Page 49 of Phoenix
“I thought I loved him too, but I…I’m scared. He scared me!”
“Jess,” the older man says as he inches closer, bending down to meet me eye to eye. I’m still not comfortable in his presence, but I brave it enough to look at him while he speaks. “In a moment, I will tell you, or better yet, show you why he is so distraught. But I need to know something first. Honey, you’ve been through a lifetime of pain, worse than that. No one should have had to go through what you and Jake did. You are one of the bravest people I know.”
“I don’t feel brave,” I admit as I sniff back my tears.
“I get that, but you are, trust me. You deserve to be scared, to guard yourself, and to not trust anyone, but I need to know if you’re gonna be brave enough to be there for him. He’s been through so much too and he’s hurting just as you are. Whereas you’ve guarded your life away from others, he’s tried to face fear head-on. Unfortunately, I think you’re going to have to trade places to get him through this. He’s going to push away too, after what he’s just found out, all us men tend to do that when we don’t know what else to do. The question is, are you going to let him, or are you going to push back?”
“What if I’m not strong enough?” I ask.
“If you look deep down, think back over all the awful shit you’ve survived already, I think you already know that you are.”
At first, I say nothing, just stare into those wise, soulful eyes of his, before eventually nodding my head.
“Show me.”
_____
Phoenix
By the time I arrive back at the bar, everyone has gone, everything is clean, and I’m about ready to drink myself into a stupor. Or at least until I forget everything that’s come to pass. Lou’s been trying to call me all night long; I’m surprised she isn’t here busting my balls for ignoring her. She can wait, they all can.
After I’ve grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, I walk up to the stage and grab my father’s old guitar. A moment of indecision has me freezing on the spot – do I play it or smash it into smithereens? I grip hold of the neck so tightly it feels like my hands will bleed, however, a memory of him teaching me a few simple chords hits me like an emotional freight train, forcing me to release some of my tension.
I perch on the stool in the center of the stage, place my beer bottle on top of the table next to it, and hold the guitar across my lap. It feels familiar, like if I close my eyes real tight, I can almost imagine him standing there, laughing as I finally get the notes right.
“That’s it, Warren! Whooo!” he shouts as I repeat the notes one by one. “Your mama is going to be so proud, boy! Mia, can you see him, baby?”
I’m laughing with pure joy; the first time since Mom was taken up to heaven. It’s taken me nearly two years to laugh like this. Lou still hasn’t said her first words, and I know Dad’s worried about it, but look at him now. Laughing and smiling and talking to Mom like she’s still here. I actually feel proud of myself; I did that.
“Do you really think she can hear me, Dad?”
“Oh, son, of course she can,” he cries, running over to wrap his arms around me, “and she’s so proud of you, just as much as I am.”
“I miss her, Dad,” I tell him truthfully.
“Oh, my boy, so do I,” he whispers before emitting a sad sigh, “but you know what, every time you play this guitar, she’ll hear you and she’ll be dancing and clapping along. She’ll tell everyone up there that you’re her boy and she will look so smug about it.”
“Really?” I ask with hope in my voice.
“I promise,” he says before kissing my head.
I’ve played this guitar every day since. I taught Lou how to play so Mom would hear her too. Now seems as good a time as any to pay homage to her, even if she was complicit in the lie too. I strum a mish-mash of notes at first, waiting for something to come to me, some inspiration for my troubled thoughts. Eventually, it hits me, a song she used to sing to Lou when she was a baby, I’ll See You in my Dreams by Joe Brown, a song that’s sure to bring tears to my eyes. This time is no different.
I get so lost in the song, so fixed on the memory of her face smiling over my baby sister’s crib, that when I feel two arms reaching around from behind me, I jump and end up dropping the guitar. She tries to move away from me, but I get a hold of my senses much too quickly to let her go. Instead, I grip hold of her pale arms and take comfort in the familiar smell of her. As I let it all out in howls of pain, trembling against her much smaller body, she strokes my hair and hums against me. Eventually, the vibration of her chest as she hums soothes me, and I lose my adrenaline to grief.
“I thought I’d frightened you away for good,” I whisper, “I’d deserve it if I had.”
“You had a couple of people vouch for you,” she laughs softly, “and they explained…what happened. Warren, I’m so sorry.”
“Jess,” I begin as I pull her out in front of me so I can sit her on my lap, “don’t ever apologize. For anything. You are my port, my home, and I am honored that you would want to stay with me after witnessing me lose my shit earlier on.”
“You make me feel strong, Warren,” she says as I pull her closer, “losing you isn’t an option.”
“You are strong, baby, so strong!”
“Let’s be strong together.”
I kiss her with all the warmth she has just given me. I hold her tight before lifting her in my arms and walking out back so we can show each other just how much we need one another.