The rest of the guys, Franco, Jamie, and Robbie seem okay. I don't talk to anyone much. This isn't anything new. I've always been a loner. I try to keep to myself, but they're all polite. And sober most of the time, which is a bonus for intelligent conversation. I haven't watched any of their performances. I don't plan on it either. I sit on the bus reading while they're playing and when the chaos settles post-show, I go back in and play damage control if it's needed. It's usually not needed. The only thing I seem to run across is Gustov being pawed at by some overly enthusiastic groupie. He disappears into dark rooms with them every night.
Eight more weeks to go.
I've got this.
Friday, April 28
(Scout)
Now we're in Kansas City, Missouri. I've never been to the Midwest. It feels comforting and stable in a way I can't explain, like the people here have life figured out. No one's in a rush and that's nice. I wish I could live that way. My brain never turns off. Maybe that's what happens when you grow up in New York, in a city that never shuts down and reboots. Sometimes I wish I could turn my mind off altogether, but I can't. That's just stupid and unrealistic. Life is a fight. And I'm a fighter. And I'm good at fighting. I'm good at protecting myself when I have to.
I'm standing outside the bus when my cell phone rings.
"Hi, Jane," I answer with relief. It's been a few days since we talked last and I've been worried. I need to know she's okay.
"Hi, Scout." She sounds happy. It makes me glad, because it's rare that I hear genuine happiness in her voice.
"So, how's it going today? Anything exciting on tap?" I ask. It's how we always start off our conversations. Even though I don't want to be home, I still want to know what's going on. And that Jane's okay. So we talk every few days. I don't miss home, but I miss the feeling of home. I miss security, or the illusion of security. I'm a creature of habit. I miss having a routine.
"Paxton's home this weekend. We're going out to lunch in an hour. I'm meeting him at Pasqual's Deli." Now she sounds nervous. Maybe even scared. Paxton is her son, and they have an extremely strained relationship. He's seventeen. He's my cousin, and he and I grew up together. Even though there's a six-year age difference between us, we're close. He's my best friend. He goes to a year-round boarding school in Boston and he hates it, everything about it: the school, the spoiled kids he's surrounded by, the isolation. I don't blame him. It stifles him. It's changed him and stunted him socially and that breaks my heart. Basically, the school is an alternative parenting strategy. The school parents the kids so the parents don't have to be, you know, parents. Because, honestly, Jane can't parent at this point. And Paxton doesn't want her to. I hate being in the middle of them. I try to play peacemaker. I usually fail horribly.
Holding the phone to my ear, I don't know what to say. I don't want to offer false hope and I know Paxton; I don't think he'll show for lunch, but I can't bring myself to say it, so I say, "Tell him I said hi. And to call me." I usually hear from him every day, but I don't want her to know that.
She sighs, and I can hear the doubt through the phone, I can practically feel it. She doesn't want to be doubtful. She wants to be optimistic. She dreams of optimism, like little girls dream of princesses and happily-ever-afters. But at heart, she's a reluctant fatalist. Disease drives her fate. It's the reason Paxton refuses to be around her. "I will," she says, finally. She's trying, and failing, to smile. I can hear it in the fluctuations in her voice.
In an attempt to cheer her up, I add, "Oh, and stop at Sweet Treats on the way home from Pasqual's and eat a slice of carrot cake cheesecake for me." Jane loves carrot cake cheesecake, and it always cheers her up. Me too. At least once a month we'd take a trip to Sweet Treats and drown any bad feelings in cheesecake. It's the cure for just about anything, at least for a little while.
Her voice brightens. "I will. I haven't gone since you've been away, you know. I think it's time."
I offer reassurance in a nod she can't see. "It's definitely time."
She changes the subject. "How's everything going with you?"
I shrug. "Same. Eight more weeks. I've got this." I do. I have to.
"You can do anything Scout. Anything you put your mind to." She's always encouraged me ... and only me. Almost like she's living vicariously, making up for all of the bad choices and the things she hates about herself. It makes me feel sorry for her. I've always felt that she's one of those people who never realized they have potential, or the power to create potential. Life merely happens to her, but she doesn't live it. She doesn't participate.
"Thanks, Jane. Well, you better go get ready for your lunch date." I don't want to say what comes next, because if he's a no-show she'll be crushed. "Text or call me later and let me know how Paxton is doing."
"Okay." There's already doubt and disappointment in her voice. I wish I could take it away for both of them.
A text comes in from Jane four hours later. Paxton didn't show up.
My heart sinks and I don't want to text back. I don't want to acknowledge the hurt she's feeling because then it's real. But I do text back with the only thing I can come up with that's genuine. I'm sorry.
She doesn't reply. What's she going to say anyway?
Saturday, April 29
(Scout)
I didn't hear from Paxton yesterday. I know he's hanging out with his friends since he's home for a long weekend. He doesn't get to go home often, so I know he's busy, but I have to text him to check in on him. NYC this weekend?
The response is almost immediate. I go back to prison tomorrow night.
Having fun? God, I hope he is.
Hanging out with Cisco today. That's a yes. Cisco is his one of his closest friends. They've known each other since they were five.
Good. Let me know when you get back to school tomorrow night. I like to know where he is and that he's okay.
Sure thing.
Thursday, May 4
(Scout)