Notes On Love

by K. L. Shandwick

  “Oh come on, Brody. It’s not the first time he’s had a woman suck him off in front of everyone, or been drunk nursing it affectionately in his hand like he’s waiting to take part in some exhibition.”

  “Fucker,” Brody muttered. “When he gets back here I’m drawing up some new rules.”

  “Yeah? Like no fucking Dana in public when I’m trying to mind my own business by eating a pizza and watching a movie here on the bus?” I questioned.

  Dana pulled her lips in tightly, trying not to smile when her eyes met Brody’s. Glancing at me sheepishly, he looked slightly embarrassed but shook it off before he answered, “Point taken, but Dana and I are married.”

  “Caleb’s married to his dick…your point is?” I reasoned.

  “Jesus, all right, Dana and I won’t fuck in public on the bus,” he said as if he were giving into our demands.

  Our conversation was interrupted by my cell. I stood and walked down to the back of the bus to take the call from the researcher I’d been put in touch with.

  “Hello, Gray. George Bracknell here, we’ve located your mother.” My heart skipped a beat as shock took over my body; a collision of thoughts and feelings swamped me. I tried to control my breathing to listen. “She’s at a religious retreat in Maidstone, in Kent, back in the UK.”

  “A retreat? I don’t understand.”

  “Apparently she only recently came back from Chad, in Central Africa. She’s been a missionary there for many years. She spends two years in country and two months out for reflection. It’ll be a month before we can talk to her. The charity she works for said that she undergoes a period of reflection there before she gathers pace to go back.”

  I stood in silence, picking at a seam in the Formica walls of the bus, my index finger trying to pin the small screw that I found. My mind went into meltdown and I couldn’t think. After a pause George spoke again. “Are we still connected, Gray?”

  “I’m sorry, just trying to take this all in.”

  “Do you want us to leave a message with the retreat for when she comes out of reflection?”

  “Yeah,” was all I could manage.

  “Okay, we’ll make some arrangements for you to meet in private if she’s agreeable.”

  She’s a fucking missionary? Dad had told me she came from a religious family, and I knew there was something up between her and her family, but my dad never discussed them either. There was so much I didn’t know, and I still had to find the truth. My dad’s parents had died when I was small and I couldn’t even ask them. It felt weird to know I was related to someone who opted out of their life and went to help others, especially when she left a kid who needed care, at home.

  I was still trying to get my head around all I’d learned by the time we reached Ohio. It was a one night stop in the venue compound. I felt anxious and starved by the time we arrived. I asked the hospitality waiting to meet us if they would order in some food and was pleased to hear the center where the gig was taking place had plenty of restaurants. An hour later we had our sound check and headed backstage.

  As usual, the corridor to our dressing room was littered with people who wanted to speak with us. I obliged by slapping on my charm and my million dollar smile as I shook hand after hand and hugged my way around the room. A pretty, little dark haired chick smiled a dazzlingly, beautiful smile in my direction. It caught my eye, so I leaned in to ask if she had seen us before for something to say. She instantly stroked my dick and squeezed while never taking her eyes off my face.

  Taking a step backward, I slid to the side and turned before walking away. Not very rock star like, I know, but I was tired of women taking liberties with my body.

  With an hour to go the corridor and green room were suddenly cleared out, the throng of people milling around herded off somewhere else so that we could focus on the task at hand. We’d practiced unplugged as much as we could on the bus and had a ten minute warm up before with the sound check guys, but I still had to prepare my vocals for the ninety minutes of hard, full-on singing.

  Leaving the others, I went into the bathroom to steam my throat and tune up my voice before we headed to the left side of the stage. Although I knew my mind had to be on the job, focusing was hard when I knew there was the possibility of seeing my mother again.

  Stepping out onto the stage in Cleveland, the stress and turmoil that had been my life for the previous week slid away as I walked up to the mic and grabbed the mic stand. “Hello Cleveland,” I shouted into the crowd.

  The applause that had greeted us as we walked center stage ramped up to a magnificent roar as fan after fan whistled, stamped their feet, and screamed in appreciation. Brody hit his drum sticks together and thumped a heavy beat which was so distinctive that the crowd cheered even louder.

  Caleb brought his talent to the table and I suddenly remembered why he was with us, his guitar playing was second to none. Watching him in his element, I was in awe of his effortless ability to play to the crowd, interact with Brody and Surge and play up to me on stage. Seeing the huge grin on his face, I wondered for a second whether he had it right. He was uncomplicated and superficial, but he never hid those facts. His I am what I am attitude was right out there, and who was I anyway to judge him?

  For almost two hours, which included the encore, I lived and breathed music; it oozed out of every pore in my body. Nothing else had mattered while I was up there on stage than giving my all to the people who paid to allow me to continue to do what I did day after day; the privilege to live through my music.

  Feeling the bass and drums resonating in my bones, vibrations from the deafening sound of our tunes seeped into my flesh, penetrating every cell in my body. Music affected me like nothing else ever had. My senses fed and nurtured my mind as I watched our songs affect the lives of all those in front of me in the same way as it did with me. The effect on me was enhanced for the fact they were cheering us on, encouraging us, loving us. I’d never thought of fans in terms of love, but what I did for them; playing music, was the one thing I’d always been clear of in my life.

  Music represented the purest form of love for me, and I loved it for its ability to make me feel. The way I could internalize the whole range of feelings and not just the mainly negative ones in my normal everyday life was the reason it was so special to me.

  Notes and scales, lyrics and melodies united in many different combinations to affect us in however its composer intended us to feel, dependent on the way the combination was put together. The chemistry of music’s infinite abilities gave me what I needed, when I needed it. Like a drug, it soothed my moods, picked me up when I felt low, made me feel joy in my heart, and love through the lyrics in the way they and the music accompanying them was arranged. It inspired me. The minute I heard music my connection was usually instantaneous.

  Caleb and I switched to our acoustic guitars and we sang the song that started us off on the road to success, “Teach me”. It was like an anthem to our fans and as soon as we fingered the intro on our frets the whole place erupted in a show of love that brought a lump to my throat.

  Everyone in the hall fell silent as I started to sing the verse. The only sounds were the ones Caleb and I made as we sang to the crowd, but as the bridge drew near, the whistling and cheering began and the voices of the entire auditorium repeated our words back at us. It was a defining moment for CraVed as a band, everything we’d worked for to get to this point had been for this, acceptance, and recognition in the US.

  Brody was freaking out, jumping up and down like a bunny with its ass on fire. “Oh. My. God. Did you see them? They were the fucking bomb. They knew every single word of that song. We’re here, Gray, we’re fucking here to stay.”

  Caleb jumped up on Brody’s body and wrapped his legs around his waist. “Woo-hoo,” he shouted.

  “Get the fuck down, I’m not so stoked I’d let you hump me, you maggot. Get the fuck off me.”

  Surge slapped Brody’s back. “Nice
to know you still have it though, eh Brody,” he said, laughing at Brody’s reaction.

  “You two are fucking nuts. Caleb, take your groin somewhere else, I don’t know where you’ve been,” Brody said, frowning in mock annoyance.

  “Yeah you do, Brody, he’s been everywhere,” Surge replied.

  I stood there drying my neck and hair with a towel, drenched in sweat from my effort on stage, and chuckled heartily as they all bantered relentlessly about Caleb, but for me he was the star of the show.

  “Caleb, man, you were so fucking amazing out there tonight. Credit where it’s due, he can do no wrong in my eyes right now,” I said, first praising him and then addressing the others.

  “Yeah? Wait until he tries to dry hump you with those clammy jeans, we’ll see who can do no wrong then,” Brody smirked.

  “Well, while you two are arguing who I’m wrapping my legs around next, I have a hot chick waiting out the back in the green room who’ll be administering mouth-to-cock resuscitation. My dick is brick hard after that gig,” Caleb quipped.

  “Another one bites the dust,” Surge teased.

  “Nothing dusty about my nuts, Surge, and she can nibble all she wants, there’s plenty to go around,” he joked again in reference to his size.

  “Hope she’s got a poor appetite,” Surge called after him as Caleb walked away. Without turning around, he flipped Surge the bird with both hands and we all cracked up laughing again.

  ****

  The rest of the tour went amazingly well, each venue bringing more recognition and adulation for us as a band, and more women for Caleb. Hettie and I had spoken a huge amount on the phone and connected on Skype while the researcher guy made headway with a meet between me and my mother. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but once the date had been set, nervousness and a little excitement, if I was honest, hit me. I was more than a little apprehensive about her possible reaction toward me.

  I’d been famous in the UK for over eight years and she’d never reached out to me once. It was a point that I’d had in the back of my mind for the longest time. In the beginning I had often wondered if that day would be the day she’d come and claim me, just like other artists had experienced.

  When after a couple of years she hadn’t, I figured she couldn’t have cared about me or she would have met me by now. If she’d been doing missionary work it would have made sense because she didn’t have TV. Another fear crept in, what we did for a living were the exact opposites of each other. It sent another round of self-doubt running through my mind that she wouldn’t be proud, she wouldn’t be accepting and she didn’t love me.

  I’d always focused on hating my mother for leaving me behind. It was the hurt and rejection that went with her absence and her silence ever since. Strange how that crave for the love of someone who is less interested always seems to be the one we seek the most.

  Chapter 32

  Finding the truth ~ Gray.

  Traveling back to the UK gave me plenty of time to think about what it was that I wanted to say. Maybe the meeting will be so brief I’ll never be able to say the things I have in my head? My brain was crammed full of questions, each one more pertinent than the last, but my confidence had begun to wane with every mile closer we flew to home.

  Talking to my dad the night before made me feel better because I felt guilty about meeting my mother. He’d been the one that was there through all my achievements and failures, guiding me, picking me up when something didn’t turn out the way I had wanted, encouraging me to follow my dreams but ensuring I kept a level head.

  Then he said the one thing that showed me the kind of man that he was. “A child is one person created from half of two other people. Never be afraid to know both halves and never be afraid to love both halves. If you get the opportunity to gain knowledge from each of them it will bring a greater understanding of knowing yourself.”

  I swear my jaw dropped. It was like something the old Chinese profit, Confucius, would have said, but it gave me the permission I had sought to go forward without guilt.

  My mother had agreed to spend a day with me at a small, out of the way cottage in the small village of Harvel, not far from the retreat in Kent. It wasn’t a luxurious cottage, but it was very secluded and gave me the privacy the occasion warranted.

  As soon as I saw the one-track country lane leading to it when we turned off the main road at Meopham, I knew we’d have an uninterrupted day free from the paparazzi to speak our minds. I had asked the driver to drop me off and wait for my text before he come back. After he’d gone, being alone for the first time in months felt odd.

  Arriving a few hours before she was due, I was exhausted from the flight and even though my nerves were on edge my brain screamed at me for sleep. I checked my phone and there was a signal, and saw a message from Hettie.

  Hettie: I’m so proud of you, Gray. No matter what the day brings, know I love you.

  Gray: Arrived safely, waiting by the gallows. I love you too, baby. I’ll call you later.

  I smirked, stuffed my cell in my pocket, and headed up the rickety, old spiral staircase that creaked and groaned under my feet. Finding the master suite, I lay my head on the pillow and pulled the old-fashioned patchwork quilt draped over the bottom of the bed up my body. I was so used to sleeping in strange beds and this one was no different. Seconds later I went out like a light.

  The noise of tires crunching on gravel woke me. My heart instantly galloped at what the sound meant. Before I could make it downstairs a heavy door knocker on the rustic, hollow sounding wood of the front door announced my mother’s arrival.

  My heart flipped over in my chest because for twenty-three years I’d had so many negative feelings about the person on the other side of it. For a second I panicked, thinking she may not have come and someone else had come to tell me this. And because of that thought I was momentarily paralyzed.

  Throwing up a silent prayer that wasn’t the case, I headed down the rest of the stairs to the door. My heart skipped another beat as I stood quietly, drawing a deep breath to calm myself, praying even, that I’d keep my cool with her, before I opened the door to the person who had been closed in my mind for the longest of times.

  Looking almost identical to how she’d looked the day she left, my mother stood passive, radiating the calm I could never have hoped to feel at that moment. Obviously, she was much older, but everything about her looked familiar. She had changed little despite the twenty odd years that had passed and was still a very beautiful looking woman.

  “Hello, Grayson,” she said, with the same calmness I had read in her body language.

  A thousand images from our time as a family flashed instantaneously and with lightning speed through my mind as I fought for order, peace, and lack of judgment until I had heard her side of her story.

  “Hi, sorry, come in,” I offered, pulling the door wide and stepping aside as I fought to keep my thoughts to myself. My eyes followed her, taking in her appearance further. Flat, plain black shoes; straight black skirt; shapeless black woolen sweater; and her hair, the same color as mine, scraped back in a low ponytail held with a small piece of plain cord. From that, I took how she looked wasn’t important; there was no effort to look good for me. I liked that fact, because it felt honest.

  She never threw herself at me and I never attempted to hug her…to touch her even. “Please, have a seat.” Gesturing at the chairs in the small sitting room, she took my cue and walked toward the one near the window. She sat after sweeping her skirt smooth at the back, her legs folded to the side at the ankle, and her hands laid softly on top of one another in her lap. It was the same gestures I remembered as a child, but my memory of those was of someone who wasn’t affected by anything around her. As an adult, I read her body language as having a natural elegance and serenity.

  Wandering over to the seat opposite her I sat down and my eyes connected with hers properly for the first time. The power of the moment hit me right in
the chest, stealing my breath for a second, and I felt tears well in my eyes. I swallowed roughly, past the lump growing in my throat and my words were out before I had filtered anything going on in my head.

  “Why? I want to know why you left me.”

  “How do I start to tell you without knowing what you believe to be the truth? How do I ever say anything that helps you accept what happened? How do I even begin to make you believe I love you?”

  Three questions that sounded thought out, delivered with such control that they seemed contrived. Remembering I knew her once told me they weren’t.

  “I know my dad cheated on you, but that’s about the extent of it,” I said, not wanting to discuss all the things he said about her. I loved him above all others for how he’d taken care of me, but I wasn’t afraid to face the fact that his judgment could have been clouded for his personal experience with my mother.

  “I’m glad you found me, Grayson. I never thought I’d get the opportunity to set things straight with you. To see you again, hear your voice, and to see your sweet smile.”

  My mouth was dry, my heart thudded hard in my chest. It ached for whatever morsel of comfort she could say to make it feel less bruised for all that it had gone through after she left.

  “I was brought up in a strict Roman Catholic family. Every spare moment was spent around the church, reading from the scriptures or studying passages from The Bible. My parents were devoted to the chapel I attended and encouraged me to join their youth fellowship program. Patrick, your dad’s father, your grandfather, was one of the leaders of the program, and he and my father were great friends.

  Naturally I got to know your dad and he invited me to the movie theatre…in a group of others from the fellowship. After about six months, he asked me out on a date. Initially, I told him my parents didn’t let me court anyone. I was only seventeen at the time. Your dad being the kind of man he is asked for my father’s permission. My parents saw your dad as the kind of boy they wanted for their only daughter and were delighted. They encouraged me to go. Wanting to please them, I accepted, but I had a burning desire of my own that I had been harboring since the day I took my first holy communion in church.