I lost a lot of time focusing on the pain and the past. But when I stopped letting it consume me, I found myself in the same place where I always find myself. In music.
When I stopped moping and feeling sorry for myself, I made some changes in my life. I’ve found happiness and joy in giving piano and violin lessons to underprivileged local kids and it’s been such a successful program that I had to get a business license and name it. Over the Rainbow is my passion project and I’ve formed friendships with many of the parents of the kiddos I teach. Maybe it’s not performing onstage or coming to life beneath the lights, but I love it just the same.
If there is anything I’ve learned about gifts, like the gift of being able to play an instrument, it’s that they should be shared with the world one way or another. I also learned a valuable lesson from my grandparents that it took traveling around the country living their dream to fully comprehend. They didn’t get to live their dream but it didn’t mean they weren’t happy. Together they lived a full, satisfied life and they had plenty of love leftover to give to the two orphans they ended up raising. Life doesn’t always turn out how you expect and sometimes parts of you get broken along the way, but there is always hope and even broken pieces can be rebuilt into something beautiful. My heart is a piece of mosaic art at this point.
Standing there, staring at myself in the glass, I vow to focus on the music, on grabbing hold of what joy I have in my life and not letting go.
Most important? I vow never again to hand my heart over to Gavin Garrison.
At least not until he hands me his first.
2 | Gavin
BAND MEETING. TODAY. Rehearsal space. 4:30. Don’t be late.
That’s all the text from Dallas says. Kind of odd since we’re not “technically” a band anymore, but that’s Dallas for you. No more explanation than he feels is necessary. I’m too tired from working a late shift to text back a list of questions.
His text is the first thing I see when I wake up and check my phone out of habit on a random Thursday afternoon. I worked late last night, so even though it’s nearly three in the afternoon, this is basically breakfast time for me.
For months I’ve checked my phone day and night. Part of me was waiting for this, the opening, the opportunity to see her again and show her that while I’m still a work in progress, I’m trying, improving, and growing closer to becoming the type of man she deserves. The other part of me is dreading it.
After our band sort of unofficially broke up after Austin MusicFest, Dallas went solo, Dixie went home, and I went straight to my probation officer to find out how I could right my many, many wrongs.
Trouble is, I didn’t exactly tell Dixie that. I let her believe I was on tour with Dallas.
When I saw Dixie Lark three months ago, she used her last words to me to tell me right where to go. I’ve left her voice mails, sent texts, asked repeatedly for the chance to explain what she saw—what I did and why I didn’t contact her sooner. When Dallas went missing in Rio, I stopped by to check on her but she didn’t look at all happy to see me in her time of grief. So even though I wanted nothing more than to hold and comfort her, I saw McKinley there and decided it would be best if I kept my distance. Christmas and New Year’s came and went and they were the first ones I didn’t spend with her and Dallas since I met them ten years ago. Dallas invited me to his and Robyn’s place but I declined, choosing to work instead. If it had been her asking me to come, then I would’ve quit my job to be there if necessary, but all I’ve gotten from Dixie Lark is radio silence.
I don’t even blame her.
Groaning, I stretch as far as my back will allow and lumber out of my bed. After a quick shower, I throw on a T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans and step into the lace-up work boots I rarely bother to lace.