From the Top - Chapter 4

The house was quiet once Seth and Lyla went home, leaving me to go back inside and sit sullenly on my couch, worrying. Warren had left shortly after dropping the news, wanting to make it down to Asheville to talk to some people in person. He had seemed hopeful, but considering most of these people had agreed to have us play and then canceled, I was feeling less so.

I’d stayed confident for Seth and Lyla, offering to help cover their expenses, but I knew they were right. I had a cushion from my settlements, but I wasn’t rich. The money was only going to go so far, and most of it would be needed to keep Warren working, trying to find us gigs.

My wallowing was interrupted when the front door banged open and Kat came bouncing in, hair still wet from the pool. She must have had a good practice because she was practically bouncing off the walls. I sat up and tried to smooth my features, to keep the worry off my face.

Either she knows me well enough to see past it, or I wasn’t very good at hiding what I was thinking, because she stopped cold as she passed the couch, looking at me.

“What’s going on?” she said, her face transforming into an expression of concern.

I forced a smile and said, “Nothing. I’m just thinking.”

“Come on, Charlie,” Kat said, crossing her arms and staring at me expectantly. “I know that look. Something’s bothering you. Talk to me.”

“It’s just band stuff,” I said.

“And?” She asked, moving to sit next to me on the couch, tucking her feet under her. “I’ve been with you every step of the way. I’ve helped out at your shows. I’ve gone on tour with you. I may not be part of the band, but I’m part of the team. Spill it.”

I relented with a sigh, “Warren came by practice to let us know, face to face, that we have no gigs. Everything he sets up is almost immediately canceled. Every single gig.”

“What? Why?”

“We don’t know for sure,” I said. “Warren’s working on it. What matters is we have nothing on the calendar, and no shows means no income. We also don’t have any word on new distribution for the album yet, which means nothing from that either. Lyla and Seth are already struggling since the Blue Ridge shows alone are not enough to pay their bills. I’d hoped we’d have something by now, but even tiny places are canceling on us. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Kat chewed her bottom lip as she mulled this over, finally saying, “Have you thought about talking to Willie? He knows just about every club and bar in the area. If anyone can figure this out, he can.”

I shook my head, “No way. I just found out Willie’s too sick for me to be bothering him about stuff like this. Did you know he has cancer?”

“Yes,” she said, looking away from me. “Hanna and I found out when she was home for the funeral. I’ve been out to see him a few times. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. He made us promise not to.”

“I know. He told me. I don’t love you all keeping secrets from me, but I get it. Then you know how he is. He could barely sit up in bed when I saw him on Sunday. He doesn’t need our problems on top of his.”

“He’s practically family, Charlie. You two spent so much time working together. If you’re having problems, he’ll want to know, and he’ll want to help. If he can.”

“Which is why I don’t want to tell him. He needs to focus on his health and not have my problems dumped on top of it. Hell, it’s the exact same reason he gave you all for not telling me about his health in the first place.”

“Don’t you think he’d be more upset finding out later, if you keep it from him? If you don’t do anything and just keep hoping that whatever’s causing your shows to be canceled goes away, it’s only going to get worse. You’re smart enough to know that. He’s always been your biggest supporter, and he really wants you to succeed. Right now, while things haven’t gone too far, he might be able to do something, figure out some way to get you out of this mess. What if he finds out once it’s too late, once the band has to break up because you can’t afford to keep things going? How will that make him feel, knowing he might have been able to help, but you didn’t let him? How will that help his health?”

“How’s he going to find out?” I said. “There’s no reason for him to know about any of this.”

“Come on, Charlie. You have Warren reaching out to every club in a hundred-mile radius, trying to find you something. Do you think there’s a single club in the region that Willie doesn’t know? Word is going to get back to him.”

I couldn’t understand why she kept pushing this. Willie needed to rest. He wasn’t going to be calling around asking about my career, and there was no reason for any of the owners of the clubs who canceled on us to call him. Chef wasn’t going to say anything. The absolute last thing he needed was my problems dumped in his lap.

“I’m not telling him,” I said stubbornly. “End of discussion.”

Kat threw her hands up in exasperation, “You’re impossible sometimes, you know that? If you don’t tell him, I’m going to!”

“You can’t,” I said.

“I can, and I will,” she replied, just as vehement.

“Kat, you are not to talk to Willie about this! Do you understand? I forbid it.”

It had been a while since I’d given Kat any direct commands. When we’d set up our deal, it had been a way for me to help her deal with her anxiety whenever she had a decision to make that she couldn’t deal with, or someone pressing her that she couldn’t say no to. As she’d made progress on her recovery, Dr. Rothstein had me slowly stop giving orders so she could wean herself off me as a security blanket for her anxiety. I’d purposely avoided anything that even sounded like a command most of the time, just in case I accidentally did it. Except for one of our tour stops last year, where she’d gotten a crazy idea in her head that she needed to set me up with a girl, it had been a year since I’d felt the need to give her a command.

I was a little worried this might set her recovery back. I’d have to talk to Dr. Rothstein when this situation was all over, so he could see what kind of problems I just caused. What I couldn’t do was allow her to talk to Willie.

Or at least, I thought I would, as I gave the order. Kat threw all of that on its head with what she said next.

“I don’t care what you forbid,” she said, standing up. “If you don’t talk to him, I will.”

I rocked back into the couch as she turned and stormed upstairs. I was shocked. She’d never been able to say no to me before, especially when I made it an order. This was as specific and forceful of a command as I’d ever given her, and she said no. More than that, she didn’t even look worried or nervous when doing it. If anything, she looked even more determined and angry that I wasn’t listening to her.

I just sat there, stunned. I was worried about what she might say to Willie, but my surprise over her reaction had completely pushed that to the side. Part of me wanted to rejoice. This was the clearest sign of her recovery I’d ever seen. I felt a weird mix of emotions, proud that she was doing so well and angry that she wasn’t listening to me, all at the same time.

I was also unsure of how to deal about the situation now, since Kat and I had never been in this position. From the sounds of her stomping around upstairs, I didn’t think going up to continue pressing her was going to do any good. If I did manage to talk her out of going to Willie, I could also be undoing the breakthrough that she just had.

It was a no-win scenario. I was left with a choice of bothering Willie or hurting her recovery, neither of which I wanted. After several minutes, I ended up taking the coward’s way out. I’d wait and see what happened, hoping that she might realize I was right and leave it alone.

Not that I thought that was likely.

***

Tuesday, we still had no gigs, and things had started getting tense. Tabitha had shown up near the end of practice and practically ripped me a new one, accusing me of lying to Lyla about the prospects for the band when I ‘convinced’ her to stay after losing the MAC contract. I understood her frustration. Lyla had been forced to move in unexpectedly when she lost her spot at the house the band was sharing, and now Tabitha was working to support them both. She hadn’t signed up for that, and I was an easy target for her frustration.

Of course, understanding the frustration didn’t make me enjoy the lecture I got, but Lyla managed to defuse the situation before anything got seriously out of hand. It did, however, put me in a shit mood. Kat was late getting home, so I didn’t even have her to talk to once the others left. We’d gotten over our fight the previous week, although she refused to talk about her plan to go see Willie, or even to acknowledge if she was still planning on doing it or not. I hoped that meant that she wasn’t, but I honestly had no way of knowing, and she wasn’t budging.

Being home alone, with nothing to do and in a bad mood meant I needed to find something to do. Since I’d found that working on music usually did a good job of getting me focused, or at least distracted, I pulled out my notebook and got back to work on “Ashes and Sand”. I hadn’t really worked on it since the previous week, letting what I’d already done sit in my head and cook for a little bit, which meant I’d had a few thoughts that were ready for a more direct approach.

Taking my guitar into the living room, I hooked it up to a small amp I kept in there so I could hear the tones correctly. I turned the sound down so no one outside would hear it, think the band was practicing, and complain. Then I started working. First, I went through the intro and first verse I’d worked out the previous week, making a few adjustments. I picked up the tempo of the intro and the verse slightly, with the intro still planned as a solo guitar, and a bit slower than the first verse. It still had a melancholy sound, but it moved from being a pure ballad into something a bit more in between it and something up-tempo.

The way I was envisioning it now, the rest of the song would continue to pick up the tempo throughout, so it would end up being pretty up-tempo for the final chorus, where I’d bring it all the way back to where the intro was. Or at least, that was my plan at the moment.

Having that decided, I started in on the second verse. I kept essentially the same melody, although I was pretty sure I’d have the drums come in with a more defined beat at this point and have the bass line switch to something more rhythmic. While I was pretty set on the drum section, I wanted to have Lyla weigh in on the bass line once we got that far. The faster tempo with the drums and bass really coming in would make this verse feel like the point where the song really started picking up.

I wrote down some lines and then scratched them out. Wrote down some more and scratched those out. I knew I wanted the same structure as the first verse, with something about Mom, then something about Dad, then something bringing it together, continuing to build the story of our family. Until the chorus, we were still in the building phase, focusing on the damage, not the life as it was after the damage or the recovery from it. I didn’t have that later part yet, but I knew it wouldn’t exactly end on an upbeat note. Rather, it would be more about how I’d live with it, rather than healing from it.

I tried something else and liked it. Putting my pen down, I picked up my guitar and tried it out.

She’d held me close, taught me to stand,

His mistakes, choices of a broken man,

While he’d turned away, ignoring my pain.

Dreams shattered and gone, scares that forever remain.

Choices of a broken man. That really summed up how I’d ended up here. While I’d never say it wasn’t his fault, I knew he was sick. He was broken, although I couldn’t say if it was the drinking or the failure that had done it. The choices he made after that, letting his anger take over, hadn’t been a result of that. To hear Mom tell it, he’d been a different person before things fell apart, although after how things were last year, when he’d weaseled his way back into our lives, I wasn’t sure how much I could take her word for it.

I’d never met his parents, who both died before I was born, and all of his friends I did remember were from the later days, when we’d been traveling from gig to gig.

Which brought me to the last line. I wasn’t sure if the dreams shattered and gone were his or mine. He’d shattered mine, that was for sure, doing practically everything he could to cost me my shot, and ultimately costing me my contract. I wasn’t sure if my dreams were gone, although with how things were now, they might be. Still, it was very possible that I meant it was his dreams that were turned into ashes and sand. The fact that I wasn’t sure made me think those were the right lyrics for this part of the song.

I was on the precipice of being him, after all. Having my big shot and letting it slip away, having to fight tooth and nail to keep from losing it. If I kept at this for years, not getting any further than the Blue Ridge, was I going to turn out just like him? Was that my destiny?

It was a sobering thought. I think I was now at the point Mom feared I’d get to. Like the frogs in the slowly boiling water, I was chasing harder and harder to reach my dream even as it slipped away, never noticing I was being cooked. I couldn’t help but wonder at what point she’d have started suggesting I get out of the water, before things went too far.

Not that I was planning on giving up. I had people counting on me, and I wasn’t about to give up on them yet. I set my guitar down and massaged my fingers. Glancing at the clock, I realized I’d been playing for hours. I hadn’t realized the time had gotten away from me so badly.

I leaned back on the couch and closed my eyes, which suddenly felt like they weighed a ton. Working on this song was a lot more grueling than I remember it being to work on my other songs. Maybe because of the subject matter or maybe just because I was worried about the lack of gigs, but it was really getting to me. I felt wrung out, like I was spread too thin.

“You’re really pushing it hard,” Mrs. Phillips’ voice came from behind me, causing me to sit up suddenly.

She hadn’t been home when I started, and she was in her ‘relaxing’ clothes instead of the outfits she wore when she was out showing houses or whatever, which meant she’d been home long enough to change clothes. Had I been so absorbed that I hadn’t even noticed her come home?

“When did you get home?” I asked.

“An hour ago. You were really lost in it, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I’m just messing around with some ideas for a new song,” I said.

“I heard some of the lyrics,” she said, coming over and sitting down next to me. “It’s pretty intense stuff, and you’ve been going over them again and again. I’m a little worried you’re overdoing it.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I started out as an idea I had when I was in prison, since I didn’t really have a chance to deal with Mom’s death and everything that happened. I thought it would be something to work out my feelings about her death, but once I started, and I went back further, it became more about him, which I didn’t really expect. I’ve been thinking a lot about... I don’t know, everything.”

“Those thoughts can be pretty difficult to deal with. I think your music is a good way to access your feelings, but maybe you should consider working on it in smaller pieces. Something Dr. Rothstein and I talked about when getting Katherine into treatment was the need for a release after a heavy session. Getting away from those feelings and having some downtime, making sure we didn’t talk about it and just did something fun for a bit. Because those really heavy emotions can become overpowering if you let them.”

“I guess, although really it’s been kind of cathartic. I spent so much time being mad at him, I don’t think I ever really confronted my feelings about him from before he came back. Those days weren’t all bad, and we had some good times. There were even times I remember all three of us being happy. It’s hard to reconcile those two people.”

“People are complicated, Charlie. No one is just one thing at all times, you know. I think, sometimes, we have to take people for the effect they have on us and not just on the moments we have together.”

“Which means thinking about him positively, even if just for a little bit, is a waste of time.”

“No. Your parents can have a big effect on you. Your love of music clearly comes directly from him. I’m not sure you would have had all of these chances if it wasn’t for him.”

“So I should forgive him for everything he did?” I asked, getting a little heated. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“It’s okay, I know it’s a touchy subject, and no, I’m not saying you should forgive him for anything he did. What I meant was, most of the time, you can’t take your relationship with someone else as all one thing or all another. People are complicated, and so are our relationships with them. I’m saying it’s okay to have conflicted feelings, or even have good feelings about them in spite of all the bad.”

“I guess,” I said.

“That being said, it also doesn’t help to really dwell on it. Don’t get stuck in the past, at least not when you have so much in front of you.”

“I’m not. I think one of the reasons I’m pushing so hard is because things have been so rough right now. Ever since I lost my contract, things have just kind of fallen apart.”

“I know,” she said. “Which is all the more reason to try and find more healthy outlets. Yes, working on this is cathartic at times, but that doesn’t mean it’s healthy to take all your anxiety about what’s happening now, balling it up with your anger at your father, and trying to confront that entire thing. We all need downtime, which means finding ways to step away from our troubles, even if only for a little bit, not building new, larger troubles. You know?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Good. Besides, I think things will work out. You just have to be patient.”

“I wish I had your optimism,” I said ruefully. “Right now it kind of feels like the universe is conspiring against me. Like all my work last year meant nothing and now I’m right back where I started.”

“I get that. Have you considered talking to Dr. Rothstein? You’re carrying around a pretty big burden for someone your age, and that doesn’t even include what happened to your parents. It’s a lot to deal with. You might find that talking to a professional might help, give you an outlet for all of it.”

“Maybe,” I said, although I think she heard the insincerity in my voice by the face she gave me.

“I’m serious, Charlie. Getting help doesn’t make you weak or any less of a person. Do you think Kat’s weak because she’s gotten help?”

“That’s different,” I said.

“How so? Her father caused her serious trauma, which she’s needed help dealing with. Yours may be a different kind of trauma, but do you think it’s any less traumatic? Everything you saw there, and then what happened after, that’s the kind of stuff even the strongest person can’t handle alone. It’s not a sign of weakness.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said, for real this time.

“Good. You’re a good kid Charlie, and I love you. I’d like to see you give yourself a break every now and then,” she said, grabbing my arms and pulling me into a hug.

“I’ll try,” I said.