Arriving at work the following Monday, my first day back since my parents' funeral, I tried to ignore the poorly disguised stares and surreptitious whispers that I somehow knew always accompanied such a return. After three hours, I decided that my time here was quickly coming to an end. I needed a change of scenery. I needed new faces, new walls around me, new workplace gossip and rumors - even if the gossip and rumors stayed the same from office to office, I wanted different names to the stories. Near the end of the day, I sought out my supervisor and told him of my opinions.
He nodded understandingly as I spoke, and said when I was done, "I sort of expected this, if you must know. When I was not much older than you, you see, the aunt I lived with finally died. It was a mercy, really, because she'd been sick for so long, but even so, it was hard. Well, in a nutshell, I guess you could say that's how I ended up here."
I nodded, following his line of thought. "Everything happens for a reason," I said.
"That's right. So, will it be the standard two weeks, then?"
Again, I nodded. "I'm selling my house, but I've left that for my aunt to take care of. She's a real estate agent, anyway. I'm not even living there right now. But that'll give me time to raise a little more money, reserve a seat on a flight, and then spend a few days packing."
"What are you going to do when you get to where you're going? Do you have friends or family?"
"Both. And the family part already knows I'm on my way. The friends will find out as soon as I can locate them," I said with a bit of a wistful grin.
"Well," he said, extending his hand, "I wish you the best of luck, and I hope your last two weeks here are good to you." As I shook his hand, he added, "There's an errand that I want you to run tomorrow before you come here, though." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to me while saying, "A client is flying in from London tomorrow. Here's his flight number. One of our drivers is sick, and I'd appreciate if you could give this gentleman a lift."
I took the paper and pocketed it. "No problem," I answered with a smile, just like I had whenever he had asked me to do anything from making a difficult phone call to picking up lunch -- or dinner, when meetings lasted longer than anyone wanted them to.
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As I neared the door to Jackson's house, I heard music emanating from within. This didn't surprise me in the least, as nearly everyone I knew was apt to have music playing in the evening. But certainly few of the people I knew would be playing this music themselves. I waited a moment before walking in, as if I were afraid my presence would break the spell he seemed to have cast. Luckily, it didn't seem to. As I walked in, I seemed to fall deeper and deeper into this other world he had created. I couldn't imagine anything I'd rather hear at that moment than Jackson and his piano. My memories drifted back several years to when Sarah first introduced me to him, and I cuold hardly think of anything to say. All through Junior High, I had had the most enormous crush on him. But on the few occasions when our paths crossed, he'd always seemed so distant, so removed... now I knew why. If I were hearing music like this in my head, the outside world wouldn't hold my attention very well, either.
My reverie was broken as the last chords died away into the night and Jackson turned around and saw me standing in the living room doorway. I felt myself begin to blush, whether a remnant of my adolescent crush or a result of feeling a little like I'd been caught intruding into an area I shouldn't be, I wasn't sure. But I quickly tried to squelch it.
"Tha- that was beautiful," I stammered.
He replied with a grin, "Aw, it was just some old thing I've been messing with lately," and managed to put me at ease again. The shyness was gone, and I remembered that I was no longer a shy adolescent. I was a friend.
"I was just thinking, just now while you were playing, that whenever I'd run into you before, you always seemed distant, like you weren't paying that much attention to what was going on. And now I can understand why."
That elicited another grin. "Thanks." There was a pause, and I tried to think of something to fill it. "Hey," he said, beating me to it, "what say we get out tonight? A couple of my friends are playing at this old club in Long Beach that we used to sneak into when we were in high school. You don't really want to just sit around here, do you?"
"Well, that had been what I was planning, but... what the hell, I don't have to be at work tomorrow til early afternoon. Let's get out of here!"
"Alright!" he said, jumping up from his bench -- and very nearly sending it crashing to the floor -- and making a dash for his room, probably to put on shoes, I assumed. I did sort of want to just hang out there, actually, but I figured it was probably best for me to get out, to try to be amongst the living, as Alex had often said I needed to do after I'd been shut away studying for hours at a time.
Thinking of Alex and remembering him brought fresh tears to my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away and regained my composure. There would be time to cry later. Right now was reserved for laughter and smiles.
In the car on the way there, Jackson alternated between carefree banter and singing along with the radio. I replayed my conversation at work, and reminded myself yet again that I was going to have to get in touch with somebody. I hadn't called my aunt yet, but I wasn't sure what she would be able to do, anyway. She might be able to look around at apartments a little bit, but as far as I knew, she was still working full-time. I'd probably have to find another way. If only I could think of some way to contact John... but he was like a migrant worker, living day to day and letting tomorrow take care of itself. He could be anywhere by now. He might not even be in England anymore.
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The club itself was fairly small and dimly lit, but it had a comfortable atmosphere to it that hadn't been there in the clubs I'd seen in London. With good reason, I realized after the first few minutes. This was a place for local folkies; totally a grass roots type of hangout. The music was as laid-back as the people who came to hear it. After a half hour there, I was practicaly drunk on the atmosphere. I got the distinct feeling that I could say or do almost anything here, and no one would judge me. It was possibly the most liberating experience I'd ever had. Jackson's friends -- old high school buddies, it turned out -- had been traveling all over, building up a fan base and playing the music that they all loved. It was a little odd hearing them play, because their style and Jackson's were so similar. I was sure that during high school, they must have fed off each other quite a bit. The style was so distinctive, too... like a newer folk song as per Bob Dylan's standard, these songs had powerful messages, but the lyrics were much more subtle and clever. You could listen on so many levels. Besides the lyrics, though, this style was also a departure from what tended to be folk because it was so musical. These songs were not simply words said while the singer played chords on an acoustic guitar... no, this was musical complexity that I was sure a music professor would appreciate.
But above all, it was fun. Even in the metamorphosized Beatnik atmostphere, the place seemed almost on the edge of becomming a loud and raucus hoedown. After some time there, I finally realized that, in high school, Jackson and his friends had managed to fuse folk, country, pop, and, I thought with a shock, classical. It completely blew me away.
Or else the fumes in the place were getting to me. The dim lights may have done a fine job of keeping undesirable happenings out of sight, but even amongst the smell of alcohol and some kind of fried foods, the smell of pot was hard to miss.
Well, whatever the reason, I found myself enjoying my evening out. When the band came offstage for a break, they headed to the bar, where they found their old pal. Moments later, they were greeting me and striking up conversation.
"Hey," said one whose name I couldn't recall at the moment, pulling me a little to the side, "Jackson told me about your folks today when I called him. I wanted to say I'm really sorry, I know everyone probably says that, but, well... I know you don't know us or anything, but everyone around here helps everyone else out, and I just wanted to tell you to give me a call if you need an ear, or a shoulder." He smiled and handed me a napkin with his name and phone number on it.
"Thanks," I said, more surprised that someone would be so nice -- because niceness was what it was, I was sure of it. Every sense I had told me that this guy was genuinely trying to be nice.
"And one more thing. Jackson tells me that you're looking to go back to England." I nodded. "It just so happens I've got an apartment there that I use once in a while. If I'm not using it, I tell any of my friends who are passing through London that they're welcome to use it, just so long as they don't get me evicted. Do you have a place to stay? 'Cause if you don't, I won't be on that side of the pond for a couple of months, at least, and it'd be great if you'd keep it up for me. It tends to get neglected, you see, and, well..." he finally trailed off, ending in a shrug.
It took a few seconds for the magnitude of what he had said to sink in. I could see that part of the reason he was saying this was because he expected that, as a woman, I'd take great care of the place, and when he *did* make his way there, I might still be there, and he could get a home-cooked meal where he hadn't expected one.
Yeah, I could see right through him... and I didn't mind in the least.
"That'd be terrific!" I said, smiling broader than I think I had for months.
Chapter 16 - - - - Chapter 18