Starting today.
Walking down the path toward the cottages that the staff live in, I spot the most tranquil-looking fountain. The water coming from the bucket of the stone woman in the middle spews into the body of water surrounding her, and the sound is almost rhythmic.
I glance around, seeing four benches surrounding the fountain mixed in with a wide array of flowers. If there was ever a more tranquil place on earth, I’d like to see it.
I lay my case on a bench and then unzip it, reaching inside for my Martin. This carefully crafted piece of wood has been in my family for years. It belonged to my grandfather, who taught Dad to play on it, who in turn taught Trip and me. This isn’t just any guitar to me. It’s a little piece of home.
I hold it by the neck until I make it to another empty bench and sit down, the strings ringing out in perfect tune as I run my pick over them. My calloused fingers mash against the frets and I begin to play the first song that comes to mind, “Behind Blue Eyes.”
I close my eyes, singing the words while picturing Frannie’s face. The sadness I saw in her eyes makes me wonder if she feels the loneliness, too—the kind where, although people surround you, it’s still like being alone.
There’s so much in this song that I can relate to. The lyrics roll through me, working their way into my chest, and wrapping around my heart. With each beat, the pressures that I’ve been struggling to forget come at me in full force. The line about being hated and no one understanding my loneliness really hits home.
My life is so fucking screwed up.
I rock in time to the music and moisture builds under my closed eyelids, the tears threatening to push their way out and expose my sadness to the world.
I sing the last line and play the last riff, sighing as I open my eyes.
My heart does a double thump in my chest the moment my vision comes into focus, and my eyes land directly on Frannie.
She stands behind the bench rubbing her bare arms, studying me with those same eyes I was just singing about—sad ones.
I clear my throat, suddenly uneasy that she’s caught me at such a vulnerable moment. “I didn’t know anyone would be out here.”
Her pretty pink lips twist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spy on you. It’s just your singing...it was...wow. You’re amazing.”
The kindness in her words makes me smile. “Thank you.”
Without an invitation, she walks over and sits next to me on the bench. I raise one eyebrow, questioning if sitting so close to me is suddenly allowed, but she just rolls her eyes at me. “We can behave, right?”
I nod, but know that given the opportunity, I’d kiss her again. No hesitation.
“Good,” she says and then folds her hands in her lap. “Will you tell me what you were thinking of just now, when you were singing?”
My entire body tenses. Shit. I guess she did see that. The only thing I can do now is pretend like I don’t know what she’s talking about. “What makes you think I was thinking about anything? Can’t I just be really focused on the song?”
Frannie tilts her head, allowing her dark hair to fall over her shoulder. “I saw you,” she whispers. “No one can sing with that kind of feeling without something coming to mind.”
I break away from her gaze, debating what to say next.
“Please, Tyke.” She places her hand on mine that rests on the top of the guitar.
For some reason, the simple act of her touching me makes me want to spill my guts to her, but I’m afraid if she knew what was really on my mind, she’d freak the fuck out and treat me just like any other patient. And I don’t want that. I don’t want to be looked down on, which is why the things I really feel will always need to be locked away. But I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that I’ll have to give her some part of the truth to appease her curious mind.
I take a deep breath and then return my gaze to her. Looking her dead in the eye, I say, “You. I was thinking about you.”
Frannie sucks her bottom lip in and then pulls it between her teeth slowly as she considers what I’ve just admitted. “Me?”
“I can’t get the thought of us out of my mind. Your eyes...” I raise my hand and touch her cheek. “Your eyes haunt me.”
She blinks a couple of times. “Behind blue eyes...you were thinking about when I was crying?”
“Yeah, I mean, you looked so sad. You looked like how I feel sometimes,” I admit to her rather easily.
She tilts her head. “Do you feel that way often?”
I sigh and scrub my hand down my face. “I know what you’re getting at, Frannie. I’m not suicidal. Not now. No matter what that file says about me.”
“So when you crashed your car—”
I cut her off, explaining the best I can. “Have you ever felt like you were nothing? Like you were so inconsequential that it didn’t matter if you even lived anymore?” Tension strains my already shaky voice. “That’s what landed me in here, Frannie. Black Flacon is falling apart, and it’s fucking killing me. I’ll be lost if I lose my music.
“The guys in my band were right. I have a problem. If I hadn’t been totally blitzed out of my fucking mind the night I crashed, I wouldn’t have been so reckless. I’m usually the cautious one—the worrier—but I can’t sit here and lie to you and say the thought of leaving everything in this fucking world behind hasn’t crossed my mind a time or two. And you know what? I wouldn’t have even cared if I hurt anyone else by doing it. I can see now with a clear head that I do have a problem.”