I THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT Carlie had said. Drew was more of a man than me? She didn’t understand. Nobody did. But that didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.
I didn’t go into the bar the next night. The thought of seeing Gina and Drew together was more than I could stomach. It’s what I’d wanted for her. It’s what I told myself I wanted. I couldn’t picture a future for her with me in it, that was certain. The kind of future she had ahead of her was a white picket fence future. A husband who worked as a lawyer or something in a flashy suit. Kids running around. A perfect lawn and flowers growing in the garden.
I sure as hell hadn’t pictured her with a busboy, hanging out at the bar, laughing at his jokes and being all in love and in my face.
I sat by the window and took stock of my life.
What did I have? This apartment and a decent income. With songwriting royalties and other payments from our past hits, I was fairly comfortably off. I’d never have to work again. The last payment that came in had been huge. I think they’d used one of our songs in a television commercial or something. The money just sat in my bank account. I didn’t need it. So long as I had drinking money, I was fine. I had clothes without holes in them and a couple of decent pairs of boots. Everything I owned could be packed up in a small bag at moment’s notice. Even with the years I’d lived in this place, I’d accumulated nothing.
I had my old guitar sitting in the corner. We’d been closer than lovers once. My hands caressed her until I wore patches on her body. She was once the only thing I could depend upon in this whole rotten life and now she mocked me. You were something once, you had the world and, more importantly, you had me. Dust covered the bitch. Cobwebs had grown over her so that the only thing crawling across those frets were the spiders.
I should’ve gotten rid of that thing. Thrown it out or given it to some kid who’d appreciate it. But I clung to it like a man clings to his dead wife’s ashes.
In the years since I left the band, I’d never missed being on stage. The lights, the screaming, even the high from knowing you’d put on an amazing show, none of that mattered.
I never missed my bandmates. Good riddance to the lot of them. One day, Fred had come into the bar. I’d spotted him before he’d seen me and I’d slipped out the back. What would we say to each other now anyway? I had no desire to mend bridges.
I missed that damn guitar though. A phantom twitch in my fingers ached to slide my hand down that neck, to make that baby sing. That’d never die in me.
Drew was more of a man than I’d ever be? I had to admit, that stung. But maybe there was some truth in it. He had a blank page in front of him. Young and eager, not afraid to make mistakes. My page had become so muddied, you couldn’t see a thing. It was a black mess, that’s for sure. Too many demons.
Outside, the light faded over the city. The lingering traces of the sun in the sky made the night seem melancholic. A baby cried somewhere in the building, the only sound in the heavy stillness. At least there was some life out there, somewhere.
I’d not eaten all day and the whiskey went down hard.
Then, a knock at the door.
“I’m not home, Carlie. Piss off.”
It was funny the first time but I wasn’t going to let her get away with making a habit of it. Anyway, didn’t she have a job to do? I had no need of her interfering in my life. Next thing you knew, she’d be popping over for cups of tea and cake.
She knocked again. I opened the door, ready to give her an earful. Get rid of her for once and for all.
It wasn’t Carlie though. It was Drew.
“Jackson, you promised me. You said if I did the challenge, you’d teach me guitar. If you are going to renege on that, then you are not the person I thought you were.”
He folded his arms and stood in the doorway so I couldn’t shut the door. I had no intention of teaching this kid guitar. The whole plan had backfired. I had to get the idea out of his head, one way or another. Bloody Carlie, giving out my address to every random person who wanted it. God knows who I’d have next knocking on the door. The whole bloody bar would end up here.
“Come in,” I said.
Then I regretted it. He’d come in and I’d never get rid of him.
He walked in and sniffed around like a puppy looking for a comfortable spot to sleep. Finally, he settled on the chair opposite me at the table. It was the only place to sit other than the bed.
“Want a drink?” I asked. I indicated the bottle on the table. He shook his head. I’d never seen Drew drink.
I walked over and picked up the guitar and handed it to him.
Drew sucked in his breath. “You’re letting me play your guitar?”
“Well, it’s the only guitar here.”
He beamed at me as though all his dreams had come true.
“Play me something,” I said.
He’d play, he’d be terrible and I’d tell him so. I’d crush his dreams but what are dreams for, if not to be crushed?