Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,8

my own pain, my own memories, is too hard. I’d be throwing myself back into that black hole with no bottom.

“Well…” she begins, “when I lost my mother it hit me pretty hard. I was only twelve. I couldn’t handle it, so I didn’t. I just went numb. Didn’t talk about it. Didn’t think about it. Changed the subject whenever it was brought up. Just…ignored it, as if maybe not acknowledging it would mean it wasn’t actually true.”

She’s looking at me like maybe I won’t understand, but the truth is, I empathize completely. Gemma’s been through the same thing as me. I nod. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Then, when I was about twenty, living away from home on my own, I was in a laundromat one night. Just doing laundry, you know. And as I was pulling my clothes out of the dryer, folding them up, I…totally lost it.”

Her voice hitches and I reach out and cover her hand with mine. I worry I’ve pushed Gemma too hard, but she smiles through the pain of her memory and keeps going.

“I started crying – harder than I’d ever cried before. My entire body shaking. I couldn’t control myself, it felt like my soul was just pouring out of me in tears and shakes. I didn’t even know why at first, but after a while I realized. They had this detergent in the laundromat, the same one my mother used to use. It just broke me.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. It feels useless saying it, but I mean it. Gemma turns her searching gaze toward me. I don’t know what she’s trying to find in my eyes—maybe someone she can trust, a true friend, someone who won’t judge—but I don’t look away.

She goes on, “For months I was a complete mess, just thinking about her, missing her, feeling all that pain that I had refused to feel at the time. I thought I would hurt every day for the rest of my life. Until I realized I couldn’t live like that. So I drove out of state to visit her grave, and spoke to her finally.”

“Wow.” I grip her hand even tighter. Gemma’s strength, her determination, the fight in her that just won’t quit—I’m in awe of this woman.

Gemma nods, solemnly. “I mean, you never really get over that kind of thing, but if you don’t make the effort to live your life, really live it to the fullest, then it just gets worse.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, grabbing the beer again absent-mindedly, running my fingers around the lip of the bottle. I’ve spent all these years hiding behind parties and alcohol and women, like a child. Like a coward. Yet in just five minutes, Gemma’s made me realize that I’ve been living my life all wrong, hiding from reality instead of dealing with my damage.

Gemma stands up to leave.

“Anyway, I’ll give you a few minutes before you have to get back to set.”

I raise my bottle as she opens the trailer door.

“Hey Gemma,” I say, calling her back just before she steps through the door. “Thank you. For sharing that. You are…so brave.”

She shrugs and smiles again, a million rays of beauty washing over me once again.

“It probably helped me more than it did you, but whatever. You’re welcome.”

She leaves, closing the door behind her, and leaving a dimness in the trailer that I always seem to notice once she’s been here and gone.

It’s been five years. Five years and I’ve not cried once. Five years and I’ve not told anybody who didn’t already know about it. I’ve dodged and weaved, deflected and shielded, like a perpetual lion tamer, like a boxer who knows he’s weaker than his opponent. It’s tiring, running from your demons. There’s only so long you can delay the fight you know you’ll lose.

Maybe Gemma’s right. Maybe it’s time I opened Pandora’s box and faced the pain.

I hear the shouts of the crew getting back into position, and pour the beer out into the sink before leaving the trailer. I walk onto the sound stage and take my place behind the door.

“Where’s Dylan?” I hear Chris call. “Oh, already? Good to see you back. Ok let’s do this. Keep an eye on that light please. Marks, everyone. Roll sound. And…action.”

I open the door, and it feels easy now, walking into the room.

“John. John, are you awake? Hey. We gotta get out of here. They’re coming.”

I pull aside the covers and see his body. Cal’s body. Still and lifeless