DON'T LEAVE ME NOW

Through her kindness, I discovered Monday evening that I wasn't yet cut off financially from my mother's account. Dreux was nice enough to take me to the nearest hardware store after we were done helping at both the barber shop and hair salon. It was at the hardware store that I bought a few gallons of pure black paint. Dreux said nothing as I made my purchase, he simply offered to carry the jugs for me to the car, and when I said no, he did it anyway.

      My mind was still buzzing about our talk at Marty's. I saw Dreux in a new light, he was still very much a golden boy to me, even if he'd momentarily slipped and lost his way.

      What I reflected on most was my unresolved issues with Scott.

      When I got in that night, I moved all my furniture to the center of my room and placed down the protective lining along the walls before commencing to painting. I put on some music and got lost as I painted my walls black. Somewhere in the background I vaguely recalled Scott stopping by and noticing me at work. He merely told me dinner was down in the kitchen when I was ready before leaving me be.

      There was nothing else said, even though there was a lot to be said.

      I painted my room black to make it match what I felt inside.

      When my body was aching and tired, I showered and slept in our guest room, skipping dinner altogether.

⚓️

I waited another day or so before confronting Scott, who was off from work Wednesday afternoon. He was in his work room, tinkering around with something, and when I peeked my head inside, I found that it was a guitar he was working on.

      Scott's work room was more of his band room, he had an array of bass guitars, a piano, and tons of photos of famous musicians. Jimi Hendrix, Freddie Mercury, Prince, Keith Richards, Jimmy Page, and of course Pink Floyd.

      Scott was lost in his own mind as he seemed to be fixing a guitar string. For a while, I watched him, at total peace with the universe. Maybe we were more alike than I even knew, when I was feeling lost, angry, or hurt, I turned to music and I was almost certain the look on Scott's face was the same one I often wore.

      In another moment, Scott lifted his head and spotted me. His mouth drew into a flatline. I could see on his face that our civil war was draining him as well.

      In the beginning, I wouldn't have given a shit about his angst, but now, I was tired too.

      I walked around the room, all the while noting that Scott's eyes lingered on me. At one of his bookcases where he housed shelves of vinyl, my eyes fell upon a small tin box on top.

      "Saylor," Scott began to speak up from behind me.

      I ignored his remark as I took it upon myself to curiously open the tin box.

      To my surprise, inside was a good supply of what smelled like some killer weed.

      No way.

      I faced my father. "You gotta be shittin' me."

      I could tell he was embarrassed for being caught, his cheeks tinted a little pink as he awkwardly scratched at the nape of his neck.

      He was such a hypocrite.

      Of course, I should've known better. He was a musician, and most artists had a vice.

      As ticked off as I was, I let it go, feeling vulnerable in my true mission.

      "I come in peace," I clarified.

      Scott arched a brow. "What does that mean?"

      I shrugged, finding my way over to the piano and running my finger along the keys. "I want to talk. I have questions."

      Scott released a sigh, sitting up and setting his guitar aside. "I assume you've had some for a while."

      I bobbed my head, refusing to look at him. It was hard to articulate the jumbled mess that was my mind. All that I could think to ask was, "Why?"

      Scott's silence drew my attention to him. He had his head down, collecting his thoughts, thinking over each of his words carefully. I admired this, as he wasn't one to just speak without meaning.

      "You're going to want the beginning," he told me. "Because in a nutshell: I fucked up. I was just a kid, and I let someone tell me I wasn't good enough and I bailed on a situation that's haunted me for a long time."

      I sat at the piano, fully facing him. "Tell me."

      "I left home at twenty, destined to make it, to be," he showed a hand towards his wall of photos, "among the greats, but as I told you, that didn't too much work out."

      "Before L.A., what was home like?" I wanted to know. Of my mother's side, my mom wasn't too close with her parents. We saw them frequently on special occasions where my grandfather would turn his nose up at me.

      I always thought he saw me as some sort of bastard.

      Even at a young age you know what it's like to be looked at differently.

      My grandmother had been nice, loving even, but my grandfather had always come off detached and cold.

      My mother insisted it was all in my head and that they both loved me.

      I think she just wanted to protect me.

      Scott ran a hand through his hair and leaned over a bit to get more comfortable. "Home was pretty ordinary. I grew up here and at times it was great, and at others it was dragging me down. I couldn't sit still here; my leg was always bouncing to go. Pop, he was always against my dream to make it big out there, but my mom, she was supportive as best as she could be. You see, my sister, Irene, she was the good one, straight A's in school, captain of the debate team, the whole works, and my mom tried her best to understand me, while Pop often threatened to ship me to military school."

      It was hard to believe at a time my father had been...like me. "You were trouble."

      Scott didn't disagree. "I was a punk, all I cared about was music and getting a little high with my friends. I think my mom thought me going to L.A. would change me, so to speak, since it was the 'real world.' " His gaze drew to the floor. "I guess in a way it did."

      "And then you left," I said, urging him to keep going.

      "Yeah, I worked my ass off during my senior year to start saving money, and then finally at twenty, I bought a bus ticket, packed a bag, my guitar, and I just took off for L.A."

      "You worked as a busboy?" I tried to recall.

      Scott nodded. "I worked at the country club during the day and played in my band some nights. I met your mother at the club, she was a regular with your grandparents, the noble Barringtons. Madeline she was only eighteen at the time, had just graduated high school, but very bright and years beyond her peers."

      One thing about my mom, she wasn't judgmental. She'd always tried to get me instead of simply throwing me in therapy and drugging me up to make me fall in line like some parents did at my old school.

      "Yeah, Mom's different." At least, she was before she got rid of me.

      "Unlike everyone else, she treated me like a person and actually talked to me that summer. I guess you can say I fell for her fast and hard." Scott seemed helpless as he furnished a smile. "Some guys on staff told me to leave her alone, that it wasn't worth the risk of my job, but I couldn't back down. I invited her out one night when my band was having a show, and it shocked the hell out of me when she actually came. Maddie was from an aristocratic world, and yet she was in this really grimy bar just to see me. Sorta like a white rose in a field of weeds."

      His words resonated with me. Back home, to some Scott too had been a dandelion, and not even just in L.A., here in Meadow Grove, too.

      In that moment, I didn't feel so different from him. For most of my life I felt defected or disconnected from my peers. Truth was I carried pieces of Scott with me as well. He'd been an outsider too.

      "So you two hit it off?" I was surprised to find out their age difference and that my own mother had snuck into a club to see my father play a show.

      "Oh yeah, it was instant. She stayed until our set was done and we grabbed a table and talked all night. One thing about her, she may look all dainty and innocent, but she could cut a man to size if needed. She kept me on my toes and I'd never felt that before, her mind, her humor, her beauty, I was in love for the first time in my life."

      I was conceived in love. The thought was sobering.

      It wasn't until Scott admitted it that I realized that I needed to know this detail.

      "What went wrong?" I prompted him to tell me.

      Gone was all the stars in Scott's eyes as guilt and shame took over. "Your grandfather caught wind of what was going on, he tried to get me fired from the club for it. He said I was harassing Maddie, but she stood up to him about that. Maybe in some ways, it was doomed from the start, we were from two different worlds, and sometimes love isn't enough, Saylor.

      "When Madeline found out she was pregnant she was happy and scared. Your grandparents wanted her to go to school in the fall and do something impressive with her life, and getting knocked up by some busboy in a band wasn't exactly groundbreaking."

      "But it happened."

      "Yes, it did. Call me crazy, but I wanted to marry her, not because you were on the way, but because I loved her and I just knew she was the one," Scott insisted.

      "Why didn't you?"

      Scott held a hand up, as if to settle me down before he continued. "Mr. Barrington never liked me for your mom, when he found out about the pregnancy he wasn't excited at all. He 'grounded' her, kept her from leaving the house and seeing me. Maddie called me crying about it, and I got in a cab and stormed over and met him at the door."

      I watched his face go from shame to anger as he spoke of my grandfather.

      "I demanded to see her, but he wouldn't let me in. He looked me in my eye and told me I was nothing. He pointed his finger in my face," Scott raised his to illustrate the gesture, "and he said to me, 'You will never know what it's like to have a seat at the table. People like you eat in the kitchen, and people like Madeline dine first class. You have soiled my daughter, and now it's up to me to fix it.' He told me I could barely take care of myself, let alone two more people. He listed my flaws and I saw them for what they were: the truth. He told me the best thing to do was leave."

      For a while, he didn't speak, and I could see the weight of the past seventeen years lifting from his shoulders with his confessions.

      "And what did you do?" I wasn't sure why I'd asked, because it seemed pretty obvious.

      Scott met my eyes, holding them and me in place as he spoke once more. "I left."

      I felt my face getting hot and I had to look away and blink.

      I. Did. Not. Cry.

      He left me.

      This was a fact I'd known all along, but hearing it from him touched me in a way I couldn't shake.

      I've got issues, I admitted to myself as what I felt was right in front of me to no longer deny.

      Maybe it had always been there, but hearing his words and recollecting my feelings, I came to find that I carried with me abandonment issues. It was a cycle that was following me since before I was born. First Scott, then Kevin, then my mother, and then my boys.

      A part of me wondered if they all saw something in me, something too ugly to stick around and deal with, as if Scott had sensed it from the moment he touched my mom's belly and knew to back out before it was too late.

      Fuck.

      I ran an arm over my eyes to wipe them clean.

      No.

      I wasn't the problem. They were. People always leave.

      Scott attempted to stand, but I shook my head. His eyes were glassy, as if holding back his own sorrow. "I was just a kid—"

      "You were an adult, you were twenty years old, and you just left her." My voice broke as I stood up for more than just myself, for my mother too. "You let him tear you down and turn you into a coward, and you left us."

      Scott hung his head. "I fucked up. My whole life I was hearing that I was wrong and I was messing up, and when Maddie got pregnant and he said those words, I just didn't think I was good enough to make it work. Barrington was right, I was barely getting by on my own, and I couldn't raise a baby on my pay. I was insecure and scared, and I ran. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made, and I'm so sorry, Saylor."

      Suddenly the room felt too small.

      I rose to my feet and Scott did the same, calculating my movement.

      "I needed you and you weren't there," I let out.

       Scott crossed over to me and against my thrashing, he took me into his arms.

      I didn't break down and cry, but I felt the pain deep in my heart ease up just a little.

      "Don't you think for a moment that I left because of you, or that I didn't love you or care. I was weak, and I messed up a really good thing," he told me. "I didn't want to leave and I didn't want to stay and prove Barrington right. I wrote Madeline this letter, telling her I was sorry for everything, and that I was going back home. I left my number for her to call me, and she did, on April 20th when you were born. She told me how much you weighed and how well you were doing, and that she was going to be okay, and that was it."

      We broke apart and as angry as I felt about him leaving, I felt sympathy for him all the same.

      "My parents were disappointed in me, my sister too, I could see it in their eyes, but no one beat myself up like I did, and still do, over what happened. If I could go back and change my mind, I would, in a heartbeat," Scott swore.

      But it was impossible.

      That's just not how time worked.

      "How did she contact you after all these years?" I asked.

      "I lived with my parents for a while, and when they moved I got their house. When I moved here I transferred our old landline. The number's been the same since forever," Scott said. "Madeline called me and told me what happened, and as messed up as it sounds, I was happy. To me, this was a second chance, and I think we both need it. You sounded like you were going down a bad path, and I saw myself in you. I just want to help, I want to be here, as long as you'll have me. I want to be the dad I should've been from the start."

      "Now," I said. "I mean, would you have ever contacted me without my getting arrested?"

      "There's a part of me that thinks I honestly would've left you alone, to not ruin your happiness or life by intruding, and then there's another that would've tracked you down, so you could scream at me, yell, tell me you hated me, but just so you knew that I was here and give a damn."

      I snorted. He "gave" a damn.

      While there was no denying that Scott was immediately in my life and fighting back against all my angst, there was also no ignoring his absence for the greater part of my life as well.

      Maybe it was too little too late.

      Though, we were alike in all the ways I'd never known, he was very much a part of me and who I was, before I even knew myself.

      Perhaps maybe this was destined.

      Cameron came to mind, her and her peppy attitude and talk about second chances. Scott was using his to be a better man and father to me, Dreux was being a boy scout, and then there was me with my second chance in Meadow Grove.

      "I don't know if I'll stay after April," I spoke up. I lifted my chin at him, pulling myself back together. "Until then, we should start over."

      It was only the first of November, I wasn't sure what my mindset would be come my birthday, but for the time being I needed to work on my second chance.

Angela was nice enough to let me in when I knocked on her door an hour later. She must've sensed my slight melancholy as she took in my appearance.

      "Dreux's up in his room," she told me before walking away towards their TV area.

      Scott was back home, watching a film on TV, but he gave me the go ahead to slip out to go over to Dreux's. We'd called a cease fire, Scott and me. I wasn't sure how I felt towards him completely, and I was too tired to try to put it together.

      So I found myself going up to Dreux's room to distract myself.

      He was sitting back against his headboard with his guitar across his lap.

      His bedroom walls were coated in a dark gray paint, and only a lone portrait hung up, a motivational one for breast cancer.

      I admired that about Dreux, his love for his mother.

      I owed mine an apology, for all the shit I'd put her through and for not even taking her calls while I was in town. I'd taken for granted how much she'd been through, Scott leaving and her own father overstepping his boundary with her. She was incredibly strong, except when it came to me. I owed her more than I could ever repay I realized.

      Tonight, though, all that would wait, I was too drained for another heavy conversation.

      Dreux spotted me and eyed me curiously as I approached him. He said nothing as I climbed on his bed and soon laid my head on his shoulder.

      This friendship between us was new, too, but a part of me felt like I needed it.

      "You have that talk with Scott?" he asked me.

      I nodded.

      "How'd it go?"

      Instead of focusing on the question, I took in his guitar. "Can you even play?"

      Dreux poked me before positioning himself better with his instrument. With his fingers in place, he paused, thinking to himself.

      I was just about to give out a recommendation when he began strumming the strings.

      It took me a minute, but I soon recognized the tune to belong to the Foo Fighters.

      Dreux kept playing and I started singing along to "Everlong."

      Getting lost in the melody and lyrics erased some of the tension I was feeling. It was peaceful and calming after the afternoon that I'd had.

      Dreux played the last note and soon set the guitar aside, peering down at me quizzically. "Yo, you're good."

      "Speak for yourself, you played like a pro," I said.

      Dreux disregarded my comment. "I mean it, you've got a good voice. I guess music runs in your family."

      After all that I'd learned from Scott, I wasn't surprised, but curious. "You really think I sound all right?"

      Dreux smiled big as he nodded his head. "Hell yeah. Your voice and my playing, we could do our own YouTube channel."

      My mood lifted as I fought a laugh. "Yeah? What would we call it?"

      Dreux began to think it over. "The Bedroom Sessions."

      He was being so cheesy, but it was okay, because I needed it.

      "You're such a dork, Dreux St. Julien," I announced with faux exasperation.

      Dreux shrugged. "Got you to smile, didn't I?"

      "Yeah, you did, thanks."

      He reached out and patted my knee. "So, I guess this makes us friends."

      I didn't exactly know where I fit in or belonged anymore, but a friendship was a good place to start. We'd called a truce, and were now carpooling together thanks to my misdeeds, so yeah, friends was appropriate.

      I palmed his cheek, being the most serious I'd ever been. "Don't be like everybody else."

      Dreux leaned into my hand, giving me this adorable look. "I won't."

      Sensing that that just enough, he gathered his guitar once more. "So, what next?"

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Everlong (Acoustic) 🎶 Foo Fighters

https://youtu.be/OgMkST2rUR8