Page 18 of Under His Sheets
My father worked for one of the largest lumber companies near Grass Valley, California, and my mother was a preschool teacher. My three brothers were all firefighters with Cal Fire, and my sister worked at the preschool with my mother as they were very close. I was the black sheep in all manner of speaking in my family, the one who had shirked my hard-working, blue-collar responsibilities to chase a dream, as my father would say. And even when our debut album charted, and then our next record went gold, and then our third album got over a million streams in the first week…my father wasn’t satisfied.
When I mentioned to my oldest brother, Mark, that I’d made more money than our father would in a decade working for the lumberyard, and why couldn’t he respect that, it got back to my father. And he very calmly told me that since I thought I was so much better than him, I could feel free to uninvite myself to their house for Christmas last year.
I hadn’t seen my family since, though I did check in with my mother and sister and let them know I was alive from time to time. Mom assured me that while I was justified to feel hurt by my father’s constant criticism, I needed to apologize and make things right. I didn’t agree, though I knew that I would have to eventually suck it up if I wanted to see at least my mom and sister.
My next-oldest brother, Dustin, was even more of a blowhard than our father, and after him came the youngest son, Matt, who tried to play peacemaker but always sided with the other two. Mayra, my sister, was the baby and she could never understand why all the drama? It seemed to me that without me present, therewasno drama, and so maybe that was the best gift I could give my family. My absence.
And all of this family drama thinking wasn’t going to help me with tomorrow. At least Cecilia would be there. I could watch her to know which utensil to use. I’d met Felip when he moved to California over the summer. They came to see our last show in LA before we headed to Europe. He was an outgoing, gregarious man who was absolutely enamored with Cecilia, which made him a good guy in my book.
I wished I had a guitar to bang around on, as my mind was spinning and playing music was often the only way I had to come down after a day like I’d had, but since I hadn’t gotten around to getting a new one, I did the other thing that helped, although it also made me think more…and in this case, swoon.
Yeah. I wrote about Alonso. Remembering every detailed from how he smelled, to how he sounded when he was being all evasive, what his answers would be to my whys.
By the time I felt I’d purged enough, I knew three things:
I needed a guitar
I needed a new notebook
I needed all of his whys
SIX
Saturday4:57 PM Cava Segura Winery, Pènedes, Catalonia, Spain
I’d breathed a sigh of relief when Cecilia and Felip picked me up dressed in jeans and sweaters. Cecilia was also wearing Chucks, as was I, with my nicest jeans (read: no holes) and my favorite cardigan.
I’m not sure why it ranked my favorite other than it was charcoal gray, had maroon stripes around the left arm, it went with everything, and it was soft. I wasn’t even sure of the fabric it was made out of, as I’d ripped the tag off years ago. I did that with all of my clothes because I had a thing about textures. As a kid I was forced to wear whatever my brothers handed down. Nothing ever fit right, but I never complained, just dealt with the itchy-scratchy show. As an adult, I found the softest, most comfortable clothes, and that’s what I lived in. Thankfully, in my genre of music there wasn’t a dress code, and since cardigans were the most utilitarian and comfortable of outerwear options—and they tended to hide unflattering bits—they became my thing. I wore them until they disintegrated.
“I hope my cousin is keeping this place maintained well,” Felip said, shaking my hand at the door to my apartment. “You let me know if I need to talk to him.”
Cecilia took me in her arms and groaned at Felip.
“You’re only looking for a reason to mess with him and you know it.” She squeezed me a good long time. “Are you okay?” she asked me, her tone serious.
“Yeah, I am, actually,” I said, smiling at her, so glad to be back in her orbit. Cecilia was just one of those people who had the right sense of humor to bring you out of any blue mood and have you in stitches. As a teacher, her class had always been my favorite, first in Life Skills as a freshman, which I’d liked so much, I’d taken three years of American Sign Language with her. That sign language came in handy now as she signed,Are you sure you’re okay? You’d tell me?
I signed back, It’s been a ride, but the job is great, thank you for your help, and so far I really like living here. You can say you told me so because I really like teaching. Anything else going on will have to wait until later to discuss.
“Hey, hey, now, if you two keep that up I’m going to speak Catalan all night.”
Cecilia poked his side and he signed to her,Mean teacher.
“I’m actually trying to learn,” I said, “so I wouldn’t mind. I’m also trying to learn more about Catalonia.”
Felip gave me a big smile. “Well, you’re in for a treat. Papa will love to talk about all things Catalunya. He is a bit of a history buff.”
