Page 47 of Guitars and Cages

Oh, man, that was easy. “Motorcycles. Dirt bikes—I love racing those, love building them, too, love working on them. I love music. I don’t need TV; I can sit and listen to music for days on end. I love horses; I grew up on a ranch. I love working with them, taking care of them, riding, training, herding the cattle from horseback. I love dogs, too—all animals, really. I get along with them better than people.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“They don’t judge. The only thing they care about is how good you treat them, if you feed them right and keep them clean and give them enough attention. They don’t hurt you for no reason. If you get hurt working with an animal, then either you forgot to be careful and respect their space, or you were downright mean to it and deserved it. They don’t care if you’re smart or not, if you finished school or dropped out, they just respond to how you are with them. Animals like me; they have since I was a kid. I always had them following me all over.”

“Have you ever considered working with them?”

“Hard to do in the city; ain’t much here but pet stores and vets. Pet stores don’t pay enough and I ain’t smart enough to go to school to be a vet.”

“What about working with the motorcycles? Mechanics are always in demand.”

“I don’t have a certification. Those things take school, too, and I don’t qualify.”

“Why not?”

I gave her a look, ’cause that was a stupid question. “I dropped out when I ran away. I don’t even have my GED.”

“Have you ever considered going back to get it?”

“I never was much good at school. I’m better with my hands. The book stuff I always needed help to pass, so why bother?”

“You defeat yourself with that attitude.”

“I’m just being honest, which is rare for me.”

“Let’s talk about that for a moment: the lying. Why do you feel the need to lie when you admit it makes you unhappy to do so?”

I had to think hard about that one. “I guess because I’m afraid of what might happen if I tell the truth. I mean, I lie so I don’t have to admit to things I don’t want people to know. I lie to keep people from getting too close to me. Sometimes I lie to get what I want, other times I lie to get out of things I’ve done. It’s easier to tell a lie and have control over the situation than to tell the truth and not know what to expect.”

“So lying for you is about control?”

“Well, yeah,” I said, opening my hand, tugging at the restraints.

“So then tell me why I should believe anything you’ve told me today.”

Oh, great, I tell the truth and she questions it, go figure. “Because nothing I’ve told you is gonna help me outta these damned restraints. I’ve told you more about my life than I’ve ever admitted to a stranger, so give me a break, lady, okay? All this truth isn’t necessarily good for the soul.”

She smiled then. “And why is that?”

I smiled back, just a little. “’Cause it sounds worse when I say it out loud. I can lie to the world, but I can’t lie to me. It doesn’t feel good to confess; it doesn’t feel good to hear myself telling you what a fuck-up I’ve been—makes it harder to go back to ignoring it.”

“And what has ignoring it gotten you?”

“Not a goddamned thing.”

She smiled then, wrote one more note, and put the pen back on the clipboard. “I’m glad you can admit that, Asher; I think that’s a great start. I’m going to go speak to your doctors, and if we’re all in agreement your restraints will be removed. You’ll still need to stay here until the doctors release you, and after that I very much hope you’ll let your friend take you to talk to someone.”

“I will,” I said, and I meant it. I’d try it, once, but if it ended up being all ink blots and big words I couldn’t understand, I was out of there.

“Good. Take care of yourself, Asher, and if you don’t feel that you can, talk to someone. There is always someone who can help if you let them.”

“Yeah,” I said, closing my eyes. In my case it seemed like there was someone trying to help me even if I didn’t want to let him. Go figure. I wiggled, trying to get comfortable. All that talking had worn me out and I was sleepy again. At least I didn’t have a headache; that was a plus. I lay there thinking about Storm and the long rides along Wolf Creek that I’d take with him in the evenings, checking the fence lines and the cows that were ready to calf. I fell asleep remembering the sky as the sun would set, reminded that of all the places I’d been and all the things I’d seen, that was still the most beautiful sight in the world.

Chapter Eighteen

Ispent two more restless days in the hospital, but at least I was unrestrained—which was good, because if they’d left me tied for that long I might have gone batshit crazy and landed my ass in a padded room. During that time, and with lots of badgering, prompting, harassing, and even some threatening from Morgan and Alex, I finally agreed to move over the bar. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but at least I’d save on gas to work since I wouldn’t be fighting for a while. I left the hospital with instructions to take it easy, keep the cast clean and dry, and keep the cuts on my arms bandaged and covered, as well as phone numbers to call should I decide I was in the mood to cut again. All in all, I guess I got off easy.

Or not.

---