That morning we sat together for the first time, as a family, and laughed like we were whole. Theo got his very first rocking horse from my mother, and someone bought me a really nice cashmere sweater that was so soft Theo curled up and fell asleep on it later. My brother got the new game system and was hurriedly attaching it to the television as he neglected the remainder of his gifts. Once he got it all set up someone suggested that maybe there would be games in the other packages and he came rushing back over to see what games he got.
When the dust cleared, I realized I had not gotten a present from Isaac, and at the same time it dawned on him that I hadn't given him one either. I had bought him a present, though. After everyone was done opening their gifts, and the crowd in the living room began to disappear as the girls went up to their rooms to try on their new clothes, and my Dad joined Mackenzie in playing some of the new games, I called Isaac to follow me to the basement playroom.
"You got me something?" He said, guilty.
I nodded. "I did."
He ran his hands through his curls. "Tay, gosh. I feel horrible, I didn't even shop for you. I saw something you would really like in New York, but I didn't expect to see you."
"Ike. Shut up." I said, with a smile. "Do you think I care?"
"Well... I just feel like an asshole that's all."
"Well, asshole, close your eyes or it'll ruin the surprise." He obliged and I took his arm and lead him down the stairs and past the piano. "Now you can open them."
He did, and in front of him, set up on one of his extra guitar stands was a steel acoustic guitar with a red bow tied around the neck. "Merry Christmas," I whispered and I heard him gasp. I let go of his arm and he rushed toward it.
"Tay, wow." He said, gasping, then reaching out to take it from the stand, lifting it. "God, this thing weighs like forty pounds!" He exclaimed, struggling to put the strap over his shoulder. He put his hands in place and strummed a few chords. "This sounds amazing. Where the hell did you get this?"
I smiled. "I was walking down the street, and there was some kid there with this guitar. He welded it himself, and I had to beg him to buy it, but I got it. I knew you would love it." I recalled my conversation with the boy on the street corner.
"Hey, come over here, check out this guitar I got!" I looked over at this man, around my age, perhaps, standing with an acoustic guitar resting at his feet. I walked closer and he sat down on the ground and strapped it on his shoulder. "I made it myself." He said. "Listen to it."
He played a few chords, and then offered me a try and I fell in love with it. "Would you be willing to sell this to me?"
"Sell it?" He said, surprised. "Man, I don't know... I spent an entire semester on this... this baby is priceless."
"My brother would die if he had this." I said, "It sounds beautiful."
"I don't know, man."
"Ten grand." I offered, and he looked shocked but was still apprehensive about it.
"I... I just don't know if I could sell it." He said, his expression torn between extra money and his prized guitar.
"I need this guitar. Could you make me up another one? I'd pay you for it, I'd pay you a hundred dollars a minute if you asked me." The man shook his head, no.
"Twenty." No. "Thirty." No. "Forty?" Nope. I took the guitar off of my shoulders and handed it to him, the weight was bearing down on me. Damn, that thing was heavy. I pulled out my checkbook. "Would you take one hundred?"
"One hundred? One hundred what?"
"One hundred thousand."
"Are you fucking insane?"
"Yes." I said. "I am."
"This is... phenomenal." He said. His eyes were misty, and full of gratitude and disbelief. He smiled at me as if this were the best gift he had ever received, and to me, seeing him smile at me was the best gift I could receive then. He sat down with it and began to play. He stopped for a second to tune the strings and wipe tears from his eyes. "I can't believe you did this."
I sat down next to him. "It's no problem, man. After all I've put you through, you surely deserve it."
"Even though I told you I hated you?" He sniffled. "Even though I didn't call you?"
"I figured... I figured maybe you could forgive me." I looked at him hopefully, and he pushed his guitar aside and wrapped his arms around me.
"I forgive you. I'm so sorry, about everything."
"Will you be best man at my wedding?"
"Yes. I would be honored." He wiped his eyes again. "I love you. Thank you so much."
"It's no problem." I said with a smile, and he started to noodle on his guitar. I laughed. "That sounds like 'Tommy'."
He smiled. "See me. Feel me. Touch me. Heal me." He then went into one of the guitar progressions straight from Tommy. "There is no chance for untried operation. The tests I gave him show no sense at all, all hope lies with him and none with me. Imagine, though, the shock from isolation, when he suddenly can hear and speak and see."
I smiled. Inside of my mind, I could identify with Tommy. Imagine, spending your life covering your ears, eyes, and mouth. Hiding the secrets, hiding yourself, hiding everything. Tommy wanted to be heard, but he couldn't make the words to tell. He shut down because he didn't want anyone to know. I knew what that was like. Suddenly, I became connected to this music that I had listened to and memorized years ago in a way I never thought I could be. Suddenly, I was the deaf, dumb, and blind boy, and I was the only one who could save myself.
Isaac must have felt it, too. He stared in my face as he sang the words. "I often wonder what he is feeling, has he ever heard a word I've said? Look at him in the mirror dreaming. What is happening in his head?"
He egged me on, and I laughed. The words rolled off my tongue as we sang along to his guitar.
"Listening to you, I get the music
Gazing at you, I get the heat
Following you, I climb the mountain
I get excitement at your feet
Right behind you, I see the millions
On you, I see the glory
From you, I get opinions
From you, I get the story."
"What is happening in his head?" He looked at me, "Ooh, I wish I knew. I wish I knew." And end. He strummed a final and abrupt chord, and we laughed at ourselves. "Man. It's been so long, I can't believe I remember the words."
"I can't either..." We laughed, and then sighed a happy sigh. Self satisfied, and happy, we both sat singing whatever songs came out of Isaac's fingers for the remainder of the morning. I grabbed a second acoustic guitar and joined him, and I even hopped on the piano for a bit. I began to feel the beautiful tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach that I often felt when I was making music. It had been so long, and what a wonderful morning to feel it again. We played for a long time and when we got tired, we put our instruments down and we just sat and talked.
"Tay..." He said, and I looked up at him from my position lying on the couch. "Thank you."
I smiled. "Merry Christmas."
"Not just the guitar." He said, "Thank you for today. Thank you for everything. Thank you for getting off the Valium for me."
"Thank you for saving my life." I said, and he reached over and gripped my hand. I clutched tight.
"You're my best friend. I'll always be here."
I smiled. "When we're old and decrepit you had better still be able to sing me songs."
The day that followed was filled with relatives, food, and fun. It was nearly midnight before our last staggering guests headed for their cars; some aunts, my mom's sisters. A Hanson Christmas was always quite a sight. Over 50 relatives gathered for a feast, set up buffet style, at our house. The first guests usually appear around 3PM and the last are sometimes there till 3AM. And they are all carrying food. Aunt Margaret brings pumpkin pie and lemon meringue. Uncle John always brings his famous casserole. Aunt Pam brings snowflake cookies, and I still haven't figured out who brings the handmade chocolate. The house comes alive with cousins running around in circles and relatives bustling about, singing carols, and wishing "Merry Christmas!" And most importantly, no one, ever, leaves with an empty stomach.
By the end of the day Theo had just about had it with all of the attention, and pooped out around 9 o'clock or so. After we tucked him into bed, Alex and I went into one of the guestrooms and locked the door. We kissed and she told me she had one more Christmas gift for me. I almost asked 'What?' but I caught the look in her eyes and smiled. Yes, honey, a blowjob sounds great.
We burst out of the guestroom, tripping a little, flushed and sweaty - but there were so many people in the house that everyone was flushed and sweaty. Everyone told me they were so happy to see me healthy and happy again. "What a difference from last year, don't you think? Just look at him. Engagement ring and everything." Sometimes I felt like my relatives forgot how old I was, and other times I thought they just liked pinching my cheeks, then sometimes I thought that it had become such a habit they couldn't stop. Alex smirked every time someone, an aunt, or my grandmother, pinched my cheeks. I blushed and then watched her eyes with a look of self-loathing. There were some things that I was just never going to get used to, or grow out of.
Late that night, once all of the guests had cleared out and we had all retreated to our rooms, I caught Jessica in the hallway. She tried to walk around me, working hard not to make eye contact. She had been avoiding me all week since Isaac and I went into her room, and I really needed to sort this thing out with her. I was, quite frankly, sick of pushing my problems and conflicts under the rug.
"Hey Jess?" I waited for her response, but she kept on walking. "Jessica." I called, "I think we need to talk."
"About what?" She murmured, occupying herself at the bathroom mirror in the bathroom at the end of the hallway.
"The other day."
"Oh? What's there to say about the other day?" She said, unflinching. She was good at this. I never understood girls. They could stare at themselves in the mirror for hours without even turning their eyes to acknowledge you.
I hovered in her reflection. "You know what."
"Well. I'm not the one who asked to talk - so why don't you get to the point?"
"You've been avoiding me like the plague ever since last week, I just want to talk it out with you. I'm sorry for what we did, but it's what we had to do."
"You didn't have to do anything." She said. Now she looked at me. "You know, Tay. You are fucked up. How am I supposed to fucking trust you?"
"Why on earth would you think you couldn't trust me?"
"You almost fucking hit me the other day! You and Isaac... you guys just tore apart my room like you didn't even care! You use some warped logic to make violating my privacy alright - and then you start fucking freaking out!"
So, this is what this was about. "I was having a panic attack!" I said. "I told you to leave me alone! I almost went into an episode. You're the one that fucking triggered it in the first place."
"Well, you could have told me that at the time! Just saying 'Get out' to someone already angry with you isn't exactly asking for space. How was I supposed to react to you? You threw me on the floor, then screamed like you were in pain. This is after you had freaking ransacked my room with Isaac! What do you want me to say? What the hell did I do?"
I slammed the bathroom door behind me. "Jess. Get in here." I pushed her. "Sit down. I think I need to tell you something."
She sat on the toilet seat and looked up at me, leaning against the door. I looked at myself in the mirror, and resisted the urge to punch myself in the face. I didn't know where to start. "I've told you my reasons already for why we went through your room... so I'm not going to bother explaining that to you, again. Just get used to it, dear." She shot me a death look. "But I don't think I've ever explained something else to you."
"Oh?" She had her arms crossed across her chest.
"You see. There's this thing that I've had - sort of a lingering 'disorder' which was, well, 90% of the reason I was in the hospital. They call it 'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder' - you know... like shell shock that the war veterans get. After losing Zac, and then a short time later finding Annissa a few hours dead in a bathtub really fucked me up. I get these things called 'episodes' which are like flashbacks and can sometimes last a few minutes, or an hour. They come in the form of nightmares, or panic attacks usually related to everything that's happened."
"And..."
"Well, when you kicked me the other day, it sort of... surprised me, to say the least. It sort of triggered a panic, and I was getting all hazy eyed. They, of course, attempt to teach you how to relax at therapy and stuff, so that's what I was trying to do - and when you grabbed me, I couldn't see you anymore." I shifted uneasily. "That's not my fault, and that's not your fault. It's just what happens."
"What exactly triggers these things?"
I shrugged. "Anything, really. Sometimes it's a gesture, sometimes it's an image - or a sound. I've gotten better at getting out of them and stopping them. That's the idea, I guess."
"That really freaked me out, you know."
"I know, and I'm sorry." I mumbled. "It wasn't you, I promise it wasn't you. I wouldn't ever hit you."
"Then who would you hit?" She asked. "Who did you hit? Who were you hitting? Who hurt Annissa?"
"Her Dad." I said softly. "He used to beat her." It was barely audible.
Her eyebrows creased together. "What makes you throw up?"
"The feeling." I said. "When I have an episode, it's like I'm there all over again." I found my voice eerily distant, I had never really spoken about what happened during my attacks to anyone. At least, not like this. "I can feel the crud on the floor under my hands, I can see all of my scars bleeding, blood on my clothes. I can feel the bruises, I can feel the lost weight. I can see her sheets, and the tiles on the floor. I can see her face still. Everything just feels like it's happening again, and it makes me want to throw up. Coming home to Tulsa is the hardest thing I've done since I read my Eulogy at Zac's funeral."
"What about leaving the band, and us?"
"That was easier to leave behind. Everything about it was ghosts - this entire town is ghosts to me, you know? Los Angeles, too. That's why it's so much easier to walk away from than to walk back into. It doesn't surprise me that I had an episode here." I said softly. "But coming back has allowed me to think some issues through with a clearer head. After Alex and I get married, I think we're going to move."
"Where?"
"Anywhere but here and LA." I said. "Somewhere where I can start fresh and learn to live with myself without the shadow of the past constantly looming. I mean, maybe if I walk down the street, and I don't see the memories, and I don't feel the people. Maybe I'll be able to move on, you know? Maybe I can be almost me again." I whispered softly to myself, "I think we all need to get out of here."
"But what happens when you come home?"
"I come home." I said, shrugging my shoulders. She didn't say anything. Just sort of looked at me, with a blank face. "Merry Christmas." I whispered, as I opened the door and walked out into the hallway.
"Taylor." I heard her voice, soft behind me. "What happens if you never come home?"
"Then nothing will ever change." I replied.
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lyrics (c) The Who; "Go to the mirror, boy" (from le 'TOMMY')