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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 alwaysthinkI’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, changewill comeinto 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 canlearnto share my feelings.
Icanlearn to embrace the changes in my life.
Ican 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 theread receiptnotification 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 meallabout 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.”
