Something To Dream On (15 page)

This is overwhelming. I have so much to process about Jensen—being a former junkie, witnessing the gory death of his brother, an ex who won’t go away—whom he wants to help but can’t—and the burden of guilt for things that are not his fault. His past brings back flashes of my father, yet in all this tragedy I have found that he is someone who can help me overcome the pain of my past.

Obviously he cares about this woman, and I have to question how much he loves her. What is she like? Is she prettier than me? Nicer? What I do know is that for as opposite as our pasts are, Jensen and I have one very important thing in common. We are both deeply affected by the suffering of others.

Etta whimpers and lays her head across our laps. Although I know that a recovering addict can slip, animals know when to trust people, and I’ve proven with Paul that I can forgive a broken past. Moving past the years of pain brought on by my dad has never been easy. Due to that and Jensen’s news, everything inside me is sagging from the weight of my heart. I need to keep a little bit of guard up to protect myself. I want to help this wonderful man so he can continue to see that his sobriety is not in vain. I also want to help that poor girl, even though she sounds like someone I’d rather not meet.

I nudge Jensen to lie back on the sofa, and then curl next to him. As far as I am concerned, there is only one thing to add. “The complete and honest truth is that I would be a liar to say your past doesn’t frighten me, but I am also in awe over your efforts to save your brother and your desire to help a friend. I do wish you would cut yourself some slack and move past your guilt. But what is really going through my mind is your compassion. Through my compassion I have learned to see the beauty in myself. I pray that you find the same in you.”

With a kiss to my brow, he curls my head into his chest. I tack on another prayer, one that I won’t tell him, because I think he needs to feel I am unaffected by that part of his life. Still, I can’t help but worry.

Thank you, God, for Jensen’s miracles. Please bless the woman he cannot help by giving her one, too.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Saturday, May 20

Bertha’s roar announces my unexpected arrival at Lizetta’s. I’m going to keep proving that I am not the excuse for a man that I used to be, which is why I'm here so early.

Paul stands in the barn, wiping grease from his hands on a red shop cloth. He takes a few steps out to greet me and extends his hand with a smile. “Jensen!” His hand smacks into mine, and his natural charm puts a smile on my face. “How is it going?”

He acts like he doesn’t remember our previous conversation about how I was going to tell Lizetta everything last night. From what I have come to know about him, Paul is probably letting me tell things in my own time.

I’m nervous over where things stand. Just because our last conversation ended on a good note doesn’t mean Lizetta was still okay once everything had time to set in. “Did Lizetta tell you about our conversation last night?”

He gives a firm nod to the concrete. “No, but she and Judy had a gab fest into all hours of the night, and she was pretty quiet this morning.”

My hands turn clammy. Talking it out is one thing, but quiet is not a good sign.

Before I can ask if I blew it, Paul sticks his hand out to stop me. “I got it covered. Everybody around here knows that people have problems. It's not the problem that's the issue; it's how it is handled.”

“But what about the stuff with her dad?”

“If she wants to talk to you about it, then be sure to listen; else you keep fixing you, and let Judy and me worry about that bastard. Lizzie knows from me and my friends that not every man who once had a problem is an ass.”

The weight of the world flies off my back. Lizetta has a serious lock on me. It’s a lock that makes my heart sing, and I hope she never releases it.

A
creak
and a
slam
come from the screen door. Jimmy jogs across the yard. The glow of his golden hair reminds me so much of Lizetta’s that my blood warms. I really need to make sure she knows that my heart is with her. How soon is too soon to tell someone how you feel? I’m in sad shape if I get misty just by looking at someone who shares the same hair color as my girlfriend. It’s just more proof that the love bug has bitten—hard.

“Hey, man.” Jimmy gives me a double pat on the back that he must have learned from Paul. “Today’s Saturday, right? Isn’t Lizetta at work?”

How do I brave it up? I guess the how of it really doesn’t matter because now that I’ve told Lizetta, it's time to suck it up with everybody else who should know. “Actually, I came to see my sponsor.” I give Paul a sly fox of a smile, and it’s returned three-fold.

“Sponsor?” Jimmy wags a finger between Paul and I. “You two know each other outside of Lizetta?”

Yeah, I kind of had a feeling Paul has played big brother before.

Paul cocks his eyebrows in a silent message that the talking is all mine. “No, I just filled Paul in with a little something about my past. Lizetta knows, too.”

Jimmy’s chest puffs, and he eyes Paul with the pride of being his son. After Lizetta sharing a little about her dad with me last night, I appreciate how Jimmy sees Paul more than ever. “Yeah, Paul’s good like that.”

I hit Paul with the rest of the news. It’s also my way of filling Jimmy in without having to hash up the details. “I hit that one hundred and twenty day mark a couple of weeks back.”

Paul shoots me with his finger and clicks his tongue. With all his long hair and scruff he reminds me of a seventies rock star. He drives home that thought when he grabs a pick off of his guitar and scribbles on it. He starts to flick it at me like a Morning Star but stops to walk it over and place it in my hand. The orange pic says “120” with a star next to it. “What's the star for?”

“You’re not supposed to get another chip until you hit six months, but last night you reached a different milestone. Congratulations.”

Jimmy shoots me a thumbs-up before grabbing a guitar. “Well, with an endorsement like that, I guess you're sticking around a while.”

My head rattles. Is he serious? “Wait. You just found out that I have a drug problem, and you're okay with me dating your sister?”

Jimmy straps on the guitar like I’ve just commented on the weather, not questioned his code of brotherhood. “If Paul and my sister can't scare you off, there's nothing I can possibly say that will. This family is big on trust. However, if you do anything you shouldn’t, especially if it in any way endangers my sister, I'll kick your ass.”

The hell? First, what’s with the calm-as-a-person-in-an-ad-for-an-aromatherapy-candle attitude? Second, I hardly think this wiry guy can take me down, and he has to know it. Paul reads my mind and tells me on the hush, “Careful, the kid’s a scrapper.” It's said dead seriously, but the wink that follows makes me question what the hell is going on all the more. That changes though as Paul locks his eyes into mine. “Seriously, kid, around here you're okay in everybody's book until you prove differently. Their dad played the same game you and I did. He’s in the ground, and they regret the time they spent giving him twenty chances more than they should have. I've shown them time and again that people can change, so they believe that now. They also know that sometimes, no matter how much a person claims they are trying, a person is just not willing to do what is necessary. When you see that, you've got to cut the loser or he’s going to bring you down. Lizetta knows the difference. Hopefully you do, too. It will get you further than you realize.”

Paul’s understanding puts a rock in my throat. He’s right, which is why I am here with them now and not reaching out to help Laura.

A familiar melody twists through the air as Jimmy starts playing “Here Comes the Sun.” He sounds so horrible that the badness probably vibrates into the earth and disturbs George Harrison’s corpse.

Paul’s head drops into his palm. “How many times I gotta tell this kid that you don’t mess with The Beatles? You can screw around with Zeppelin and The Stones, but the Fab Four and Mott The Hoople are sacred.”

Jimmy acts oblivious to Paul’s groaning. “You know, for the life of me, I can't figure out why this doesn’t sound right.”

“Because it's a capo song,” Paul and I say in unison, but Paul tacks “you moron” on the end.
 

Jimmy laughs and wags a finger between Paul and I. “See? This is why I'm not fazed by your news.” Jimmy pops the capo around the seventh fret and resumes playing. He also resumes sounding like crap. The capo may have done its job of raising the pitch, but “You forgot to tune it,” Paul and I say on cue. This time I tack “you idiot” on the end. Paul just happens to add the same thing. He high-fives me, and for the first time in a long time, I have real friends.

My feet feel firmly planted as Jimmy nails that opening riff. Harrison knew what he was talking about when he said everything is all right, and I send a smile to heaven for him.

I really miss the good aspects of my former life. I used to have a great writing partner. We were no Lennon and McCartney, but we worked well together. Under different circumstances, great things could've happened.

Did I really need to give up that part of my life? I thumb the pic in my pocket that Paul just gave me, the one that is both my one hundred and twenty day chip and my gold star. It doesn’t have to be one way or another, does it?

“May I?” I ask of the other guitar. Paul holds his hands out in a be-my-guest gesture, and I give it a go with Jimmy by adding in Lennon’s bit. Jimmy kills the sound with the wave of his arm. “No way, man. I’m not even worthy of being in the room when you’re playing, let alone you being second fiddle.” He then takes off his guitar and then motions for me to switch. As humble as I want to be about it, he's right. He's more Lennon to my Harrison. That's not ego talking; it's reality. This match will do for now, but when it comes to writing, I really need to find the Lennon to my McCartney.

Lizetta’s car pulls up. When she walks toward the barn, my grip on the guitar tightens, making me white knuckled. I just want us to truly be okay and to fully put the past to rest.

Lizetta’s head is tilted in curiosity as to why I am here when our date isn’t for another hour. I remove the guitar while remembering how the last time I held one while tense, I treated it as a shield. I won’t hide behind anything when it comes to this woman. I won’t even mince words. The guitar gets exchanged for her hands, and right before everyone, my eyes command her attention. “Everything okay? Are
we
okay?”

Lizetta looks to her family, and they nod in acknowledgment that I’ve proven there are no secrets. Her eyes get misty.

After leaving Jensen’s last night, I spent hours talking to Mom about how she came to trust Paul. She reminded me that trust is earned through actions. Seeing Jensen here and being sure that all is out in the open with everyone is yet another way I know trust is deserved.

I’ve never understood drugs. Why would you put something in your body that will eventually kill you? Is it just for the quick thrill? It’s so abusive. What kind of person abuses anyone, let alone themselves?

For all the times I have pondered this, last night was the first time that reality hit. On some level, it’s like eating the chemicals in junk food. They hurt your body and damage your mind. It’s like eating too much fried food. It clogs your arteries and causes blockages in your heart. It’s all self abuse, yet because junk food is legal, prominent, and considered less hazardous, society accepts it. I’ve taken part in self-abuse for years. When the bullies attacked, it was easier to feed into what they were saying and become consumed in my problems then to fix myself.