by Teegan Loy
It sounded like Gavin was going to hook me up. Or maybe I was so desperate I was making things up.
The shower felt good, and even though the remnants of my nap nightmare still remained, I felt slightly better. I still looked like shit, but everyone in this entire house looked like crap.
The sound of clinking dishes and a wonderful smell wafted down the stairs, making my mouth water. I took a deep breath and ran up the stairs two at a time. For some reason, Ashley had set up dinner in the dining room.
“Can I help?” I asked.
“No,” Ashley said. “Everything’s ready. Just have a seat. It’s nothing fancy, just spaghetti and meatballs with a side of garlic bread.”
“Anything that isn’t takeout is awesome,” I said.
We ate in silence. Gavin and Ashley kept sneaking glances at each other and then they would look over at me. I knew they wanted to talk about something, but I wasn’t going to encourage it. After several more minutes of strained quiet, I threw my arms in the air.
“Okay, knock it off.”
Ashley widened her eyes.
I growled. “Just . . . Fuck it. Ask the questions.”
“Uh, Gavin found you a guitar,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And nothing. Mama is expecting you to play for her after dinner,” Ashley said.
I frowned and wrinkled my nose. “What is wrong with you two?”
“Nothing,” Gavin repeated. “We haven’t heard you play for a long time and we were wondering if we could sit in on the jam session.”
Ashley twirled a strand of her hair so I knew she was hiding something. She might be able to lie to other people, but I was her twin. “Sure, but first I’m going to talk to Mama. You guys can come in when I start playing.”
Gavin leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. Ashley stood and disappeared into the kitchen. “Does anyone want wine?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah,” I answered.
“Make it two,” Gavin said. “And don’t put mine in a tiny wine glass.”
“Why don’t I just give you the bottle,” Ashley said.
“That would work.” He snickered and mumbled something about desperately needing the whole bottle.
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he quickly busied himself with his food.
“What the fuck is going on, Gavin?”
He stuffed a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth and chewed furiously. I waited and stopped him from shoveling more into his face.
He dropped his fork. “I’m shit at this. Look, don’t freak out, but the only —”
“Gavin, get your ass in here and help me uncork this bottle,” Ashley shouted.
He bolted so fast his napkin hadn’t hit the table by the time he was struggling with the wine bottle. I could hear them arguing in the kitchen. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the headache that was lurking behind my eyes.
The guitar case leaning against the sofa caught my eye, and I figured Gavin and Ashley were so busy arguing, they’d probably finish off the wine before I got a sip. I decided it was time to go see Mama.
I didn’t make it out of the living room before the doorbell rang. I sighed and opened the door. It took a few seconds for me to register that Dr. Olsen was staring at me.
“Tyler?”
“Uh . . .” I stumbled and hit the wall with my back. He looked so much like Skye, it was unnerving.
“Son, are you okay?” he asked. He reached for me, but I flinched and he immediately dropped his arm to his side. “Tyler?”
“Sorry.” I straightened. “I wasn’t expecting . . . um, you.”
“I know this must be —”
“Leave it,” I said abruptly. “Are you here to see Mama?”
“No, I just brought her —” He frowned. “— uh, prescription.”
“I can give it to her. I was just going to see her when you rang the bell.”
Clearly, Dr. Olsen looked uncomfortable. He was practically doing a little dance in the entryway. “Right, it’s just . . . oh, for fuck’s sake, here.” He thrust a bag into my hand. I stared at him and back down at the bag, then back at him again. Did the good doctor just hand me a bag of weed?
“I thought it was legal here,” I said.
“Not totally,” he mumbled. “But it should be.”
“So, this is for Mama?”
“Yes, Tyler, it’s for your mother. It helps with her pain, and sometimes she even eats.”
“Okay.” I could understand that. I couldn’t get a joint, but the local hotshot doctor was making house calls for my mom.
“How are you?” Dr. Olsen asked.
“I’m fine. I don’t mean to be rude, but Mama is waiting for me. Thanks for this.” I shook the baggie in front of his face.
He nodded and I could see the sadness in his eyes. I had no idea if it was for my mother, for me, or for something totally unrelated.
“Tell Susan I’ll stop by in the morning to check on her.” He abruptly turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.
“Fuck me. I hate this place,” I mumbled.
“Hey,” Gavin said. “Who was at the door?”
“Dr. Olsen.”
“Whoa. You okay?”
“Don’t start, Gavin. I’m fine.” I stuffed the bag of weed into the waistband of my pants. “I’m going to see Mama.”
“Wait, Ty. Ah, forget it.” Gavin walked away muttering to himself about all the crazy people in this fucking town.
I grabbed the guitar case and knocked on Mama’s door.
“Come in,” she weakly called out.
I pushed the door open and a cloud of despair settled around me. I tried to conjure up good thoughts, but it was tough.
“Hey, Mama. You up for a visitor?”
“Always, baby,” she said. “You look better.”
I sat on the bed and squeezed her hand. “So, Mama, Dr. Olsen stopped by with a special care package for you.” I chuckled.
“And why isn’t he here, poking and prodding me? Did you piss the man off?”
“Don’t worry. He said he’d be back in the morning to check in on you. Tonight he was just dropping off some medication for you.”
“Oh, shit. He didn’t . . .” Mama’s eyes widened and I watched as a blush crept up her face.
“Oh, yes, he did.” I grinned and pulled the bag out from under my shirt and dangled it in front of her nose. “I cannot believe you have your own personal delivery service.”
She shook her head when I tossed the bag at her. “So, baby, would you like to join me?”
“What?” My voice squeaked. “You mean light one up with you?”
“Yes, Ty. Don’t play dumb with me. The papers are in the nightstand. Be a doll and roll a joint for your mama.”
I almost pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Mama laughed and it was a welcome sound. It didn’t take long before I had a few joints rolled and ready to smoke.
“Jeesh, you don’t mess around. It almost seems like you’ve done this a time or two.” She winked at me.
All I could do was shrug.
“Will you loosen up? It’s not like this is my first time either. And quit staring at me. Either light one up or give it to me.”
She flicked her lighter a few times. I held out the joint for her to take, but she handed the lighter to me.
“Mama,” I whined. This was sort of embarrassing. I’d never smoked a doob with my mom. I’d never even considered I’d be smoking with her.
“Ty, light it up.”
“Fine.” I lit the joint and took a long drag, holding the smoke in as long as I could. I passed the joint to Mama and considered texting Joey. He’d eat this shit up.
A couple hits later and I was happily floating around in a haze of smoke. The tension slid off my skin.
“God, Mama, this shit is good,” I said.
“Only the best for me.” She giggled. “I see you brought your guitar.
”
“Nah, but Gavin found one I could borrow, so toss something out you want to hear me play.”
“I don’t care what you play. I need to hear your voice. I want to feel the song, baby. I don’t want to think about how sick I am. Make me forget I’m dying, okay.”
“Well, fuck . . . Um, sorry, crap, Mama. You sure know how to put the pressure on. But don’t you worry, I don’t do anything half-assed.” I gave her one of my cocky smiles and her face lit up.
“There’s my golden boy,” she whispered.
I took another puff off the joint before handing it back to her. I unhooked the latches of the case and took the guitar out. As I raised the strap to place it over my head, I noticed the pattern. The blood in my head seemed to drain to my feet. I tried to clear my throat but the noise that came out was a strangled gasp.
“Tyler?” My mother sounded alarmed.
“I think I swallowed wrong,” I said and looked away from her. “Give me a sec.”
I realized what Gavin had been trying to tell me and why Ashley had told him to shut the fuck up. This was Skye’s damn guitar. I gave the shithead the guitar strap that I currently had hanging around my neck. It felt like a noose. Why would he keep the thing after our spectacular falling out? Maybe he thought of it as some sort of trophy.
“Tyler?” Mama said again.
I needed to pull it together for Mama. It was just a guitar. I strummed a few chords, tuned it, and then launched into an old Billy Joel song I knew she liked. I’d found a really nice arrangement for the guitar, and the words seemed fitting for what was happening in this room.
My voice quivered at first, but slowly I got into the song. I didn’t let myself think about the guitar or the strap hanging around my neck. I poured all of my energy into the music. I barely heard the click of the door opening when Gavin and Ashley slipped inside.
I couldn’t help smiling around the words of the song when Mama took another hit. I launched into more songs, some familiar and some I’d written. I hit my groove and played until my voice grew weary and cottonmouth threatened to dry out my vocal chords.
The final song I sang was one I only played when my heart ached and I was alone. I’d written it on the third night after I’d left home. When I hit the final chord, everything crashed down around me. I couldn’t handle Mama’s blue eyes, filled with adoration and tears. She was lying on her deathbed, and I was singing stupid, depressing songs.
I couldn’t handle being back in this house with memories slapping me across the face every time I turned around. And to top everything off, I was holding his godforsaken guitar that he cradled and touched.
I unhooked the strap and took the guitar off, carefully leaning it against the wall when all I really wanted to do was smash the shit out of it.
“Oh, god,” I choked out. “Mama . . . I’m sorry.”
In the corner of the room, Ashley’s sobs echoed loudly and Gavin wrapped his arms around her, ushering her out into the hall.
“Tyler,” Mama said.
I took several deep breaths, working hard to compose myself. “I’m sorry.” My voice wavered. “I’m okay.”
“Quit saying that, baby. You need to let it out. It’s doing you no good to have all these feelings locked inside of you. They’re poison.”
“I can’t.”
I was afraid to let go, afraid that if I started to cry, I’d never be able to stop. I’d never cried for him because to me, it was a sign of weakness and made me feel like he’d won. But it was silly to think he hadn’t destroyed me. He’d ripped my heart out of my chest and tossed it in my face.
Before I could stop, I grabbed the doorknob and tugged. Somehow my mother jumped out of bed and wrapped her arms around my waist. Her breath ghosted across my cheek.
“This may be your last chance to make things right. I’m your mama, Tyler. If you can’t cry in front of me, who else is there?”
A traitorous tear slid down my cheek.
“I’m not going to ask you to tell me the specifics of what happened, but I am going to ask you to let it go. You’ve held on to all of this pain for five years, and it’s done nothing good for you. This is my dying wish for you. Please, baby, let the pain go. I know I told you to talk to him, but if you can’t, I understand. I just can’t stand to see you like this.”
I leaned into her and she staggered. She reached for my hand and gripped it tightly. I helped her back to bed, and when she was comfortable, she patted the spot beside her. I crawled next to her and snuggled up against her side.
“I love you, baby boy,” she whispered into my hair.
I closed my eyes, letting a few more tears slip down my face. “It’s Skye’s guitar,” I murmured, and then I couldn’t talk anymore. My nerves were wrecked and my breath came in short spasms as I fought desperately to hold it together.
Mama sighed. “Let him go.”
“Fuck . . . Mama.” I sobbed.
It only took a few seconds for the dam to break. My body shook as the waves of pain rushed through me. I buried my face into Mama’s shoulder and cried. I did it because I was stupid to let him separate me from my family. Blaming him for that was ridiculous. It had been my choice not to come home for five years.
Tears came because I was going to lose my mother and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop the cancer from taking her. And I cried because it still hurt, because no matter how much I hated him, I had to admit remnants of the love I’d felt for him still remained embedded in my heart.
I was truly fucked up.
Mama never said another word, instead she continued to stroke my hair and occasionally, she ran her fingers across my cheek, wiping away a few tears. Eventually the tears dried and I relaxed. I drifted off to sleep, traveling down into my nightmares of messy hair and hazel eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
“Tyler, baby, wake up.”
“Hmmm?”
Someone gently shook me, forcing me out of the hazy, hot dream. When my brain registered it was my mother, I kept my eyes shut and said a short prayer that I hadn’t been moaning in my sleep.
“Tyler, are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine, Mama,” I said.
She giggled. “I’m not your mom. It’s Lindy.”
Now I was wide awake and quickly yanked the blankets close to my neck.
“What the fuck? Where’s Mama?”
Lindy sat down and smoothed my bangs away from my eyes. “Calm down. Dr. Olsen stopped by, and Susan wanted to go outside. The minute we took her out of here, you started thrashing around like a man possessed.”
I let out a long breath of air, thankful the dream hadn’t started until Mama was out of the room.
“You want to talk about it?” Lindy asked.
“No,” I stated firmly.
She pursed her lips and eyed me. “It’s not good to keep everything inside.”
“You sound like my mom and that lady on the plane,” I mumbled. I didn’t want to talk about this shit, so I changed the focus of our conversation. “How is Mama today?”
“She’s okay. She said you sang for her last night. You still doing some singing or was it a private concert?”
“I still hit the stage to earn some cash or when I’m drunk,” I said.
“God, I love when you sing.”
She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. Her hair fell across her face and I took the moment to study her. She wore her hair a little longer and carried herself with the same confidence she had in school. I rubbed my sleep-filled eyes and thought how things would’ve been much easier if I’d been able to take her as my lover.
“I really need a shower,” I said.
“Don’t let me stop you. You have nothing I haven’t seen.” Lindy chuckled.
“Fine,” I said and tossed off the blankets, revealing a lovely pair of jeans.
“Still hiding everything,” she said.
I was about to flip her off, but I spotted the guitar carelessly leaning a
gainst the wall. Even though it was Skye’s guitar, it didn’t deserve to be mistreated. I carefully placed it back in its case and carried it down to my room, along with a ton of bitterness and resentment.
I took a quick shower and found Mama sitting outside, soaking up the sunshine and staring across the yard. What was going through her mind as she readied herself for the next step? I shuddered and shook the thought away. Now was not the time for morbid thoughts. She already looked fragile, small, and ill. I was afraid if I touched her she would shatter.
“Morning, Mama,” I whispered and kissed her cheek. “Do you want some company?”
I slid down to the ground, still clutching the guitar.
“Hi, baby,” she whispered hoarsely. She ran her fingers through my hair.
“You doing okay?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“How about if we don’t talk about how we’re feeling?”
“Good idea.” She sighed. “You have your lighter?”
I dug in my pocket, pulled it out, and handed it to her. She smiled weakly and took a joint out of her sweatshirt pocket. She lit the joint and took a hit. She passed it to me without a word and I gratefully accepted. It was probably stupid, but I figured smoking weed enabled me to keep moving forward when all I really wanted was to curl into a tiny ball and disappear.
We puffed leisurely, handing the joint back and forth. Eventually we started talking about silly things like how long my hair was at the moment, the music I played, and how Gavin had changed Ashley.
“They’re going to have a baby,” she said wistfully, then coughed. “I’m surprised to see you with the guitar.”
I ran my hand up and down the neck, feeling the bite of the strings against my fingers. “It’s pointless to get angry over an object. The guitar belongs to him; but it’s not him. Besides, you like when I play, and you’re more important than anything.”
“Then play for me.”
She leaned back in her chair, enjoying the sun shining on her skin. I sang a few oldies and then launched into one of Skye’s favorites. I stumbled over a few words, and when I came to the end of the song, a strong memory forced its way into my head.