It had taken awhile, but I had convinced Aunt Janice to not take the day off unless she was absolutely certain that it would be okay. I wasn't sure what had made her change her mind, but one evening, she was adamant about taking the day off, and when I saw her the next evening, she had had a complete change of heart. I was, of course, a little sad that I wouldn't see her before I left, except for a little while the night before, but I was also relieved that I wouldn't be the cause of her losing her job or anything like that. And besides, I'd be coming back.
The day before I left, John came over for awhile. He made no mention of the other day, and after a bit, I relaxed around him, and we were back to talking and laughing. He had brought his guitar, so we played for awhile. My first opinion had been right: he didn't listen to folk music. He had been learning some folk songs and giving it a chance to try to impress me. I could hardly keep from laughing when I realized that. But I soon found that, as good a guitarist as John was, he was always open to new ideas, and we both realized that I actually had a lot to teach him. I opened my suitcase back up and pulled out my Bob Dylan records that I had brought along, and we spent a few hours just playing things like "It's Alright Ma" and "Mr. Tambourine Man." Of course, we couldn't help but linger over "The Times They Are A-Changin." We were both caught up in our own thoughts over that one, probably both reflecting on how true it had proved, both then and now.
I hadn't received a letter from Alex. I tried to be relieved, but the memory of that dream just kept knawing away at me. I doubted that I would rest easy about it until I went home and assured myself that there was no letter waiting for me there, either. For this reason and others, I was trying not to think too much about going back to California.
"Well," John eventually said, standing up, "I think I'd best be on my way." He didn't look as though he really wanted to leave, though.
"I suppose... I need to pack these back up..." I had an inspiration. "Would you like to borrow them?"
"All of them?"
"Well... maybe just two or three." I grinned. "Can't have you take my entire Bob Dylan collection, can I?"
"Okay, how about... can I borrow these?" He held up Bringing It All Back Home and Highway 61 Revisited.
I grimmaced. "Had to choose my two favorites, didn't you? Guard them with your life!"
"Here, have you got a paper and pen?"
"Of course. They're..." where were they,anyway? I got up and searched around some of the drawers. "Here we are!" I handed them over.
"Okay, here's my address, and my telephone number, though I imagine you won't use that often. Feel free to write and, ah, check on your records."
"Well, in that case, here's mine. Feel free to write and tell me! And don't be afraid to look for your own Dylan records. You might also want to check out Peter Paul and Mary, Pete Seger, and Joan Baez. To start with."
He nodded, and grinned. "I am sure I shall progress satisfactorily under your tutilage."
"I am sure you will," I returned. "I only wish I could be around to provide that tutilage!"
John's face became serious. "We'll write, surely. And maybe, if I get enough money..." he trailed off, shaking his head. There were a few moments in which neither of us said nothing, then he said, "Well, at any rate, the letters. We'll be regular pen pals, right?"
I nodded solidly. "Right. Write every week."
"Okay then." We both, I think, felt compelled to say something, but couldn't think of what to say. Finally, he gave me a hug, then picked up his guitar and the records, and left. I packed away the rest of my things, my mind not on what had been said, but what had been left unsaid.
I got up early the next morning, and Aunt Janice and I said goodbye over tea and toast. After she left, though, I laid back down to sleep for a little longer. I might be able to sleep on the plane, but it wasn't a certainty, and I had some time to kill.
When I woke up, though, I didn't have any time to kill. I needed to double check to make sure I had all my stuff, and then call a cab.
I was looking through the bathroom cupboards when I heard a knock at the door. Was it perhaps John? I had thought yesterday that he wouldn't be. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find George there!
My jaw involuntarily dropped for a moment before I managed to say, "Hi!" and invite him in.
"Hello, there. Are you ready to go?"
Huh? "Come again?"
"You aunt agreed not to take the day off as long as I went and saw you off. Made sure you got on okay."
"What?" I still didn't get it.
"You were so worried about your aunt, and so one day I called her at work after you'd gone home, and told her that if she was worried about someone making sure you got on okay, I would be glad to take you to the airport and see you off. And she agreed not to tell you about it," he finished with a grin.
It then occurred to me that I didn't have to call a taxi or anything, or worry about getting my bags out and through the airport, or anything. "Okay!" I said, and George helped me get my bags out to his car.
Normally, being in traffic like that would have been very frustrating, but it relaxed me. George had to stay at a certain speed. And we had left early enough to catch the flight, even if traffic remained this bad. Of course, it did lighten up a little, but not so much that I began to fear for my life. And we got to the airport in plenty of time.
George got a few surprised looks, but most of the people in the airport seemed to be businessmen, on their way somewhere, and they didn't even notice him. We waited a little while before the plane got there, but it was only about fifteen minutes late (amazingly enough!), so it wasn't very long.
Just before I boarded, I said, "I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you've done for me. You're wonderful!" And before I lost the nerve, I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
He grinned, and hugged me. "You're not so bad yourself!" he said. "Keep in touch, right?"
I nodded, hoping that the tears threatening to well up in my eyes weren't obvious. "No doubt about it. And thank you again!" I waved as I walked to the gate, then boarded and took off for home.
"We will be beginning our decent to Los Angeles International Airport within the next few minutes. Please return to your seats and fasten your safety belts, and make sure your tray tables are folded up and locked. Thank you."
I put my book back into my bag and stuffed it under the seat. The businessman beside me was still asleep, but the stewardess woke him up as she came around checking that everyone was indeed belted into their seats and that no rebel tray table was left down.
I had changed planes and gone through customs at JFK, so I started heading straight for the baggage claim when I disembarked. No sooner had I stepped through the gate, though, that I heard my name. I looked around, thinking that perhaps my dad had come to pick me up. I heard my name again, and then I saw Sarah's cousin coming in my direction.
"Jackson!" I called.
"Hey, welcome home! Let's go get your bags."
"Is Sarah here, then?"
He hesitated before shaking his head. "She was planning on borrowing my car to come and get you, but she's not feeling well today, so I came instead."
"So I presume my parents are gone?"
He nodded. "Didn't they tell you?"
"No. I was planning on catching a taxi home. Oh, that's my bag."
He grabbed it off the belt. "A taxi? Come on, that's crazy."
"Not as crazy as walking!"
"You're right on that! Hey, listen," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Let me know if you need my help." I looked into his green eyes and saw there a genuine concern.
Something's up, I thought. He'd always been nice enough to me, but hadn't been particularly attentive. For the moment, I just nodded and flashed him a smile. I had never been sure whether or not Sarah had told him about my crush on him when I was fourteen, but most of the time, I was well over it. I imagined, though, that he would probably always have the ability to make my knees a little weak.
Like now. I really couldn't come up with anything to say to him, but, as always, I was enjoying listening to his voice. He was saying something about traffic on the 405 on his way here when my last bag came by.
"I see you got a Rickenbacker," he said, recognizing the case.
I grinned and tossed my bookback onto my back, and picked up a couple more bags. "Have I got a story for you!"
I sat, unmoving, the words echoing through my mind. Alex...
"It happened just the day before yesterday. Jan, I'm so sorry."
I looked up from my hands and simply stared at Jackson. He looked rather blurry, and I realized I was crying. He had taken me first to my house, we had carried my bags inside, then he'd said he needed to talk to me, and asked me to sit down.
Then he'd told me as gently as he could that Alex was dead.
"How?" I finally choked out.
Jackson ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "He came back to town about four or five days ago, but didn't tell anyone. I guess he asked someone quietly what would happen to him. You know, for dodging... I don't know what he was told, but I guess he was really nervous about it." He looked at me, as if debating how much he really wanted to say. "Everyone, pretty much, is saying that he went to the bridge and jumped. He lost it, thought he had no way out."
"No..." I whispered. Alex? He'd always been so brave...
Jackson shook his head. "I saw him that evening. I don't think he was planning that, at least. He... he was drunk, Jan. Completely soaked. I tried to get him to stay in my apartment, but he wouldn't have any of it. But I think... I think he was planning on leaving again. He'd had his fill of Canada, I'm sure of that. I'd say he was going to go South."
I was completely sick at heart. I wasn't having any thoughts. I was just too shocked. I couldn't speak, couldn't yell, couldn't move. Couldn't even cry.
"I think he just fell, Jan. I know that doesn't change what happened, but... I dunno. It's a little easier to handle, at least for me."
"Have... have you told anyone? About seeing him?"
He hesitated, then said, "I told Sarah and Jesse. I'd like it not to get farther, at least for now."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"He didn't say he was going. He said something about plan B, and..." he trailed off and seemed to be searching in his jacket pocket. "He gave me these. One for each of you."
He pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. I felt numb and cold at that moment. I didn't want to open it. My hands moved automatically, though, and I took the letter out of the envelope, even though I already knew what it said.
The tears spilled over. I looked up at Jackson, and he looked as heartsick as I. He hadn't wanted to give me the letter. Had known what it would do to me.
Because he had given Sarah her letter, and she was still at home in bed. I wondered what Jesse was doing.
And that was the last thing I remember before I blacked out.
Chapter 10 - - - - Chapter 12