Thursday, November 30
(Gus)
Ma is in the kitchen, wrapped in a bright red apron, up to her elbows in dead carcass cooking glory this morning. I've been a vegetarian since I was fifteen, and Bright Side and Gracie were, too, so Ma hasn't cooked a bird for Thanksgiving in years. I'm severely outnumbered by carnivores this year, judging by this gigantic turkey. Good thing she's making shitloads of green bean casserole and sweet potatoes to accompany that pumpkin pie. I'll be in food heaven all afternoon.
Ma and Impatient are both in the kitchen when I check in. "Need any help?"
Ma smiles. I haven't seen her this happy in a long time. She only busts out her apron when things get hardcore. "I don't think so, honey. Scout and I have everything under control. But, can you get some more whipped cream when you go to the airport." She looks pointedly at me. "Someone ate all of it."
I raise my eyebrows and shrug my shoulders, feigning innocence.
She smiles again. "I don't want Stella to have to eat her pie with no whipped cream."
"I'll buy extra." I look to Scout. "Wanna ride with me to the airport?" I don't really know why I'm offering because I know she needs to help Ma, but I can't help but feel protective of her after all the shit that went down last week. Plus, I like being around her.
She nods her head toward the front door. "When we're done with this, I'm gonna go for a run while I can. Thanks, though."
I nod. I understand, but disappointment tugs at me.
After a quick cigarette, I take Ma's car (because I can't get everyone in my truck) and head to the grocery store. Four cans of whipped cream and a Twix bar and I'm out the door and on the way to the airport. Keller and Stella's flight gets in about twenty minutes before his father's. I find the closest parking spot I can, which is like finding a needle in a haystack on a holiday weekend, and head to baggage claim. I'm early; it's a miracle. I take a seat and people watch. The airport is crowded and bustling with hurried people. Emotions range from extreme irritation to complete, off-the-charts happiness on the faces before me. You can both see and feel which people are doing holiday travel out of obligation, and which ones are amped up on the prospect of what's to come. I like watching the happy ones. It feels almost therapeutic, like a reminder that this life is all about embracing the good and making the most out of the good moments, even if they're fleeting.
As I'm watching the masses, I catch the eye of a teenage boy. He's probably sixteen. He's standing by the baggage carousel with two adults—I'm guessing they're his parents. He's keeping a distance from them that says, I'm not with these people, but I have a feeling they're family. He has earbuds in his ears, and he's wearing a Rook T-shirt. For a moment, I debate my next move. I treasure being inconspicuous. On stage, I'm all about the crowd. Off stage, I'm just Gus. He's open-mouth staring now; I've just been recognized, so I wave him over. He looks behind him with wide eyes, as if I'm gesturing to someone else. When he looks back at me, I nod and smile and wave him over again. He says something to his mom quickly and points to me. Her eyes widen, too. This kid has his mom's eyes. She smiles and nods and I see her mouth form the word, "Go," and he walks quickly toward me, but not so quickly that he's lost his swagger. Teenage boys know how to work the image-thing, 24/7.
When he's standing in front of me, I hold out my hand to bump knuckles. "S'up? I like the shirt."
He glances down at the crow on his shirt like he doesn't know what to say and pops the earbuds out of his ears.
"What's your name, dude?"
"Josh." The swagger is fading and nerves are taking over. I was this kid not so long ago.
"What're you listening to, Josh?"
He smiles. He's trying to hold it back for the sake of appearance, but he's too nervous and excited. He's fidgeting with the earbuds in his hand. "Rook," he answers.
I smile again. "No shit?"
He shakes his head, but says quickly, "No shit. You guys kick ass."
"Thanks, dude. Traveling with your family today?"
"Yeah, going to see my gran in La Jolla for Thanksgiving." He glances back over his shoulder and his mom and dad are standing at a distance waiting patiently with what looks to be all of their luggage.
"Well, have fun. I'd better let you get back to la familia; it looks like they're waiting." I stick my hand in my front pocket and pull out a handful of change. In amongst the coins are two guitar picks. Don't ask me why, but ever since I started playing I've always carried a few around with me. I hand one of the picks to him.
A smile appears on his face instantaneously. He looks like he's ten years old instead of sixteen. It's funny how joy unleashed makes a person seem younger. "Thanks, Gustov."
I pat him on the shoulder. "It's just Gus, dude. And you're welcome. Tell your gran I said hey."
He nods, still looking at the pick in his hand. When he looks up at me sheepishly, he says, "You think I could get a picture with you?"
"Absolutely." I hate having my photo taken, but I'll do anything to keep that smile on this kid's face.
He calls back over his shoulder while he pulls out his phone from his pocket, "Mom, can you take our picture?"
She practically runs over as if she's been waiting all her life for this moment, like there's nothing she wouldn't do for this boy. It reminds me of Ma. I know how lucky they are to have each other.
I extend my hand. "Hey, Josh's mom. I'm Gus."
She accepts my hand and shakes it vigorously. "Oh, I know who you are. Josh has posters of your band all over his room."
Josh protests, mortified. "Mom."
She nods an apology to him and smiles at me. We pose for a couple of shots. I even ask them to take one with my own phone.
When they walk away, I feel good. Not because I've been recognized and praised—I certainly don't need the praise. I feel good because I just made that boy happy. I gave him a guitar pick and he looked at it like it was a goddamn gold bar in his hand. Bright Side always said our music made people feel something. I think I know exactly what she meant. Because right now, I feel it.
A text alert comes from the phone in my pocket a few minutes later.
KELLER: On the ground. Meet you at baggage 23C.
GUS: No hurry. I'm here.
Ten minutes later, Stella is running at me full throttle and squealing my name. "Gus!"
I stand and scoop her up when she crashes into my legs. She's grown a lot since I saw her in January. "How's my favorite pint-size girly?"
She giggles. "Good. We just flew on an airplane. It was fun."
I nod. "You like flying?"
She answers absently. "Yeah," she says, draping her right arm around my shoulder and grabbing my ponytail. She runs it through her hand once, scalp to the end and then cranes her neck over my shoulder to take a look. "Your hair is really long, Gus." She says "really" like two separate words.
I laugh.
"It's so pretty."
I feel like one of her dolls, but I accept the compliment. "Well, thank you, Stella."
Keller finally approaches; he's out of breath as if he's been chasing her through the entire airport. He extends his hand to shake and in between deep breaths he says, "Hey, Gus. Sorry about the ambush. I've got a runner."
I laugh. "No worries. A Stella ambush is the best kind of ambush."
He laughs with me. He looks a little tired, but he looks good. His hair is longer than when I last saw him. There's a lot of it poking out from under his beanie. "I just need to grab our bag and Stella's booster seat."
"Take your time. I've got all day, dude."
I sit down with Stella in my lap and she proceeds to fill me in on Miss Higgins, her turtle, and life in Grant while we share the Twix bar I brought for her. She loves it in Grant, but I think she'd love it anywhere Keller is. She idolizes her dad. I know how she feels; I feel the same way about Ma.
Before long Keller returns with their belongings, and not long after that Keller's dad arrives. Stella goes apeshit upon sighting him. She's squealing excitedly and jumps off my lap, but before she can make a break for him Keller's got a handful of the back of her shirt. He's quick. He looks at me and mouths, "See, a runner," but he's smiling. She's giggling and waving her arms, trying unsuccessfully to get away.
After his dad hugs Stella, he hugs Keller, which puts me at ease. I remember Bright Side saying they had a pretty strained relationship.
I extend my hand by way of introduction. "Hey, Doc Banks. I'm Gus." I saw him at Bright Side's funeral, but I didn't stick around long enough to talk to anyone. This is our first encounter.
He shakes my hand, nods his head formally. "Of course. It's nice to meet you, Gus. I've heard a lot about you."
I nod and look to Keller. "Good or bad?" I ask. "What have you been telling him?"
Keller laughs and claps me on the back. "It's all good, man. It's all good."
The conversation on the ride home is dominated by the tiny redhead in her booster in the backseat. And we wouldn't have it any other way.
"Daddy, can we make a sandcastle again when we get to Gus's?"
"Tomorrow, baby girl. Today's Thanksgiving. Audrey's making lots of yummy food for all of us today. Maybe we can play a game inside after dinner, okay?"
"Okay." It's as easy as that.
I can't help but smile at how agreeable she is.
"Gus, you wanna have a play date with us tomorrow and make sandcastles on the beach?"
"Heck yeah, Stella."
At that, she cheers, "Yay!" And then she sings, "We're gonna have play date. We're gonna have a play date."
When we get home, Ma greets us all at the door with a hug, because that's what Ma does.
After all of the hugging, I gesture to Keller and Stella to follow me down the hall toward my bedroom. Impatient walks out of her room just as we approach. Keller looks startled when the bedroom door opens and someone walks out. I see him look inside the room, and I can't help but notice the sadness in his eyes. He's thinking about Bright Side. I live here, but Keller hasn't been here since Bright Side's last days. It has to be shocking to see the room where she died after all these months.
Stella breaks the silence for all of us. "Who are you?" she asks curiously.
Impatient looks down and a smile lights her eyes as she squats down in front of Stella. It's a smile that transforms her, patient and loving. Some people just love little kids. I'm one of them. So is she. "I'm Scout. What's your name?"
"I'm Stella." She tugs on Keller's pant leg. "This is my daddy. His name's Keller."
I have to laugh, because Stella's so goddamn cute. Impatient looks up at Keller but doesn't stand. "Hello, Keller."
"Hey ... Scout was it?" He's being polite, but he still looks a million miles away.
She nods.
I motion for Keller to follow me. "Why don't you put your stuff in here? You guys can crash in my room."
Keller shakes his head, but he's still in a fog. "I don't want to put you out. Stella and I can sleep on the sofa. We'll be fine for a few days."
Impatient stands and speaks up. "I just changed the sheets on the bed. Go ahead and take this room. I can sleep on the sofa."
Keller looks stricken, like he's just been presented with something unimaginable. I need to make this better ASAP. "That's okay," I say to Impatient. Then I grip Keller's shoulder until he looks at me, really looks at me. I nod my head toward my door. "Come on, you can sleep in my room. I changed the sheets on my bed, too. I'd hate for that to go to waste. It's like the first time all year I've done that."
He almost smiles.
I look at Impatient, trying to smooth this over. "Why don't you go grab Keller's dad and put him in your room?"
She nods. She looks a little confused, a little embarrassed, and a lot concerned. She knows what she's seeing isn't normal.
Stella reaches out and takes Impatient's hand. "I'll go with you. Let's go get Papa."
After Keller sets their suitcase on the floor next to my dresser, he turns to look at me and his expression is blank, like he's trying to wipe away the sadness, but he can't decide what emotion to replace it with. My heart aches for him. I know how hard it is to be here, in the presence of her ghost. I've dealt with it for months now. I'm learning to live with it. It takes time. And he hasn't had to contend with proximity. And proximity's just set him back months. I can see it happening. So I do the only thing can think to do. I hug him. And he hugs me back. It's half-hearted at first, but soon enough I can feel his muscles tighten around me. The squeezing isn't an embrace; it's a release of emotion, a release of grief. I pat him on the back. "Sorry about that, dude. Scout doesn't know what happened in that room. She didn't mean anything by it."
I feel him exhale, long and loud, before he releases me. He shakes his head to clear it. "No, I'm sorry, Gus. I thought I was ready to come here. That I'd be able to handle it." He pauses and looks at the floor before he meets my eyes again. I know how much he loved her. He's reliving all of it right now. He shakes his head again. "It's just hard." He searches my eyes for understanding.
I nod. "You don't have to explain, dude. I know. It is hard."
He smiles. "Thanks, man. Let's go. Katie would want us to make the most of today."
I laugh. "Bright Side fucking loved Thanksgiving. I hope you're prepared to eat double portions of pumpkin pie just for her."
He laughs and rubs his belly. "I think I can do that. I haven't eaten anything since last night."
The dinner table is full of food and people. Our Thanksgiving table is always a hodgepodge of misfits. And that's not an insult; it's just a fair assessment. Ma always invites people to join in on the festivities who don't have anywhere else to go. Her generosity is legendary. It's never the same faces from year to year, which is what makes it fun. You never know who you're going to sit next to, or what the conversation is going to be like. Today's table is twice as full as it normally is.
Keller and I take the two empty seats at the end of the table.
Ma's standing at the other end, smiling at all of us. "We're waiting on one more person, but he's just called to say his flight's been cancelled due to weather and he's not going to make it, so we'll go ahead and get started without him. I want to thank all of you for sharing your Thanksgiving with Gus and me. We are so blessed to have you here." She raises her glass. "To good food and good company." We all raise our glasses and echo her. She smiles. "Now eat up. Scout and I have been cooking all day, there's a lot to eat. Don't be shy."
We do. We eat and we talk. The volume in the room is high with several conversations going on at once, but it's comforting noise, rowdy with friendship and appreciation. As I look around the table, I'm struck by the odd pairings of people. Impatient's sitting next to Doc Banks. They're talking about New York. Pax, Keller, and Stella are talking to Mrs. Randolph and Francine about seagulls, and about how much Mrs. Randolph loves watching them fly over the ocean. Ma catches my eye and smiles, then winks at me. She raises her glass of wine to me. I raise mine in return.
"Happy Thanksgiving. I love you," I mouth the words.
She mouths the same back to me.
Looking around I think to myself that life isn't perfect. If it was, Bright Side and Gracie would be sitting here with us. But I know that's not possible. And for the first time, I realize that I finally know why Bright Side used to always say she didn't have any regrets. Because she lived in the moment. She didn't live in the past. She didn't give herself a chance to regret anything because she went out and made the most of what she had, even if it wasn't much. She never saw the negative, which so often pervaded her life. She looked for that one sliver of positivity and she blew it up until it was all she could see. Until it forced out everything bad. Right now, sitting here, I miss her. I'll always miss her. But I miss her in a different way today. In a way that makes me smile at the memory of her. I glance at my arm, at my new tattoo, and the words sink in. There's something epic that happens every day if you look hard enough for it. And every day is a chance to go out there and do epic. The key is putting forth the effort. She did. Every fucking day she did. We all should. Is it harder? Hell yeah. It's much easier to complain ... or self-destruct ... or do nothing at all. But where's the magic in that? It's like Mrs. Randolph said, urging me to find my fire again. Mrs. R. and Bright Side would've been best friends, I'm sure of it.
As I look at everyone at this table I think, they all have their own shit, their own problems, just like me. But look how happy they all are, because they're living in the moment. It's fucking beautiful. This is what it's all about. Friends and family. And I have the best around.