Jackson couldn’t open his eyes. Physically he was capable. Emotionally he wasn’t ready. Images of the previous night flashed across the back of his tired eyelids. He was more than shameful of the things he had done and that was only the things he remembered doing. He took several deep breaths before he allowed himself to crack one eye open. The windows were draped in a dark, heavy fabric and he was thankful. Cautiously he opened the other eye and pulled himself into a seated position on the bed. He tossed the floral/plaid combo patterned comforter to the side. It fell soundlessly to the hardwood floor. Standing and stretching his arms high above his head and letting out a loud groan when his shoulder popped, he scratched his chest and shook his head at the various stains now adorning his tshirt. In an instant he realized he didn’t know where his jeans were. Concentrating deeply on what he remembered, he thought he left the bar with them, but honestly even that was hazy. At best guess, he thought he'd thrown them off during the night. A quick survey of the room told him his pants were not there. He did, however, find a pair of grey sweatpants folded neatly on the white antique dresser.
In suitable dress he exited the room looking for it’s owner. He walked down the small hallway separating the living quarters from the single bedroom. The walls were mostly bare except for two large frames, one on each side of the wall. On Jackson’s right was an obsessively blown up black and white picture. An old man sat on a picnic bench beside a tiny girl with black pigtails. Both smiled back at him. Opposite this was an encased gold record. It didn’t have her name anywhere on it but Libby definitely deserved credit for inspiring it. A soft light from the kitchen window told him it was just past sun-up. It was way too early for him to be up, but his body could not handle laying on the bed any longer. He recognized the sound of James Taylor playing softly from a small radio suspended under the oak cabinets. Jackson took what he hoped was a clean glass from the drying rack in the sink and gulped down a glass of water.
Libby was nowhere to be seen. His drowsy eyes settled on a low window as a sweet breeze ruffled the curtains. He realized how much the smell of magnolia’s reminded him of home. Not sure why, he leaned out of the window and sighed in relief. Libby sat on a rusted folding chair. Her balcony, if he could call it that, was the cement overhang from the building below. Some city department should have told her to either not sit on the overhang or required her to put up a railing. Knowing Libby they probably had. She was swaddled in an oversized flannel rolled up to the elbows. Another similar folding chair sat beside hers and between the two was a small cast iron table. A dead looking potted plant sat on the table.
Libby turned when she heard him squeezing through the window and a soft laugh floated through the noiseless air. His right foot caught against the window frame and he cursed loudly before limping to the open chair. Jackson too a look around him while Libby sat soundlessly by. Memphis at seven in the morning was an eerie sight for Jackson. It was too quiet.
“Where are my pants?” This fact confused him and he desperately wanted to know the answer. His belongings had their place and when he couldn’t place them, he felt a sense of tightness settle across his shoulders.
She tisked, “It’s very irresponsible for you to have no idea where your pants are Jackson.” He could usually tell when Libby was being sarcastic, but right now he wasn’t so sure. Add that to the continually mounting pain in his head and Jackson could care less.
He groaned and shook his head very lightly, “Libby, I’m not in the mood for your games.”
She glared at him, “Did you ever think I wasn’t in the mood to drag your drunk ass home and clean you up after you puked and pissed on yourself? 25 year old child. I told Juan that last shot of Tequila wasn’t a good idea. You sure made an entrance back into town Jacks.”
Jackson’s eyes widen in shame. Leave it to Libby to lay out all your mistakes at the exact moment that you want to forget them. “Sorry Lib.”
Libby shrugged and pushed the sleeve of her shirt up as it slipped down. Bringing a faded white and green coffee cup to her lips, she paused. Jackson waited nervously. There was something she wanted to say or ask, but Jackson could tell she was trying to find the right way to do it.
“You’re not dying are you,” she finally asked curtly. One thin eyebrow raised.
Jackson turned a little quicker than he should have after last night and his cognition wobbled a second before he could reply, “What!? Why? No.”
Libby shrugged, “You puked up everything you’ve eaten since Thanksgiving. On my stage, thank you. And your Momma is concerned too.”
“You called my Mom,” Jackson cried. He immediately looked at his bare feet when his voice cracked.
She took another sip from her cup. Jackson swore she was smirking at this. “Of course Jack. Welcome back to Shelby: the town where everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
Jackson nodded in agreement. He should have known. He thought back to what was supposed to have been a relaxing bath just the other day. Jackson knew now that the second that door had closed his Momma had been hollarin’ at everyone from kingdom come. He wasn’t sure how Libby had gotten on that call list since she’d been one of the few people in Shelby happy to see him leave. Her willingness to take him in after last night surprised him somewhat. But Libby was always good for help when times were too rough to handle alone. “Thanks for taking care of me last night.”
She ‘uh-huh’-ed into her cup and pushed a similar one closer to Jackson. “It’s what I do.”
He smiled a reminiscent smile, “I know Lib. But you didn’t have to.”
“There’s a lot of things I did in my life that I didn’t have to for you. Why start now?”
He didn’t have an answer. Instead, he brought the cup to his own lips, savoring the deep aroma. As he tentatively sipped it he watched the city begin to come back alive. Durango’s and F 150’s pulled up to the curb and men outfitted in denim bibs and worn baseball caps stopped at the diners for a second cup of coffee before heading to work.
“You’re not going to make me ask you, are you,” Libby interrupted. Ah! There was the real question she wanted to ask. He turned slightly to look at her, expecting to see her watching him. Her eyes were straight ahead. Jackson got the feeling this was her daily routine and him being there wasn’t going to change what she’d been used to. Not that he had ever been able to change anything when it came to Libby.
“I’m not sure I can talk about it Libs,” he confessed. He knew that as soon as he explained why he was back to Libby, everyone would know. Not that Libby was a blabbermouth, but these kinds of things were never kept quiet. Jackson was still trying to get over it himself and he knew he wasn’t ready for the condolences that would undeniably make their way once the news was out.
Libby set her cup onto the table and it wobbled on one leg. “Something’s up Jack. I didn’t think I’d see you back here again so don’t tell me you’re just using your vacation time. You ain’t right. I heard you mumbling in your sleep. Don’t let it eat you up Jackson.”
Jackson sighed. She wasn’t going to let it go. Libby knew every trick in the book to get him to talk. “That’s not it Libs,” he spoke slowly. “Please don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about. Besides, she-”
“Ah ha,” Libby smirked turning in her seat and pointing a finger at Jackson. Her blue eyes sparkled both from the rising sun and in excitement. She pulled one foot up under her, “I knew it had to be about a girl. Dish.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and turned away from her. He examined his big toe. “Not now Libby.”
“Oh, ok,” she sighed, “I’ll just wait another eight years for you to contact me to hear about it.”
“That’s not fair Libby.”
She held up her hands, “No, it’s fine. What Jackson wanted always came first. I’ll wait.”
Jackson and Granddad stood at the end of the driveway, each holding a fishing pole and can of corn in their hands. Jackson’s right arm hung unevenly at his side, rubbing against his leg as he attempted to carry Granddad’s tackle box. Running across the street, her dark, straight hair flopping around in pigtails Libby skidded to a stop in front of them.
“Can I come too Granddad? Daddy got me a pink pole from the dollar store!” Proudly she showed the two of them her dinky pink pole. Her smile lit up her blue eyes, the same eyes the males across from her had.
Jackson let out an immature groan. Being older he should have known better and been more accepting. But he wasn’t. He dropped the tackle box on the ground. “Granddad, we can’t take a girl. Take anyone else but her.”
“Libby-Lynn,” Granddad said crouching to look the disappointed girl in the face. Jackson heard him whispering something to her and saw her pink pole slowly start to droop until the tip was brushing the dirt on the side of the road. Granddad stood back up, patting her shoulders all the while. “Maybe next time darlin’. Ok?”
She brushed a stray piece of brunette hair back, “Ok.” Jackson tried not to notice her tears as she ran back across the street throwing her pole into a bush in her front yard.
Grandad turned his gaze back at Jackson. “One day Jackson, you’re gunna want Libby around. We all know she’s two handfuls and a side of headache, but she’s your cousin and you can’t treat her that way.”Jackson kicked his toe shamefully into the dirt, dust clouds puffing around his gym shoes. “But she’s so annoying.”
“She’s so annoying,” Granddad mocked flicking the bill of Jackson’s hat. He wrapped his arm around the smaller set of shoulders and together they set out on the familiar path to the creek.
“Libby.”
“Heaven knows I’m just trying to help.” Jackson could sense that what had started as teasing was slowly turning hostile. He squeezed his lips together willing himself not to say anything to Libby that could set her off even more than he apparently already had. His head pounded. “You’d think you might have learned that I don’t press if I don’t think it’s important or that I can help. But whatever. Mope around and puke your intestines out. Fine by me. I’ll call Juan and tell him to come and-”
“Don’t throw that shit at me Libby,” he countered, probably more angered than he should have been. “I don’t need to be picked up like some disobedient kid at a sleepover.”
Libby’s eyes narrowed. “Oh. Ok. I see. I don’t know what crap happened out in ‘the big city’” she used air quotes further illuminating her sarcastic attitude, “but you’re not the Jackson I grew up with. Your attitude is rotten. Maybe you think you’re better than me because I didn’t leave Podunk but you have no reason Jackson. I don’t care what some stupid hoe bag did to you.”
Jackson’s breath caught in his throat. She had done it. She had pulled the trigger. His hands clenched against his knees. Breathing became more and more difficult. His shoulders hunched over and his toes tapped the cement rhythmically as he attempted to get himself under control.
“Jack? Do you need a bucket?” Her joke didn’t work.
“Just shut the hell up Libby!” His command might have been followed if it wasn’t so weak that Libby had to lean closer to hear him.
“What the fuck did you do,” she asked with wide eyes, “shit Jack, what did she do?”
He had finally broken. Days and days spent burying everything up inside had taken it’s toll. Sharing his emotions had always been hard for Jackson and none had even been close to the way he’d felt for Mandy. He had continued to tell himself it wasn’t true, that it was all a big misunderstanding, and everything would be back to normal. Now, finally having to admit it, explain it to someone who didn’t share any relationship with Mandy made it more real than he was willing to admit. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Jackson looked upwards willing himself to fight back the moisture in his eyes. A tense silence stretched between the two. Jackson rested his elbows on his knees, chin in hands, and trained his eyes on a crack in the cement.
“Jack? Come on. What is it? I can’t help if-”
His eyes were red with tears. Hoarsely he replied, “You can’t help Libby.”
“That’s what I do Jack. Just tell me.”
He swiped a bare arm over his nose leaving a light green streak across his skin. Jackson’s jaw was tense but he managed to grunt out, “You can’t bring her back.”
She reached across the table to ruffle his hair, “Gimmie your phone and I’ll call her. We can sort this-”
“You. Can’t. Call. Her. Libby. She won’t answer anymore. You don’t think I call every ten minutes just to hear her voice?” Jackson’s voiced wavered as he called to mind the countless times he’d picked up his phone.
“If she won’t answer Jack she isn’t worth it. You might be a jerk sometimes but-”
Jackson slowly shook his head. His response was thick, “She was supposed to marry me Libs. We were going to come back and get married and live here together but-” he stopped as a fresh and heavy stream of tears flowed unreserved.
Hesitantly Libby asked, “But?”
“She’s…she’s gone. Forever.” Jackson rubbed the palms of his hand over his eyes. When he pulled them down his eyes locked with Libby’s. In an instant she reached out and pulled him out of the chair and into a tight embrace.
“Oh Jack. God Jacks. I’m so sorry.” Libby consoled nearly in tears herself.
