I brave sitting and staring at the tombstone, taking in Amber’s name and accepting I will never again see the woman who should forever be my wife. The one who should be called mother by the numerous pieces of joy we thought we were destined to bring into the world. Those angels died when she did.
I finally give her a rose, much like the one I robbed her of years before. Try as I might, I can’t help but remember how I had once planned to plant her a picket-fenced garden full of them to come home to every night. “Not a day will ever go by that I don’t miss you. Goodbye, Amber. And God, please, goodbye voices, visions, and vibrations.”
My heart sends Amber a kiss, and I leave her behind. As I head to my car, more words slip out without permission. They hurt as much as the ones that came before.
“Goodbye, Katherine. I wish you happiness. I hope I can find the same. We will meet again—someday.”
I Wanna Talk To You
Although the time I spent at my parent’s house helped ground me, I never felt settled. Being in my own home is only intensifying my discomfort. I haven’t even finished unpacking, yet I already want to escape. Still, it’s ten at night, and I need to be up at—
Screw it. I don’t want to wake Bailey, but with the way things have been going she probably can’t think about sleep either. I shoot her a text, “Just got back. Want to grab some coffee?”
I don’t seem to get more than a couple of steps away from my phone when it buzzes with a return text. “I’m at The Kingsway, escaping Carlos by watching a documentary on bowling. Tell me where you want me, and I will be there in a heartbeat!”
Bailey loves going to old theaters such as The Kingsway. Actually, she loves pretty much anything from the forties. But to sit through a documentary on bowling means she must be desperate to be anywhere but home. That sure sounds familiar. I’ll meet her someplace slightly out of the way so she has an excuse to bail on that documentary quickly. “Carrie’s Café in 15?”
The return text is almost instantaneous. “I’ll be there in five!”
Inside the cozy café, I peer into my menu only to tell the waitress, “Just coffee for me, please. Decaf.”
“Decaf for me, too,” Bailey adds, “but with two forks and a slice of cherry pie.”
“Yes!” I exclaim with the addition of a fist pump. Our twisted logic dictates whomever orders it is the one who sucks up all the bad things we are not supposed to eat. I hate having to stay so freaking skinny and constantly find ways to rebel against it. I refuse to get sucked into the ridiculous body issues Hollywood creates.
A large yawn comes out of me. I should be in bed, but right now everything seems out of sorts to the point where I know I won’t sleep. The comfort I have been finding in talking to someone who doesn’t exist is disturbing.
“So,” Bailey says, “how was the rest of your visit home?”
“It was good,” blurts out of me. Bailey’s head tilts like she is not buying my forced cheer for a second, so I surrender to giving her most of the story. “Seeing my parents was great. Getting away was also good in the sense that, despite the fact my heart is on the fence, I have come to terms with needing out of my relationship with Jason. How I managed to come home after he left for a location shoot, and how I reworked my schedule so I now leave for Los Angeles late Wednesday night, before he gets back, shows where my head is.” Bailey waits for me to say more, but I am not sure where to start or even if I should. Making up someone to fill the void would be a lot less weird if it didn’t feel so real at times.
“But there is more to it, isn’t there?” she asks.
Sometimes knowing someone who can read you well isn’t the best thing to help you get your mind off of your troubles. There has to be some way for all this to make sense. “The talk we had regarding our lack of friends reminded me of being a kid and playing Monopoly against an imaginary partner. Did you ever do anything like that?” I am betting if she did, she never acted as if the person was real, let alone reached out for his hand. Why am I doing that? The worst part is, it seems so natural it is freaky.
Is it really all that weird? Aren’t we supposed to find our greatest comfort within ourselves?
Yeah, it’s weird.
The waitress arrives with the pie, two cups of coffee, and our check. Seriously? Why do I feel I have already been kicked out?
Bailey snickers. “With Darla around, I never had enough privacy to create a playmate. Although …” Bailey shakes her head. “I can’t believe I am admitting this. When I was about thirteen, I used to daydream that I had a boyfriend. He had black hair, a gorgeous tan, and eyes as dark as sin. We had some of the best talks.” She chuckles. “Yep, I had deep, meaningful conversations with a male member of the species. That alone told me it was fake. It sounds so weird now, but then I thought of it as talking to the man I was destined to find.”
Her words reinforce part of my fears. “Was destined to find?”
She sighs. “I told myself Saturday night that, in light of my new attitude, I wouldn’t let negativity slip in, but sometimes fear seeps through the cracks. I’m determined to make better choices now.”
Despite the steadfastness of her words, her voice sounds nervous. Bailey sips her coffee, and my guard rises. Something tells me bad news is on the way. I let out a hearty exhale. “Don’t sugar coat it. Just spill it.” My nerves drive me to grab a cherry out of the pie.
Bailey’s voice continues to sound shaky. “Over the last couple of days I have made some pretty big decisions.” Her demeanor changes, and the sudden thunk of her cup on the table snaps my attention. “I gave notice at work.”
My eyes widen and lock. Oh God, please no. She can’t go!
“That dose of reality on Saturday night stuck. I am moving in with Darla and taking over the job she is leaving while going back to school. It is time to stop ignoring my dreams and regain who I am.”
My gaze drops along with my heart. Bailey needs to make a change but …
I want to fight her on this—to offer her a place to live, rent-free even. She could stay with me while going to school. Hell, I can afford it. She’s given Carlos a free ride for so long, why shouldn’t she get one?
I look back at her, ready to tell her I’m happy to help, but one solid look at the strength in her eyes that reflects the gumption she struggled so long to find tells me I have to respect her decision. “I’m so glad you are doing what is best for you. I’m gonna miss the hell out of you.”
She squeezes my arm, and I place my hand over hers. “I’m gonna miss the hell out of you, too,” she says through watery eyes. “But hey, it’s not as if you never go to Los Angeles.”
Her words breathe a bit of life back into me. They also remind me of one of the things I struggled with while at my parent’s house. “True, and with what I told you about Jason’s twisted logic, I may be back there as soon as this season wraps. He is totally going to tank the show.”
I rattle my head while trying to clear the thoughts that keep swimming around. It doesn’t work, so I pick another cherry out of the pie and hope it will somehow give me focus. I need to dump my boyfriend, and my best friend is leaving. Meanwhile, I have found comfort in a fabricated reality. Bailey is making a major decision based on what she feels can lead her to happiness. I need to do the same. For as grown up as Bailey and I are, we sure have a lot to learn about ourselves. Lately I’ve been learning in leaps and bounds.
I blurt out, “Do you think there is someone for everyone?” Having the courage to not only ask the question but to also face my curiosity aloud drives me to go for a big bite of pie.
“You mean, like a soul mate? Similar to how I thought this conversation was headed earlier with you being vague and asking about imaginary people?”
How she has figured out a part of what I am getting at doesn’t faze me, though it probably should. “You really do know me well.”
She doesn’t even take a beat to think about it. “Absolutely, and I wish he would show up. I’m tired of being at a
carnival.”
Dear Lord, me too! Jason and I are nothing more than the same roller coaster ride over and over again. It is long past time to get off.
I put half of the last bit of pie into my mouth. Bailey digs her fork into what’s left. We need to dive into a new sea to find our treasure chests. “Do you think you might know him on sight?” I ask.
“I absolutely do, but only if I don’t expect him to be perfect. Don’t you?”
I wish I could say that I would. Once I thought Jason might be able to fill those shoes. “Not in the least, which means I have to be a lot more open-minded.” I nab the check. “It’s on me. You just did me a big favor. I owe you a lot more than pie.”
Bailey puts her hand on my arm and stops me. “So, you are telling me that even though you have been on the evasive side, I managed to help you with whatever was going to keep you from sleeping tonight?”
Though I smile I have to choke back the emotion that threatens to show in my eyes. “I don’t know how I am going to make it without you.”
“I promise to never be more than a phone call away.”
During my walk home the cold air has me chilled to the bone, yet my inner being is cozy. Whatever is going on is making me change, and I dig this new version who is willing to let the world open up for her. If soul mates exists, something other than the here and now must too. Maybe opening my mind to new possibilities will help me clear out the garbage in my head and rediscover the happiness I’ve lost.
As soon as I crawl into bed I speak from my heart. “My name is Katherine. I live in Toronto, and I choose to believe there is someone special for me. I love walks on the beach, playing with animals, and feel people need to treasure everyday. I also believe no dream goes unheard, though lately I have lost sight of that.” I snuggle deep under the covers while feeling secure for the first time in years.
“If I could somehow find a way to let you know I am thinking of you, then maybe … maybe someday our paths will cross and we will find each other.”
My touch to the pillow on my left is like that to the cheek of a lover. Intense longing for someone I have never laid eyes on tears at my heart, making me miss an unseen man with the passion of a great love I have known for ages. How can this not be real?
The warmth of a gentle caress cups my jaw and nudges me awake. With a moan of happiness, I snuggle deeper into the pillow. Hmm … I need more dreams like this.
Suddenly, I realize even though I am now awake, I still feel the touch. This isn’t a dream!
My eyes pop open, yet the sensation remains, causing me to nearly choke on my gasp for air. Holy shit! The voice, the visions, they are all supposed to be gone. Yesterday I walked away and came home. I spent today struggling to stay awake at work, went to bed, and conked out while comfortable in knowing I should be at peace with everything. Instead, I feel a touch—a warm, gentle touch that under normal circumstances would put my heart on a cloud. Now my body is rigid and growing icier by the instant.
“I have big decisions to make.”
“No!” I pop up in bed and rattle my head with the force of a paint shaker, risking brain damage.
“How can it be after all that has happened—”
“Go away!”
The voice fades, and the gasp of air I grab in relief adds to the pain in my chest my racing heart brought on. I drop down onto my back and try to gather my wits. My words race out. “I have a chemical imbalance. I have to. There is no other explanation. Talking to myself is proof.”
Okay, I need to be rational. Do I call the ambulance now, or do I drive myself to the hospital in the morning? I’m out of excuses.
No, I am not crazy. I can’t be.
Yes, you can.
No, I’m not.
Then why am I talking to myself?
If I am talking to myself, wouldn’t I ask, why are you talking to yourself?
See, that line of thinking shows my mind is still here. This is a simple, internal conversation; therefore, I am not crazy.
Am I?
God, please help me.
Okay, rational thinking says whether or not I am nuts may be questionable, but I am definitely awake. My knuckles are also white from gripping the sheets, which I had no idea I was doing.
I force my body to go languid. Compelling myself into feeling somewhat normal further messes with my head and starts to freak me out again.
Water, I need water. Lots and lots of water.
I head off to the kitchen. Three glasses later I almost feel calm, yet there is no way I am going back to sleep—not now—maybe not ever—for fear of what may happen next.
A diversion. I need a diversion.
The box of reel-to-reels Shane gave me sits on my living room floor. I plop down, determined to let the bad music I am bound to keep finding quell my freak out. Man, was he ever right about how horrible these are.
My hands jitter so badly I drop the reel I pull off of the recorder. I will focus and overcome this. I must. Think of the music. Think of how bad it is—like mind-numbingly bad. Right now, that is exactly what the doctor ordered.
Dear God, please don’t let me need a doctor.
I use care to wind the last tape properly and tuck it neatly back into its box. Even though I’m pretty sure three toddlers and a cow could produce more notable work, this could be the last surviving recording of Puke Spray, whoever they were, so respect seems due.
Lord, the next tape has to be better.
Funny, I said the same thing the last five times I threaded this machine. This may prove I’ve lost my mind more than anything else does.
Again I gather myself and then start the player. The familiar voice of the engineer comes across the tape, just as he has on the others. “Okay, girls, are you ready?”
Girls? Good, this is what I need. The seventies were a prime time for chicks with guitars. Maybe this tape won’t suck bong water like the others did.
Man, I sure get bitchy when I have freak outs.
A guitar rips in, followed by the pounding of drums. A female voice starts kicking ass and … Dear Lord, yes! A woman screaming into a mic can be damn threatening. This one certainly reminds me that my hormones love being intimidated. These girls rule! Who are they?
The only marking on the box says, “Negative Fate, ‘Pangs of Love.’”
Oh God, yes. This alone makes me feel so much better. I can be okay. I will be okay. Music always saves me.
My fingers tap on the coffee table, and I hum along to the simple chord progression. When we get to the break, I jump up and start thrashing, swinging my neck round and round, spinning it into heaven. The lyrics kick back in, and I belt them out while twirling and dancing my way to the kitchen.
“I am a rock and roll machine, a product of my own revolution. The road to success is dark, but flames of my desire will light the path.”
I start screaming with the impassioned singer like I’m a crazed fan. I’ve popped the top off of a beer and am headed in for a swig when I’m sucker punched in the face. Everything in the world seems to stop, except for the music.
I’ve never heard this song, so how do I know the lyrics?
Okay, I’m still freaked out over the touch I think I felt. This song has to be a cover. A lot of bands demo with covers.
Who would have done something like this? It doesn’t feel as if the lyrics were altered to fit a woman singing, so that narrows it down. These tapes were recorded from nineteen seventy-eight to nineteen eighty. The engineer was out of Berkeley, so the band was probably local too, meaning the original version could have been a regional hit I’ve randomly heard. What seventies, San Francisco area, punk band could have done this?
UXA started in San Francisco, but I’m pretty damn familiar with anything the heavenly DeDe Troit ever belted. What about California in general? The Go-Go’s were once part of the punk scene. My mind flips through their catalog, starting with all of the early stuff I’ve only been able to hear on YouTube and going through “Our Lips Are S
ealed” which hit the charts long after this tape was made.
No, that doesn’t sound right either. This is going to drive me nuts.
I grab my laptop and surf on ‘negative fate pangs of love.’ The top hit is for punkrockgirls.com—a fan-driven Wiki listing a bunch of bands pretty much no one has ever heard of. How have I missed this site? I’m gonna waste countless hours on here.
A picture loads and—
Holy shit … There is no possible way.
My world, my mind, it all …
My brain is melting. It must be, because I can’t be seeing what I am imagining I am seeing.
Four girls in black stare down at the camera. One of them is a bleached blonde with a bar painted across her eyes. She’s dead in my face and owning the shot. She also jabs at my heart as if she owns that as well. God, those blue eyes …
Sleep walking. Maybe I am sleepwalking. Either that or this pain in my chest is actually a heart attack and I’m in the hospital, high on drugs and hallucinating.
The song crashes to an end, and the engineer returns. “Let’s try it one more time. Saleena, I need to up your vocals. Do you think you can hit that chorus a little harder?”
Saleena?
Oh God.
My hand goes to my chest, feeling my heart race and fearing the pain of an attack may soon hit.
“Sure. Are you ready to give it another go, girls?” asks a voice so sweet and delicate it is the stuff bondage freaks dream of. It in no way matches the power of the voice that belted out the song, but it’s a dead ringer for the one I heard during my alleged past life flashback. Its softness reminds me of PJ Harvey, who talks like a Kewpie doll but sings like a banshee. It is a contrast similar to the ones between the images I get of Katherine without makeup and her public persona.
God, that makes so much sense. Katherine is trying to sell an image the way Saleena did. They have to be the same person.
But the seventies weren’t very long ago. The only way she could be Katherine is if she died right after this.
Voices Carry: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection) Page 13