see
him, to give him the benefit of the doubt.

My mom’s daddy died when she was a little girl so I know she
always felt like she had missed out on something special. I think that’s the
only reason she has tolerated my dad after what happened to me. She didn’t want
me to lose him forever.

As my shift comes to a close, I’m still hemming and hawing
about what to do. I think this is one of those pivotal moments in my life and
I’m scared as hell. I feel like I spend so much time being scared and I’m so
damn sick of it.

There, that's it, I've made up my mind. I’m tired of being
scared, tired of fearing everything, tired of nothing happening to me in this
damn town. Before I lose my courage, I head over to the Hampton Inn and find
myself knocking on room 413.

“You came,” my dad says when he opens the door. He looks
genuinely shocked and I almost feel guilty.

I don’t say anything and walk into the room. My dad guides
me to a small table with two chairs and motions for me to sit down. He walks
over to a mini-fridge and pulls out two bottles of root beer.

My favorite.

Or what used to be my favorite. When I was fifteen.

“Thank you for coming. Thank you so much Paige.”

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing here." I admit.
"I’m not sure what you’re doing here either.”

My dad takes a deep breath and a big swig of his root beer.

“I need you to hear me out Paige, and I need you to not
interrupt me. Can you do that?”

I think for a few seconds, and decide that I’ll try. I nod.

“Okay, good. Thank you. You see, I know these past thirteen
years have been hell for you. I can’t even imagine. And I would never, ever
compare my pain to yours, because I know that your pain is far worse. But I’ve
been in hell too.

After that night, after what happened, I couldn’t think
straight. I couldn’t function. All I wanted to do was go after Billy and Riff
and tear them into fucking pieces. I wanted to strangle them, to punish them,
to make them suffer a million times what you endured.” My dad’s voice breaks
and he takes a few seconds to compose himself.

“I knew I should get sober, I knew that should have been a
wakeup call, but I couldn’t because I lost you and you were the best thing that
ever happened to me. So instead of fighting back, I took the cowardly way out.
I drank and I drank until I couldn’t even function. I went into debt and my
record label all but sank. It was a dark, dark time.”

I try to picture my dad getting even drunker than what I
remembered as a kid. It’s painful to think about.

“And then three years ago I hit rock bottom. Your momma has
always been good to me, better than I ever deserved. I think she feels sorry
for me. She knew how hard it was for me, but she was wise enough not to push
your relationship with me. She knew I was facing bankruptcy and eviction.

My girlfriend at the time, a nice sweet woman, had finally
gotten sick of my shit and she left me too. Your momma told me that I was about
to lose it all. I thought I had lost everything, but your momma was right – I
still had more to lose. And so slowly, and piece by piece, I began putting my
life right side up again.

I stopped drinking. Just quit cold turkey. I had to detox but
after a week or so I was clean. And once I was sober, I was actually able to
focus on my business, and boy, was it hurting. It was amazing how much I could
accomplish when I wasn’t drunk. I sold a lot of my stuff to pay my debts. I
sold our house and bought something modest and small.

I slowly started signing more names, and soon the label was
growing again. I went to AA meetings every week. And all that while, the whole
damn time, I kept thinking that I was going to get you back again. That I was
going to fix my life so you could see that I loved you.”

My dad stops talking and I see his eyes are glistening with
tears. It’s too emotional, and I have to duck my head...I’ve missed my daddy
and my heart hurts from hearing him talk, but I don't want him to see that.