Page 18 of Driving Beats

He makes a couple of turns and hits a button to open the gate to his home. Home? More like a mansion. It’s on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

As per usual, unfiltered words spew out of my mouth. “Damn. UC has to bring in more dough than I ever imagined.”

He pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “It’s comfortable. Bennett bought his in Aroostook, while Río and I are in LA.”

“Where do 007 and Tris live?”

“Our bassist is back in New Jersey. Tris recently bought a condo in Chicago.”

I process this new bit of information. “Wow. You guys are pretty spread out.”

“It’s good to recoup your energy when we’re not on tour. We’re together most of the time.”

“Hence your need for the Zen retreat.”

We pull into the driveway outside the garage and he retrieves my luggage. “We all do things to reenergize, which belongs only to ourselves. Meditation is mine.”

Standing tall, he opens the side door and I pull my carry-on in my wake. A beautiful garden with trees and shrubs greets me. I walk diagonally across pebbles toward the wall of windows, one of which I presume is a door. My luggage crunches as I cross the grounds.

Behind me, Coop inhales. Loudly.

I turn to him. “Is everything okay?”

His face is taut, as if in pain.

I scan the garden. Was something disturbed? Has he been burglarized? As I’ve never been here before, I don’t know how it looked before. Abandoning my carry-on, I rush over to him. “What’s wrong?”

In a tight voice, he says, “You just dragged your luggage across my Zen Garden.”

7

COOP

It’s all I can do to restrain myself from throwing Nese’s luggage into the ocean. She just blithely dragged her wheeled bag across my private space.

I walk over to the grassy area and deposit her two bags. My Zen masters tell me to practice mindfulness. Right now, this means to acknowledge my feelings without assigning judgment. Fine. I feel as though I want to strangle this woman-child who barreled through my garden without any regard for what I had carefully cultivated. Like everything she touches.

There. Acknowledged.

What’s the next appropriate thing for me to focus on? Treat this temporary setback as a learning experience. I’m sure Nese had no idea what this oasis of tranquility means to me.

She better not.

What can I learn from this other than she has no regard for inner peace? Perhaps I can teach her. Hardly. Next.

Reflect on acceptance. What are her actions meant to teach me? All I can think of is her disregard for something sacred to me. Maybe I’m supposed to educate her about boundaries?

Her voice registers. “Coop. I’m sorry.”

At least she’s sorry for what she did. That’s a start. My face remains taut.

“What’s a Zen Garden?”

Apparently, she was sorry for not understanding my term of art—not for ruining it. Concentrate on compassion. Teach her about the meaning.

In the calmest, most regulated tone I can manage given the situation, I begin. “When I bought this house, the first change I made to the property was to install this Zen Garden. It’s a traditional Japanese landscape designed to evoke tranquility and contemplation. The simplicity aligns with Zen Buddhist principles, which focus on meditation and mindfulness.” I study her to determine if she understands.

She checks out the garden. “It looks like a nice place to sit and… think.”