Page 3 of About to Fall

"Isn't that why you're out here?" he asked. "I assume you work for the church. You've come out to tell me how Jesus wants to save my soul and whatnot."

"W-wha…" she stuttered. "That is true, but I wasn't going to mention it to you. I love all kinds of music. I truly did want to hear you play and sing. Do you play and sing, or do you just play?"

"I do both."

"What type of music?"

"Folk. Rock. I don't know."

This old lady really got under Logan's skin. He wanted to believe that she was a rich, judgmental snob, but she wasn't.

She reminded him of the one woman who had been good to him in his life—his Aunt Melanie. She wasn't even his real aunt, but she was a lady who took care of him some as a child. He thought of her and figured he could still go back to Idaho where Melanie lived and call on her. He thought he could depend on her if he needed to. Although, she might not even still be alive. Logan hadn't talked to her in a long time.

Essentially, he had no one. He had a few superficial friends, but no one else. He thought of Melanie and he found himself wanting to fall into this stranger's arms and have her hug him like Melanie used to do. Logan sank his head in his hands, closing his eyes. "Listen, you need to go," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I need to get to work, and I feel terrible, so I need a fix first."

"How old are you, Logan?"

"I'm eighteen." He had no idea why he was telling her the truth.

"And is your life heading in the direction you want it to?"

He laughed at that.

"What? I was being serious. Do you like your life how it is?"

"I wrote a good song yesterday," he said. "Madeline. I named it Madeline. I have the lyrics written down."

"Well, that's great. You're writing music."

"Yes, I am."

The two of them looked at each other. Rita was staring straight into his eyes. "How did you end up out here on the street, Logan?"

He hesitated, wondering how much he should tell her. "I moved to Seattle a while back. From Idaho. I had goals. I was trying to put a band together. I was working at first, at a tire store, and couch surfing with new people I'd meet. I was doing okay. I had a couple of guys who were playing music with me, we were working up some of my songs. Then I got into a fight with one of them and he robbed me and took off." Logan shrugged. "I should have seen it coming, but I was sixteen, and he stole everything I had."

"Sixteen? Did you travel here by yourself at sixteen?"

He shrugged. "My dad was gone and my mom drank a lot. Still does, probably. I haven't talked to her since I left."

"At least he didn't get your guitar," Rita said, pointing at his guitar case."

"Oh, he got my guitar. That's not mine. It is now, but I had to buy it. It's the only way I can make money… without lying."

"Surely, you could still get a job," she said.

"Whatever," he murmured, his head pounding.

"What kind of fix do you need?"

"What?"

"You said you needed a fix. What do you need?"

"I heard you, I just can't believe you're asking me that. If you must know, I need at least a drink." He rubbed his face. "I could use a little dope, too."

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