CHAPTER TWELVE
Kace
She’s on the other side somewhere, I know it. I can almost feel her watching me.
“Hey, all. Welcome back to my second night of clarity. I’m in Atlanta tonight, feeling good. Not because we had a successful test performance tonight. Not because I get to sing to a whole bunch of people tomorrow. I’m excited because I got a message from her.”
I wish I could see her. Wish I knew if she’d just smiled, or frowned, or even rolled her eyes. But I can’t see her, and I can’t let that stop me.
Presley sent me a great question. I look down at the paper, even though I’ve committed it to memory. “She asks, ‘I wonder… what would you say to the tens of millions of children who might be tempted to try drugs?’”
I take a deep breath. I thought I’d know exactly what to say. I’d even written a few things out, bullet points I think they’re called. But the words don’t feel right. The statistics, the rote sayings. I crumple the paper in my hands and drop it to the floor.
I’m not sure how much time has passed before I look into the camera again.
“Doing drugs is like inviting a demon into your home, but in this case, your home is your body. Hell, you don’t even invite it, you snort or shoot or inhale it, practically forcing it to take up residence. But once it gets inside, it never, ever, ever, wants to leave.”
Goosebumps raise on my arms, looking like little fingers on my skin. For a moment, I think the demon might be trying to claw its way out.
“This demon is sinister. It whispers in your ear, telling you everything it knows you want to hear. Just one more. You can quit anytime you like. Come on, you deserve it. It won’t hurt anybody.”
My fingers begin to tremble, and I tighten my hands into fights. Yes, the demon wants me again.
“The demon is like a lover. At first, it’s all kisses and smiles. Then the nagging begins. The whispers start to get louder and louder until they’re shouts in your ears. You try to fight it, but it starts beating at you, physically and emotionally. It becomes vicious. Its claws come out. And all you want to do is shut it the fuck up.”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“You’ll steal from people you love to shut it up. You’ll risk going to prison to shut it up. You’ll do anything, go anywhere, be someone you don’t recognize to shut it up.”
I stare straight into the camera.
“And you know what? It never shuts up. It’s either whispering or screaming, but it’s always there… nag, nag, nagging, wanting to be fed.”
In the corner of the room, I see Stephen lean forward. When I look in his direction, tears are streaming down his face. I quickly look away. I need to finish this.
“I got lucky, kids. I had enough money to pay for rehab seven times. That’s over half a million dollars I spent on trying to get the demon out of my head. Out of my body. The demon I’d invited in. The demon that came damn near close to killing me. That caused me to lose everything. For what…? I can’t even answer it to this day.”
I stare into the camera again.
“Kids, don’t invite the demon in. Go rock climbing or swimming. Sit around a campfire and laugh with your friends. Kiss. Make love. Hold someone’s hand. Create memories. Memories you can actually remember. That’s the real high.”
Emotion clogs my throat, and I clear it, then take a sip of water.
“Keep possession of your soul. Don’t give it away.”
I scrub my hands over my face, giving myself a minute to pull my shit together.
“Thank you for that question, Presley. Send me another and I’ll answer it tomorrow night.”
And she does.
I wonder… Why do radio stations play new songs to death?
I actually have no idea but manage to get a morning show host on the line to provide a little input.
Then she sends me another, and another, and before I know it, an entire month has passed.
More questions come, and I realize I’m smiling more as I give each of them some thought. Smile as I prepare for my nightly “date.”
Some questions are snarky: I wonder… How does it feel to get kicked in the balls?
Some are unanswerable: I wonder… Did Adam and Eve have navels?
Some delve into my life: I wonder… How do you write songs?
How do you play the guitar?
How do you know if your voice goes off pitch?
Have you ever lip synched, and if so, did you feel guilty afterwards?
It got to where I could almost read Presley’s mood by the type of question she asked. Back in the day, I’d been good at gauging her mood the moment I saw her, but this took that instinct to another level.
When she’s sad: I wonder… if we make the same mistakes in our next lifetime.
When she’s mad: I wonder… how much it hurts to punch your own self in the face.
That answer wasn’t pleasant, and I had a bruised cheekbone as proof for the next week.
I wonder… it is scary to release a new album for everyone judge?
That answer had been easy. “Yes.”
I wonder… where is your dream concert location?
“The moon.”
I wonder… are you really clean after taking a bath?
“Hell no, that water is nasty.”
On and on, day after day… I become closer to her even when I’m very far away.
Once, I almost miss a show because traffic had kept me away from my computer. So, I go straight to the store and buy an iPad I now keep with me constantly.
The show has become popular, with more and more people viewing it every evening. It’s gotten to the point where fans bring it up, asking if I’d proven it to her yet.
My answer is always the same. “Not yet, but I will.”
Christmas passes, as does New Years. January fades away to February.
As Valentine’s Day approaches, I begin to think that the day of love will be our breakthrough day. But on February fourteenth, my phone stays silent. No badass notification sounds to alert me of an email to my private email address.
My noon, I don’t think much of it. By three in the afternoon, I become worried. By six, I’m nearly frantic. By showtime, I’m nearly out of my mind.
“Presley… are you there?” I ask the second the show goes live. “Are you okay?”
Of course, my screen doesn’t answer, and I want to throw my iPad across the room.
Has she given up on me?
Is she hurt?
Is she on a date?
I still don’t have her phone number or address. I knew she’d give it to me when she was ready. But even after so many months of doing this, she’s offered nothing more than that single question each day.
What am I doing? Am I insane? How did I ever think this stupid idea would ever work?
Because I’m on the very edge of jumping off into hell, I force myself to take a deep breath. I’m pacing floor, and I make myself sit down.
Since I don’t know what to do with my hands, I pick up my guitar and begin to strum the strings. It calms me down, and I look back at the camera again.
“Presley, I hope you’re okay. I hope that more than anything. And I hope you haven’t given up on me yet. I hope you’ll still let me prove it to you.”
I begin to sing, unsure of where the words are coming from, but they feel right as they leave my mouth…
I’m alone with nothing to lose
Except my heart, my deepest pain
I throw it out, my truth, my lies
But those bullets have no aim
I don’t know where to look
I speak but the words fall into the void
My world cracking open to consume them
Spiraling down into that dark place
But I won’t stop
I won’t fall
I did that all before
No, I won’t stop
I won’t fall
Because
When nothing else matters
It matters the most.
As I begin to strum back through the chorus, tweaking a note and word here and there, my phone blares, playing the riff announcing an incoming email on my phone.
I don’t jump. I don’t react at all.
I simply, and without warning, begin to cry.