Minutes later, I feel relief, but it’s not nearly enough. Not what I need. So I do a little more. Until the numbness I seek finally washes over me like the ocean over the sand. Each wave takes a bit of the noise with each pass.
“Can’t believe you did that, motherfucker,” Bryan hisses as he attempts to stand.
I lean back in my chair as bliss and comfort wash over me. “Lucky I didn’t fucking kill you,” I mumble.
“You’re a fucking lunatic, Maddox,” he spits.
“Well established.”
He continues to mutter and mumble, but I tune him out. The itch to write comes over me for the first time in a long time. Words I haven’t felt in a long time fill my head. I grab the notebook and pen and begin writing. The words flow out so fast I can’t write them fast enough.
I hear the melody in my head. The lyrics come until I’ve written several songs and my hand cramps.
Two hours pass in a blink. I sit back in the chair, wanting to feel proud of what I’ve done. It’s been so long since I was able to write a single word.. Every time I’d try, I’d slip further into the darkness.
I want to be proud, but I’m not. There’s this niggling in my gut, this overwhelming feeling of dread.
I start to flip the pages back to the first song I wrote when Bryan stirs from across the room after falling asleep shortly after I started writing. “Are we leaving any time soon?” he groans as he stretches his arms over his head.
“I’ve already told you that I can’t leave until I finish telling them goodbye.”
“Why haven’t you finished? We’ve been here for two days. You’ve beenwriting in that notebook for hours.”
“I was writing some songs.”
He walks over to me, grabbing the notebook before I can stop him. “Why are you writing songs if you are leaving it all behind?” He flips the notebook open, looking at it then at me. His face grows dark as his eyes dart around the pages. Finally, he tosses it back on the table in front of me. “There’s nothing there.”
My shoulders hunch forward as he confirms my suspicions. Everything I’ve just written is shit.
“I’m ready to blow this joint. Get your goodbyes done so we can go.”
He’s right. I need to get this done and forget about the songs. They don’t matter anymore. The one thing I always had left me a while ago, and I can’t bring it back.
I rip out the songs, toss the crumpled paper to the floor, then start to write the next god-awful chapter of my story.
Journal entry #3
July 2004
Everyone thinks the first time I ever saw Zoey was at Darien Whitmore’s party my junior year. It seems our first encounter only left an impression on me. Makes sense since I was only ten, but the memory lasted.
I suppose it would be more significant to me, given the circumstances leading up to and after that encounter. It was the only bright light in a shit load of pain.
Momma had been gone for a few months, and I was lonely. So damn lonely. Dad started working more, which was an amazing feat. Chris was anywhere but home. With his girlfriend and his friends so much, we barely saw him. Callie was only four, so she couldn’t provide me with a lot of companionship.
It was too late in the school year to transition me back into the classroom setting, so my dad hired a tutor to continue with my education. Fortunately, mom had my entire curriculum planned, and I was accustomed to the routine. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the same without her.
When summer rolled around, I hoped it meant we would do more. Vacations, summer camps, anything, but it continued just as before except with a nanny that rarely paid attention to us.
So when I opened the door to see Jewel, my favorite aunt in the whole world, standing on the other side of the door, I was ecstatic. She handed me a guitar case that left me bouncing. My first guitar.
God, I was ten years old, and the woman gave me a damn 1938 Martin D-45. That guitar meant everything to me, but when I got old enough to understand how rare it was, I couldn’t help but wonder where she found it. Ninety-one guitars made over ten years. Impossible to find.
I also wondered how she afforded it. Jewel had blown through the biggest bulk of her trust and inheritance before she turned twenty-one.
But at the time, I didn’t know any of this. I just knew the coolest aunt in the world had just gifted me with another instrument and a trip out of this house.
Our first stop was at a drive-thru for food. I couldn’t contain my excitement at the idea of French fries and milkshakes. As I sat eating my food, I watched as she poured out cocaine onto the center console of her car. I watched in fascination as she crushed the substance with her credit card then quickly inhaled it with her rolled-up dollar in change.
