Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  “Alcohol isn’t my problem.”

  I continue to clear the brush as Red and Cash follow in the golf cart. Red has almost completely recovered from his stroke. He has a little weakness on his left side, but with physical therapy and returning to his active life, he will be one hundred percent again before long. I came home two weeks ago and haven’t left his side for long. I’ve missed my mom and grandparents and coming home somehow made the pain seem a little more bearable. The humid Georgia air wraps around me, hugging me tight.

  After an hour of clearing a path to a piece of cleared land on Red’s acreage, we decide to break for lunch. I hop on the cart with a fifty-pound Cash and my grandfather. As his home comes into view I see the front porch littered with Jagger, Koi, Kip, Cam, Memphis, and Griffin. I feel panic rise because I haven’t seen them since I woke from an overdose in a Los Angeles hospital. Red shoots me a sympathetic expression. I exit the golf cart and whistle for Cash to follow. I load into my car without a word and head down to the stables.

  I’ve practiced so many times what I would say to each of them. The conversations are similar in places with each of those men, but different in the places they need to be, yet I’m not ready to vocalize my words. The stable will provide the distraction I need. Wood needs to be replaced on several of the stalls, and Red can’t yet do it. Cash jumps out and enters the stable before me, greeting each of the horses as if they are his friends. He loves the horses. Once his rounds are made he finds a bed of hay he’s come to love in the last two weeks, paws at it to move it around until it is just right, circles around several times, and then lies down with a sigh. Such hard work for a little guy.

  I find my horse, Hasse Ola, Creek for Rising Sun. His eyes are the color of the morning light. I open his stable door and pet his face. I rescued him from an owner who mistreated him and always feel strength through him. I feel peaceful when he’s near. He neighs at me, so I find carrots, and feed him several. I lead him out after his snack and begin the tedious task of washing him, then brushing his coat and mane. Hasse is such a beautiful creature. When he’s smooth and shiny, I place the saddle on his back hooking it underneath his belly. I want to be along for the ride when he gains his freedom from the stable.

  ***

  Jagger

  I enter her home after two days of phone calls and texts go unanswered. All the lights are out, and the air is stuffy. I know deep down she’s not here, but I search every room in the house anyways. In the kitchen, I find an envelope taped to the refrigerator. My name is written in her handwriting across the middle of it. I walk to the beach listening to the ocean for quite a while before I find the nerve to open the letter.

  Jagger,

  I figured you’d be the one to look for me first. I am safe and sound back in Georgia. Perhaps it was selfish of me to leave without a word, but I didn’t feel up to explaining myself or answering questions, and I’m sure you have so many.

  The written word comes so much easier for me than the spoken ones. So much lies unanswered between us, and it’s not lost on me. Sometimes I think I bury the pain to avoid it, and then it sneaks up and bites me in the ass. I’m always unprepared for the sneak attack. Right now I need to deal with all the darkness I carry inside. I need to heal and be the person I want to be. That takes time, and I’m not disillusioned into thinking it won’t be difficult. I have this habit of bottling things up, or not dealing with them. I have a great deal of issues I need to make peace with, and I hope you understand that need.

  I remember the first day I met you in sixth grade. All the girls were pawning over you, the new boy. I remember thinking you were the cutest boy I’d ever seen. I tried to be tough and not show it; maybe I was never as strong as I thought I was. I don’t think even at eleven years of age I thought I could deal with rejection from you. You always had this mysterious air about you, and I yearned to be around you. When you made friends with my brother the summer before high school, I thanked my lucky stars you were at my house almost every day of the week.

  During our ninth grade year, you became the most popular boy amongst the underclassmen, and like any teenage boy you thrived in the attention. I think the girls we went to school with would’ve been willing to do almost anything for you, and to think about the extremes in which they were willing to go is both hilarious and sad to me now. I carried a torch for you for so long, and if I am honest with myself, I still do.

  I think I’ve always loved you, Jagger. I am pretty sure I always will. I’ve asked myself since December if love is enough, and you’ll be relieved to know I still don’t have an answer. Just maybe we are meant to be together, and if so, it will happen in due time. While I embark on this journey to make me healthy inside, I’ll think of you. I still love you, but I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet again. I need to get well for me, and not anyone else. I’ve decided I don’t want to die. I do want to live, but not like this. I can’t live like this anymore, and it isn’t a reflection on you. You did the best you could with the hand you were dealt.

  I forgive you. I know you never intentionally hurt me and made decisions as best you could. Those decisions weren’t malicious and were only meant to protect me. I get that now. I’m sorry it took me so long to come to that conclusion. I know you so well, and your first thought is probably to beg me to let you help me get through this, but leaning on others is the worst thing I can do right now. I’ll fall into familiar habits of doing things because it’s what others expect or want. I can’t do that anymore.

  I guess I’ve lived in the limelight so long and always tried to live two lives simultaneously. There is a delicate balance between a rock star and a human being. I just need to find where that healthy balance is for me. I had a dream while I was in the hospital, and Caleb was in this beautiful home with floor length windows. The home was Victorian with a fall smell permeating it. The floors were the old hardwood I love so much. Caleb was sitting on a stool playing Walkin’ Back to Georgia, and we had an argument. He sent me home. It may very well sound crazy to say I followed a dead man’s instructions, but I’ve dreamed of him often over the years. When the dreams aren’t some play on the accident that took his life, he guides me with love, comfort, wisdom, and advice. He’s never led me astray, not in life or in death. So, I walked back to Georgia. Georgia is where it all began, and I need to get back to my roots. I need to remember why I ever wanted to do all of this in the first place.

  You’ll want to wait around for me to get my shit together and hope at the end of that road we’ll reunite. Don’t wait on me, Jag. Don’t put your life on hold, live it to its fullest. We all owe that to ourselves. If you meet a girl and she makes you smile, give her a chance. There has to be a girl out there who doesn’t have so much darkness in her. That girl will make you happy and your life easier. I’ll see you soon, and until then please take care of yourself. I love you, please don’t ever forget that.

  Always,

  Henley

  I read the letter analyzing every sentence, and then I reread it. She wants to live, and that makes me smile. The burden on my heart lifts a great deal. The burden that remains is the concern I have over the pain she remains in and will endure during her journey. I worry she’ll decide at the end of this journey she doesn’t want to be with me. I’m astonished she told me to move on from her. Doesn’t she see how much I’ve fought for her? I could never love someone else like I love her. I failed her if she doesn’t get that.

  I spend another hour on the beach soaking in her words. On my way to her driveway I call Koi.

  “Yeah?” he answers.

  “Did you know she went to Georgia?” I question.

  “Hen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. I had no idea, but that’s a good thing,” he says.

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Not sitting well with you?”

  I let out a sigh. How do I explain that I understand this is what’s best for her, but her absence hurts so
damn much?

  “Go to her, bruh,” Koi advises.

  “She left me a letter at her house and asked me to let her do this on her own. She wants to heal. She wants to live,” my voice cracks on the last word.

  Koi sighs, and silence falls between us for a moment before he says, “Then let’s all go get her.”

  “She’ll be livid.”

  “We won’t tell her we’re coming there for her. I’ll put in a call to Red and discuss producing a new album. We’ve been talking about recording a lot lately, so let’s do it. Let’s go home and record with Red. It will give us a chance to be there if she needs us and we won’t go crazy wondering if she is all right.”

  “We’re all walking back to Georgia,” I laugh.

  “What the fuck you going on about Carlyle?” Koi asks.

  “In her letter, she said Caleb told her in a dream to go back to Georgia. He was playing Croce’s Walkin’ Back to Georgia,” I explain,

  “Damn, even in death that fucker is wise as hell,” he laughs. “I guess we’re all walking back to Georgia then.”

  “What about Kip and Hen?” I ask.

  “Kip and Hen have to work their own shit out. They’ll eventually get there and being in Georgia together will hopefully allow that to happen sooner than later. Kip won’t decline coming to Georgia because she’s there. He’s ready to record.”

  “I’ll call management and get everything set up,” I inform.

  “Call me with the deets as soon as you get them.”

  “How soon you want to go?”

  “Give me about a week to get everything in line out here,” he requests.

  Two Weeks Later

  We arrive in Georgia at eight this morning and make the two hour drive south to Macon. By the time we claim our luggage and get the hell out of the airport traffic we don’t get to Red’s until eleven. We speak to Koi’s grandmother upon arrival and wait for her to tell us where Red and Henley were. After thirty minutes, Koi is as impatient as I am to know, so he outright asks.

  “Red and Hen are working out in the woods,” she says.

  “Working in the woods?” Koi asks.

  “Girl’s been meditating and working like hell around here. She’s been clearing brush around the pond, assessing the stables for repair, and this morning those two hard heads are clearing a path from here to Memphis’ newly cleared lot.”

  “He building here?” I ask.

  “Red says so,” she replies.

  With sweet tea in hand we all sit in rocking chairs on the front porch and wait for Red and Hen to return for lunch. The late summer air is thick, but much easier to breathe in than the toxic shit in L.A. Right at noon, Red and Henley arrive on his golf cart. She sees us and breaks eye contact. When the cart stops, she exits and calls for Cash. They each jump into her car and take off without a word. I look around and Koi and Cam are just as shocked as I am. Kip looks angry. Fuck. They have to work this shit out between them soon.

  Red takes the front steps towards us, “She needs time boys. Can’t spring shit on her like this right now.”

  “I guess we’re still handling her like she’s glass,” Kip mumbles.

  Red eyes him for a moment and then lights into him, “Let me tell you something, boy. We aren’t handling anybody like glass around here. She’s working through her shit. You might be angry at her for using, but you don’t get to forget all the years you two spent together and the shit she did for you because of a mistake. Her mistake does not negate the friendship you two shared.”

  “This isn’t just about her drug use. She fucking overdosed Red! I saw her fucking seize and stop breathing. I watched that shit, and it wasn’t a tragic accident like Caleb. She did the shit to herself,” Kip yells.

  “I didn’t know about the overdose, but what I said stands, son. My girl’s hurtin’. Our girl’s hurtin’. You don’t get to decide how someone else handles their pain. You handled the shit with your folks in your own way, and from what I can tell you’re still dealing with it. She isn’t you, so she’ll deal with it the best she knows how. It may not have been the right way before now, but she came here on her own accord to get to a better place. Get your head out of your ass and be her friend instead of being angry at her. That goes for all of you,” Red points at each of us before he enters the house.

  Chapter 4

  Jagger

  After an appropriate amount of time I follow Red to eat lunch and talk music. He’s excited about getting back in the studio with us and is keen on pushing Henley into helping produce the album. She needs purpose. She came here to figure out why she wanted to do all this in the first place, so producing our album will help her find purpose.

  Red suggests we ride down to the stables and give Henley a hand with the repairs. Kip looks unhappy about the suggestion but he doesn’t dare cross Red again. Hopefully the words they exchanged will sink into his thick skull. He and Henley need each other in a way none of us can understand. I don’t think they quite comprehend their cosmic connection either, but they need it back, because it’s weighing on all of us.

  As the golf carts pull up to the stables we watch as Henley emerges on her horse and not long after she’s cleared the gate, she and Rising Sun are running at full speed across the expansive fields that surround the stables. She keeps her head low to the horse’s neck and holds the reins tight. She’s defying Mother Nature again. Her own human body can’t move that fast. She can’t run that fast, and yet she yearns to move with the speed of a freight train.

  “Her and that horse ain’t much different,” Red says.

  I let that sink in for a minute and wait for his wise explanation. He watches her for a bit longer before he offers it up.

  “That horse was abused. I remember the first time she ever saw him, she was overcome with emotion. She found something kindred in the horse, and the horse neighed each time she tried to walk away from him. She begged the owner to let her buy Rising Sun, but he refused until she offered to pay him ten times what the horse was worth. He was malnourished and his coat was nasty. Yet she connected with him. She refused to come back at a later date to get the horse, so afraid the man would do further damage to him. Once the man transferred ownership on paper to Henley, she bought one of his horse trailers, loaded up the beast, and brought him here. She slept in the damn stables for a week so he wouldn’t feel alone.”

  “She nursed him back to health. One of the hands attempted to break him, but he’s stubborn as hell. Henley attempted. He had been ridden as a youngster, but after his abuse he wasn’t keen on it. He let Hen mount, and they rode for hours with no problems. He trusts her. I think they both have a wild heart and some internal need to be free, yet they need to be reined in and brought back down to earth once in a while. The freedom and the grounding they seek differ from what most people yearn for. Those two just want to feel peace and freedom from the pain they’ve endured in their past. Wild and free.”

  In silence, we watch her and Rising Sun fight for their liberation from this world. Peace radiates off both of them. I reach out to touch her several times as she rides across the horizon, chasing twilight, and remember she wants to stand on her own two feet. I need to be her friend. She needs me to be her friend, not her lover.

  “What needs to be repaired on the stables?” I ask.

  “Got termites inside. Had ‘em treated, but the damage is done. I want to rebuild the stalls to ensure they’re secure. Can’t have the horses getting hurt. Hen and I discussed replacing some of the wood on the outside of the structure that’s weathered,” Red answers.

  Henley and Rising Sun trot to the stable, and Koi opens the gate for them. She nods at each of us, the only communication she must be capable of. I have to remember this isn’t personal. She isn’t doing this to hurt me, rather to make her better. Twenty minutes later I hear her call for Cash, and her car’s engine turns over from behind the stable, out of my view. She drives away without a word.

&nbs
p; Two Days Later

  Kip

  I’ve been in Georgia two days and haven’t seen my parents. I hoped to have more time before they discovered my presence, but I’m shit out of luck. Mom text this morning and asked me over for lunch. I’m thrilled to see these two, let me tell you. Conversation is always so forced. I have no idea what those two ever had in common. What in the hell made those two think it was a good idea to get married and produce offspring? I’m the shit, so I approve of that instance of procreation between those two parents of the decade.

  As my car rolls down their drive, I try to think of a million reasons why I can’t make lunch but nothing solid comes to mind before the house comes into view. I park and exit the vehicle and knock on my parent’s front door moments later.

  Mom answers the door, “Darlin’, why are you knocking? You’ve lived here your entire life. It is still your home.”

  This has never been a home. She throws her arms around my neck, genuinely happy to see me. “Hey, mom.” I lean down and kiss her cheek, then follow her into their house.

  “Gary, look who’s here!” she exclaims.

  As we enter the kitchen, my father raises his eyes to me, looks over my tattoos and scoffs. My mother clears her throat prompting my father to paste a fake smile on his face. He stands and extends his hand over the kitchen table, shaking my hand much firmer than is ever truly warranted during a handshake.

  “Son,” he nods.

  “Dad.”

  “Why don’t you sit down, honey? I’ll pour you a glass of tea,” mom offers.

  “Thanks, mom,” I smile because she enjoys taking care of me, making up for lost time.

  “So how is the rock-n-roll business?” my father asks.

  “Everything is fine. We are about to start the process of recording a new album with Red.”