After spending hours going over the song and far too keyed up for sleep, I’d called my mom just to hear her steadying voice of reason.
She did not disappoint.
Her take on the situation, the lyrics to Billie’s song, and remembering what Evan said to me earlier, all help to rattle things around inside my head enough to finally see clearly when I’m hit with an epiphany.
I always think I’m not good at sharing my feelings and emotions. That I suck at relating on an emotional level. I know I’ve told Billie several times, and while it’s not untrue, it’s also something where I’ve bought into the narrative over the course of my whole life. An excuse for something that’s always been very challenging for me. But still, just another lame excuse for being unwilling to try.
Because sharing my feelings makes me uncomfortable.
Boo. Fuckin’. Hoo.
Just because something isn’t easy, or causes discomfort, doesn’t mean I can’t ever be good at it. I’ll have to practice, learn to share my feelings more, and I’ll improve. You only get better at something if you practice doing it.
Pretty damn simple when taken down to the very basics. Pretty much like hockey.
I might’ve always thought I couldn’t handle change, but nevertheless, change will come into your life. Maybe a lot or maybe a little, but change is coming…like Billie wrote in her email.
Instead of resisting change, I need to be the change.
I can learn to share my feelings.
I can learn to embrace the changes in my life.
I can learn to grow emotionally.
Learn, I must. To use phrasing of a certain Jedi Master.
I don’t think for a minute it’ll be easy, either. It’s gonna be brutally, fuckin’, difficult, I’m sure.
But for Billie, I can do it.
For Billie, I will.
I will do this. Watch me.
My hands are shaking a little, but at least I know what I need to do. I reach for my phone again and pull up my contacts, finding what I need after a minute of searching. I type out a text to a certain Hollywood celebrity I hope and pray gets back to me just as soon as his superstar ass wakes up in the morning.
32
down the beach
Billie
My mother has the house decorated for Hanukkah in the blues, whites, and silvers of my childhood. The menorah sits on the mantle in my parents’ spacious living room, huge windows on either side and views of the California coast just beyond.
I’m sitting on the couch, brooding, listening to the rough cut of the full album. My job now is to listen for any production imperfections and any last changes we might want to make. When my mom wanders in, fussing with the pillows, I take the hint and leave, heading up to my bedroom to finish my work. Kit is supposed to be coming home tonight to light the third candle. It’s kind of a joke, I suppose. None of us is all that religious. Still, the tradition is comforting in the way that reflecting on your best childhood memories is heartwarming. He did say he was going to introduce Josh to the fam tonight, so I’ll finally be able to meet him. That’s something to look forward to, at least. I’m so happy for my brother finding his person, but even thinking about his happiness in love makes the persistent ache in my chest throb a bit sharper for a moment.
My heart is quite simply broken. And I fear it will stay that way for a long, long time. It’s been two long and tortuous days since I sent the email with my song to Calum. Forty-eight hours and I’ve heard nothing from him. I know he got it because the read receipt notification came through a bit later, and I know he was there teaching his guitar class the very same day. I check in regularly with my temporary replacement, Marc, who fills me in on what’s happening at the center. Marc told me all about the welcome back surprise party the kids threw for Calum. Even though I didn’t ask, and Marc merely volunteered the information, it was hard hearing about Calum being there with the kids, and me not. But even though my heart hurts dreadfully, it’s gratifying to know Calum didn’t give up on the kids. He’s still teaching them the guitar. Without me. But that’s good on him. The right thing to do, the decent human thing…and only makes me love him more than I already did.
I realize he’s busy getting back in hockey shape after a potentially career-ending injury, but I’d hoped he’d reach out at least with a phone call or something when he heard the song. Radio silence, unfortunately. There was some good news about his eye injury though. Fully recovered with no lasting effects, he’s expected to return to play after the NHL’s winter pause. I read it on the Vegas Crush website a couple of days ago. A blessing for which I am deeply grateful.
With a heavy sigh, I go back to work on the album for another hour before my mom pokes her head in. “Still working, hon?” she asks.
Looking up, I see her inch her way into the room. She glances around, checking it out as if she hasn’t been in here in years. Probably hasn’t, but it doesn’t deter her from coming over to sit beside me on my bed.
We listen to three songs before she pushes pause on the computer.
“Hate it that much?” I can’t resist the snipe at her while jotting down notes in a composition book for the song we just heard.
“No. In fact, I think it’s really good.”
I can’t help the look of pure shock that must be crossing my face.
“I’ve never wanted anything but for you to have an opportunity to show the world how talented you are,” she says softly.
“Can you hear what that sounds like, Mom?”
She sighs and folds her hands in her lap. “Billie, I’ve always seen that light inside of you. That talent. Your dad and I make a business of finding those sparks or making something of them. And you had it. Since you were really little, you had it.”
“But I didn’t want that life. I didn’t want to be made up and paraded around like a singing monkey. And as I got older, the way men looked at me…it was terrifying to be looked at like that as a twelve-year-old.”
“I see that now.” She shakes her head softly and looks…regretful. Something I don’t ever recall seeing in my mother. “I pushed too hard, and I was too blind to what you needed. But I knew you had it and I just wanted people to see how good you were. How proud of you I was.”
“So why not, like, put me in normal activities like dance classes or whatever? Come cheer on my spring recital like a normal parent?”
“I’m so sorry.” Again, not a thing she says very often. It hits me like a ton of bricks that she really means it. “You are extremely talented, Billie. And I know why you left. I pushed too hard and I’m sorry for that. But I’m glad you found something you love. And I’m very proud of what you’re making here.”
“I’m so scared, Mom,” I admit, my voice breaking.
“It can be scary to put yourself out there like this, so publicly. This is big. Your brother’s movie. A whole album. It’s a new world and it will be very different than the safe one you’ve built in Vegas.”
The thought of Vegas makes me sad. I try to push it away, but I can’t because the sadness is always with me now. I blurt out my pain just like I did when I was little. “I haven’t heard from Cal since sending him my song. I guess he doesn’t feel things after all.”