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Sage is one interesting old dude. Even though what we’re talking about is completely mundane—the farm they lived on before, the new neighborhood, Oregon versus Washington—there’s something enigmatic about him that makes you sit up and pay attention. It’s the way he speaks, carries himself. It’s his eyes that hint at a million things he’s seen and experienced, far more than anyone else his age. He’s, quite frankly, legendary.
But small talk is impossible for a legend and the conversation easily moves into his own fame and notoriety.
“So,” Dex says cautiously, leaning forward on his elbows with his nearly empty beer in his hands, “Ada here tells me that she met your friend, Jacob.”
Sage looks my way and I freeze, wishing Dex hadn’t thrown me under the bus like that. But he merely gives me the subtlest of nods before focusing back on Dex.
“Jacob had mentioned that,” he says. “He’s staying with us at the moment. Old family friend of ours.”
“Well, uh,” Dex falters, running his hand over his jaw and shooting Sage a boyish look, “the thing is, I thought Jacob was dead. I mean, that was Jacob Edwards, wasn’t it? Your manager who died in Prague in 1975.”
Sage stares at Dex for a moment and I’m afraid he’s going to ask us to leave, that Dex is being too nosy, too pushy, that we’ve stumbled upon something no one is supposed to know. Oh my god, what if there isn’t a jam room in the basement at all but a dungeon and that’s where the three of us will go in a few seconds, once Sage grabs the guitar in the corner and starts using it as a sword?
But then the corner of Sage’s mouth lifts up and he leans back in his armchair, his large, weathered hands palming the wooden adornment on the ends of the arms. “I shouldn’t be surprised you know this, considering you’re a fan.”
“Well it’s kind of urban legend,” Dex admits. “It only added to your mystique.”
Sage’s smile is tight. “Yeah. I know.” He sighs and looks away, his fingers kneading along the end of the chair. “But how many urban legends actually end up being true?” He gives us all a steady look. “Jacob is a friend to me and Dawn. A very, very good one. Whether he’s alive or not doesn’t make much difference, does it?”
I can tell the answer is supposed to be “no it doesn’t,” but I mean hello. Of course it makes a difference! But I know I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut so I shove the beer in my mouth and swig back the rest of it.
“The fact is,” Sage goes on, “Jacob is here, where he should be. He did a brave thing, sacrificing his own life to save Dawn’s. I know that’s not how they say he died, but that’s the truth. There was no voodoo, nothing except bravery and selflessness. What they don’t tell you is both Jacob and Dawn died the day that the crypt collapsed. And they both came back. But she never would have without him. As such, I owe Jacob my life. I owe him the world. Even to this day. You see,” he says, looking at Perry now, “it’s not easy having to deal with things you can’t explain. Things that the world judges you for. The fact that you see the world differently. Or maybe the world shows itself differently to you. When you find that person who understands . . . you hold onto them with your life. And if there is anyone out there who can . . . give that person back to you, you’re in debt to them forever.”
I feel like this is totally a moment for Perry and Dex, considering they’ve been to Hell and back (again, literally) and seem to understand each other on this basic, soulmate kind of level. I guess it’s kind of inspiring to see a couple such as Dawn and Sage still together, considering they seem to have gone through something similar. True love binds.
Of course that makes me have a tiny pity party for myself, complete with festive hat, confetti, and party horn that makes a pathetic little toot, since I also seem to be damned with these afflictions and yet I’m still alone. Finding someone who understands me seems pretty much impossible.
That said, Sage didn’t really answer the Jacob question, whether I was talking to a ghost or not. It seems to be important only to me.
“So then what really happened during the Hybrid tour?” Dex asks point blank.
Sage grins at him. “What Dawn wrote for Cream magazine in 1974 is completely true. Everyone passed it off as clever metaphor. But it wasn’t. It took us a long time to even think about it, let alone talk about it . . . people died. And that still hurts. But time heals and we’ve had a good, easy, simple life since then.”
