Page 35 of Mayhem

I snap out of it and look at her. “What’s up?”

“Are you going to see who it is?” The arch in her brow is bordering on sarcasm, and it dawns on me that I haven’t moved. I’ve been lost in my head.

Again. Fuck.

The knock on the door repeats, and it’s a little louder this time. Reluctantly, I get up and head to answer the door.

When I open it, I find Dakota on the doorstep. Not Tess. The disappointment that rolls through me makes zero sense, but I shove it down, and plaster on a smile.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” I say, offering a hand for an awkward handshake that turns into something like a bro-ritual. First a regular handshake, that morphs into an arm-wrestling pose, then another position that feels weird. After a few transitions I give up and drop my hand, feeling like an idiot who doesn’t know the first thing about ‘cool bro’ handshakes.

Fair enough.

Dakota is unphased, but still seems a bit reserved. His beanie is missing, and his hair is tied back low on the nape of his neck. Charlie will be so disappointed.

“I wasn’t sure if I should still show up for our lyric session,” he starts, still in the doorway, glancing around the living room, “since you guys left so early… I tried texting, but thought I’d swing by anyway in case I had your number wrong.”

Holy shit. I totally forgot we planned this earlier today. In all that’s happened since this afternoon, it completely slipped my mind that I’d invited Dakota over to write together.

“Sorry about that, dude, come on in. It’s all good.” I force a smile as Charlie runs over to greet Dakota. Maybe she’s not so disappointed after all.

Girls.

It takes a good half hour to convince Charlie that she needs to get ready for bed. She’s wrapped up in all things Dakota, tossing a million questions at him, and he’s wrapped around her little finger. Just where she wants him.

At least I have company.

When she finally concedes and goes to her room, I head into the kitchen. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

Dakota follows me in, leaning his lanky frame against a counter. “Nah, I’m good. I don’t drink.”

I pause for a minute, holding the fridge door open and glance over to study him. It’s almost unheard of to not drink in the music business. But then it’s usually one extreme or another. People either party too much, or not at all. There isn’t a lot of gray area.

It makes me wonder even more what Dakota’s story is. “You don’t? Which is it? Can’t? Won’t? or don’t?”

“Yes.”

“That’s valid,” I say, seeing that he doesn’t want to get into it, and I’m not one to press anything now. I’ve got my own shit. “Water, then?”

“That’d be great.” He loosens up a little at my not prying for further details, as if he was expecting to get the third degree from me.

We settle on the couch and start going through his notebooks, which is more like poetry than lyrics. The guy has a gift with words, and it makes me start to question my own talent as a songwriter. I’m no Shakespeare, but Dakota’s writing resonates on a deeper level. A level that I’m not usually willing to go to in a song.

I’m all for pouring my heart and soul into a song, but I seem to stop myself before it gets too close to home. I go to the heart of it, but not my heart. My defenses won’t let me expose that to anyone, not really.

But Dakota’s writing is almost too personal. One part captures my attention:

The void we hid in took you.

Back to the reality we ran from,

Stolen, or stupid, either way successful

In losing you forever

To The Abyss.

I read the entire thing a few times, and let the emotion of it sink in. The grief and longing in the words wash over me and strike a chord that I can relate to. Especially today.

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