Page 34 of Derailed
12
Sean
Morning comes painfullywith the dawn. Shouldn’t have drowned my problems in craft brew, but it’s nothing a hot shower and drive-thru breakfast burrito doesn’t fix. It’s early enough that I elect to drive up the coast on my way to the rehab center. I’m on the road before the weekend beach goers; traffic isn’t horrible, and the salt air is just what I need. My troubles are put on temporary pause for a few hours during the peaceful drivetime.
I pull through an immaculate drive after following my GPS to the address Iz sent.Wow. The structure is nothing like I imagined it would be. It’s reminiscent of a Spanish mission, and appears to be more a resort in the hills than a treatmentcenter.
After parking, I check in with the receptionist where I wait with other friends and family. We’re ushered to a large dining room and given a spiel about rules and what to expect.Don’t bring the patient drugs. That seems a given, but I’m sure it’s only a requirement to cover their asses.Be understanding of patient’s state of mind.That one’s alarming, and I perk up to listen to the on-staff doctor explain how exhausting detox can be on the body and mind. Downright torturous, really. My sympathy for what Iz has been going through alone these past few weeks grows. My resolve that I made the right choice to be here is confirmed. NDA’s are passed around. The private facility is apparently known for their discretion, and it makes sense why the label selected this place for Iz’streatment.
The dining room where we are led and it’s set up like a showroom with tables scattered in the space, some built for large groups, while others are small. We’re invited to disperse as the patients will join in momentarily. I find a table for two near one of the windows and watch the door for Iz toenter.
I recognize the first girl who walks in. She’s the same girl whose face is plastered on movie posters for several blockbuster hits, only in this moment she’s clearly not acting. Her gaze darts around the room and she practically runs into the arms a woman I assume is her mother. Her sobs break through the awkward silence of this room of strangers and holds so much relief, so much agony, I have to lookaway.
I don’t watch the door anymore, and my fingers are empty without a cell phone to fill the idle boredom. All my personal items were confiscated at check-in, for the safety of the patients. As uncomfortable as it is to sit here with nothing to do, it seems a small sacrifice considering Iz is forced to do the same for weeks onend.
A throat clears at my right and I glance up. “Iz!” My lips pull wide with my smile as I stand and greet him with a hug. “How the hell are you,man?”
His chuckle, hoarse and rough, is a welcome sound. “Still truckin’. Still truckin’.” He pulls out the chair across from mine and we both take a seat. “Thanks for coming,Sean.”
“Of course.” My gaze travels over his face, examining him for signs he’s doing well. Or maybe for clues that I missed before. He’s the same in so many ways, still skinny as a rail, and his hair’s a little longer, the grays in his blond catching the light. Other than that, he’s virtually the same and I ask myself the same question I’ve wrestled with since he almost died at the Grammy’s: “How did I notknow?”
“Find the placeokay?”
“Yeah. GPS didn’t steer me wrong.” I smile and nod. “The facility isnice.”
“It’s not too bad, yeah?” His lips pull up with agrin.
I nod again. I probably haven’t stopped nodding, weird as that is. God damn, it’s so good to see him. Alive. Without tubes and beeping monitors. But that’s something I don’t say. Can’t really. Not without being a sentimentalshmuck.
Iz nods and glances around the room. His knee bounces at a manic pace and his heel taps with each passing second. His gaze drifts to the other tables, some loud with boisterous chatter, a few silent like ours. I wish I could produce something interesting to say. I’ve already asked about the rehab center. I don’t really think it’d be encouraging to mention how well Coy plays, or what a sneaky asshole heis.
He interrupts my thoughts. “Wanna take awalk?”
“We can do that?” I glance around, and Iz’s lips pinch with disapproval. Shit. That sounded stupid. It’s just that I wasn’t really listening to all the instructions. I don’t want to break any rules or get him in trouble, but I also don’t want to treat him like some child. “I mean, sure,yeah.”
“I need a smoke.” He pops off the chair and I follow behind, down a hallway and out a back door until we’re walking the grounds. It’s absolutely gorgeous out here. Hillside with a lush manicured lawn and tons of flowers and trees lining the fence. Better than any five-star hotel, only not really. There’s no voluntary check-out.
Iz retrieves a pack of Marlboros from his pocket and taps it against his palm. He holds it out to me. “You wantone?”
“I’m good.” I don’t smoke. Never got into the habit, and am thankful after watching Austin go through kicking it several times only to fall off the wagon every time he gets wasted. But Iz has always been a chain smoker. He never smoked on the bus during tours, but made up for it during every pit stop andbreak.
He lights up, takes a drag, and nods over to a set of chairs. I follow him and when we sit this time his knee doesn’tbounce.
“The view is nice.” I nod to the open skyline past thetrees.
“Yeah.” Iz chuckles and the rough timbre of his amusement is cut short by a terse smile. “Off Track was all too happy to shell out the big money. Spared no expense to make medisappear.”
His words hint that our label doesn’t care as much for his recovery as they do to make his mistake go away. I can’t say I disagree, but it’s uncomfortable eitherway.
“It’s okay, Sean. I know what I am to them. Not your fault.” He inhales and purses his lips, letting a stream of smoke escape betweenthem.
“I’m still sorry it went down this way.” Thetruth.
He shrugs as though it doesn’t matter. “I was never meant to be more than temporary, kid. Lasted longer than I ever thought it would. Best year of my life, believe that?” His smile is wide, and his eyesdance.
“Bullshit.” I shake my head and laugh. “Surely you had good times when you were younger. Was that before or after the turn of the century? I can’t remember.” I scratch my head and scrunch up my face. Giving him grief about his age feels right and I’m rewarded with a burst oflaughter.
“Oh, we had some times. Fucking phenomenal times. But I thought my glory days were over. That I’d never step on a stage again. Fuck, if you don’t make it as a musician before you turn fifty, you give up hope. But you guys . . . ugly ass fuckers.” He pauses to take a drag from his smoke, pointing it at me as he exhales. “You gave me my dream. I’ll never forgetthat.”
