I had my lawyer on the phone and I was screaming. She was trying to counsel me but I wouldn’t stop screaming.
“How did she get my goddamn address? Who knows where I am? Who did you tell? Then how did she know where to send the goddamn package?”
And I have no fucking clue what her answers were to any of my questions. It doesn’t matter what she had to say really, I wasn’t being very rational and I needed to vent or I was going to do something drastic. All of my therapy has taught me to get it out, don’t keep it in. So there I was, following doctor’s orders. Venting. Loudly down the telephone line. While the meter was running. $495 a hour.
“I will make sure that never happens again.” my lawyer said in a reassuring tone.
“I just don’t think it’s very good for the healing process to be blindsided like that!” I shared “I should feel safe to open my mail. And now my neighbor … he’s getting the mail instead of me. I feel very vulnerable.”
“What does your therapist suggest?”
“I haven’t told him.”
She was quiet for a moment, then let out an audible sigh before continuing in a monotone. “Well. I suggest you talk to him about it.”
“This is a distraction from what I’m supposed to be focusing on. I’m really disappointed that I’ve been exposed like this…”
“As I said before, I don’t know how Miss Samantha got your address but I will make sure she does not attempt to contact you again.”
I said nothing.
“Yes. Ok. Fine.” I acquiesced.
The day was heating up and my body was sore from stress and guilt and the complete sense of panic that seized me when I looked at the contents of the package. I needed to regroup. Get out of my head and in to a better mental space. The best way to do that, I’ve found, is by neatly packing a joint and enjoying it out by the pool. The higher I get, the more my mind relaxes and I’m able to keep my emotions in check. When I’m high, I’m mellow, no surprise there, and I need to be mellow. I need to maintain balance. And the weed is medicinal grade so I get just high enough, not stoned.
So I was smoking in peace, rocking back and forth in a hammock the owners of this house left behind when I heard someone tinkering on a guitar nearby. Barely. I was a tiny bit faded at this point so I sat up to try and hear more clearly. Definitely guitar. Acoustic. And then I heard singing. No actual words – just jibberish. But it sounded pretty good. And I’m pretty sure it was coming from Jared’s residence.
Emboldened by the confidence weed bestows upon me for whatever reason, I slunk through the trees separating my property from Jared’s and walked up the drive between our two houses so I could hear better. Part of his house sits high above the drive, built against the hill, but up against the road, looking down on my house. I think he was in the room just above where I stood.
I’m not the biggest Thirty Seconds to Mars fan, I know the band exists but that’s about it. That’s not an insult to him or his fans, I just haven’t heard much about them (I’ve been busy) but I was liking what I was hearing from my spot in the yard.
I can appreciate a unique voice and his attempt at controlling it. He has a nice sound. Nothing flashy. But definitely catchy. I listened to him play on. It sounded like he was writing a new piece. Trying out a tempo. A story. Making a melody. It was enjoyable, listening to his process for a little while. Undetected.
I finished my joint while leaning up against a concrete wall below an open window but I didn’t leave. I kept listening to him play. I sat down for awhile. Almost begging to be caught. But I was mellow and unafraid. Relaxed and distracted. I think I might be able to write a song someday. Or maybe just lyrics. I was writing them in my head as I listened to Jared play. But I doubt I’d remember how to play guitar, though I did it every Sunday for the church well in to my twenties. I should pick that back up. Maybe. It’s good to have plans. Someday.
Eventually Jared stopped playing and I slunk back to my house feeling a lot better about everything. The music felt like a gift. My own private concert. And I needed that … badly.