The next morning, I awake with red, tired eyes and a disheveled room. The other side of the bed is cold, and with the events of yesterday still fresh in my mind, I don’t feel as terrible as usual. I scramble out of the tangles sheets, and stand out my window. Today seems to be a lot brighter and warmer than yesterday. Or maybe it’s just me.
I go to the bathroom to shower, brush my teeth and fix my hair. Then I change into medium baggy jeans and a blue t-shirt from an old photo shoot of mine. Today, I actually feel the desire to eat, and with Angela dropping by today, I make a decision to stop by the market.
Everything seems to be in walking distance of the house so I throw on a black leather jacket and bring my wallet. I think about you as I lock the door and then I’m on my way. I’m not exactly sure where the market is at, but I’m sure I’ll find it. I even think about asking a few people, but by the way they keep staring at me, I decide against it.
Sometimes I wonder if they know who I am, if they recognize me from all those CD covers, magazines, billboards that I used to grace universally. It feels like ages ago.
“Jennifer Baltwin said he was throwing a fit yesterday… some say he even knocked over that Virgin Mary statue…” I hear a lady whisper to the other woman walking with her.
I close my eyes, knowing that listening to them won’t do me any good. What do they know about me? All my life, people have assumed they know me… and it amazes me how they still do.
“He doesn’t talk to anyone. I heard from his neighbors that he sleeps in a tub of ice and in the morning they swear they can hear hammering… maybe he’s making some sort of coffin,” A man says to his wife, looking me up and down. She wraps her arm around their son as I get nearer.
Finally, I see the grocery store, small and old, cracked paint covered by graffiti around the doors, with people filing in and out of them. I dig my hands into my pockets, my eyes searching for a basket. I see one to my right and take it, clutching it tightly.
I go to the fruit and vegetables, grabbing me a few peaches, apples, broccoli, and potatoes. Then I move about the store, piling up anything I think Angela would want. After snatching up a few boxes of cereal, I almost fall in line at the register until I pass by the manager of the grocery store raising his voice at an employee.
“Karla, I’ve told you all this week. If you don’t get your shit together, I’m afraid I have to fire you,” the man tells her, his finger in her face.
“I know sir, I’m sorry,” she puts her palms together, “please don’t do that. You know how bad I need this job. I have to feed my kids; I need money to pay the bills. Sir, if I don’t get the money soon, they’re going to evacuate my family!”
My feet are frozen in place as I watch the scene.
“Look, I’m very sorry to hear that Karla. But I can’t keep getting bad business because of you. This isn’t the first time you knocked over our products. You can’t keep doing this!”
“I’m sorry sir, but I didn’t do it this time!” She says, shaking her head.
“Then find out who did!” He yells, running a hand through his graying hair.
I step closer to the pair. “Excuse me sir? I’m sorry… I wasn’t watching where I was going and I accidentally knock this stuff over. It was an accident, and if I need to pay for it all,” I say, looking him in the eye, “then it’s no problem.”
He looks at me, then back at the woman, “Just get this place cleaned up!” he tells her, as she nods her head, “And can we please watch where we’re going next time!” He takes a sharp breath and walks away.
The woman walks over to me and says in a soft voice, “Thank you, sir. You didn’t have to-”
“Don’t worry about it,” I smile. She hangs her head low and I extend my hand, “Justin.”
She stares at me for a few seconds before removing her glove and shaking my hand. “I’m Karla.”
She smiles shyly at me, and I feel like I’ve seen that face before. Almost like…
“I’m sorry about my boss. He can be a real jerk sometimes but he knows how much I need this job. Ever since…” her voice trails off.
I know who she is now. That’s Angela’s mom. How could I not have known?
“I’m sorry. I um, I keep going on like this.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
“Are… are you new in town? I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she says, squinting her eyes at me.
“I am, actually. I moved here a few months ago from Tennessee.”
“I see… I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, but I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere else…” she crosses her arms.
I chuckle nervously, “Well yeah, maybe the movie ‘Cruel Intentions’ rings a bell. I get that a lot.” She laughs at my joke, and I can tell it’s been a while since she’s done so.
“Wait a minute, are you-”
“The strange, secluded, crazy barbaric carnivore that slaves away in his basement and throws fits in public? Yup, that’d be me.”
She giggles again and rolls her eyes. “I never believe that kind of stuff anyway.” She adjusts the bandana on her head. “Lord knows what they’ve said about me.”
I smile at her, appreciating her company right now. “I guess I should get going, before I get you into trouble.”
“Yeah,” she says sighing.
“It was nice meeting you Karla,” I tell her.
“It was nice meeting you too, Justin. Drop by again soon.”
“Sure thing. Take it easy now,” I say, heading back towards the register. I fall in line, and the cashier runs me up quickly. I walk on back home, still feeling a dozen pairs of eyes on me.
I set my things down on the counter, wash my hands, and begin to prepare lunch for Angela and me. An hour later, I’ve got a pretty good spread, nothing fancy. It’s not like someone her age would want filet mignon anyways.
The doorbell rings just as I’m finished placing down the last fork. Angela is my first visitor since I’ve lived here and I must admit I’m pretty nervous.
But low and behold, the door opens to her smiling face.
“Hey there,” I say waving my hand, “Come on in.”
“Hi,” she says, stepping inside. “Thank you for inviting me here. I told my grandma I’d be going around selling cookies.” She tip-toes to see over the counter. “I don’t think she noticed I didn’t have any cookies with me.”
I laugh at her statement. “Well, I’m glad you made it. Hungry?” I watch as she nods. “You’re in luck. I made us some chicken burgers, French fries, fruit salad and I’ve got some ice cream in the freezer.”
“Yum!” she exclaims. “Can we sit on the floor again?”
“Really?” I raise my eyebrow, “You want to you?” She nods her head again.
We both set the bowls down on the floor, sitting across from each other.
“Did you go yesterday?” she asks, popping a slice of apple in her mouth.
“Go where?”
“To see the person you told me about yesterday?”
“I did,” I say. “Then I went back home.”
“What’d you do when you came home?” she asks, biting into her burger.
I bit my lower lip, feeling so ashamed. “I talked to my mom.” I’m relieved when she doesn’t ask me anything further regarding last night.
“Did you open that?” she says, pointing to something behind me.
I turn my head, and see the box I had been looking through last night. “Yup. I found some interesting stuff in there.”
“Like what?”
I finish chewing on a piece of chicken and set my plate down. “Well,” I say, wiping crumbs off my face, “like this.” I reach behind me, presenting the music box to her.
She squeals in excitement. “Wow! That’s the prettiest music box I’ve seen!” I watch with joy as she holds in carefully in her small hands, amazed by its unique beauty. She turns it over, and the song plays, mystic and beautiful. “This isn’t yours is it?” She asks, shaking her head.
I chuckle lightly, “No, it’s not.”
We enjoy our meal together, chatting about anything we want. She tells me more about her family and school. I tell her about my life back home, and even ask her a few questions myself.
“You’ve never been to California?” I ask, spooning chocolate ice cream in my mouth.
“Nope, my dad has. But I see the stuff on TV about that place called Hollywood,” she says, shoving spoonfuls of whipped cream into her mouth. “Have you ever been there?”
Have I ever. “Yeah, a couple of times.”
“Really?” she says, her eyes lighting up. “What’s it like?”
“Well,” I say, handing her a napkin, “there’s a lot of cameras. That’s for sure. And there’s big houses, beaches, lots of shopping to do, the Walk of Fame. Tons of stuff.”
“Wow! Hollywood sounds like so much fun!” She claps her hands wildly, “Do you know where Michael Jackson lives?”
Of course. “Yeah, I do,” I say, “But you wouldn’t wanna go there.”
“How come?”
“Well because he’s a-”, I stop myself mid-sentence, “a very busy man.”
“Oh,” she says, disappointed.
“How about this,” I say, “The next time I go… I’ll bring you something back.”
“Really? You’d do that?” she asks, bewildered.
“Sure,” I smile. She leaps into my arms, thanking me a million times.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squeals, hugging me tightly. The warm embrace is enough to make my day. When her arms let me go, she falls back to the floor, with the biggest smile on her face.
“Do you have anything in mind?” I ask.
“Well,” she says, looking around the room thinking, “if you can get me the big Hollywood sign, that’d be good.” She giggles at her silly request, and so do I. I notice her little fingers twirling the necklace around her neck.
“That’s pretty,” I comment.
“Thank you. It was a gift from my daddy, before he left.”
“It’s very nice.”
“He was supposed to give it to my mom for their anniversary… but the accident happened and so she gave it to me instead.”
I nod my head in silence, giving her the chance to think. She twirls it around again then stares at me. “Justin?”
“Hmm?” I say, scratching the side of my eyebrow.
“What’s that?” she asks, pointing at my left hand. I follow the direction of her finger, my eyes landing on the object.
“A ring,” I say, holding it up to my own eyes, as if I had never seen it before.
“From who?”
“Her,” I say, pointing behind Angela’s head.
I watch as a curious expression overcomes her face, as she turns around slowly. Seeing what I’m pointing to, she picks up the small frame from the floor. She stares at it for a while, her small fingers tracing the photo. “Who is she?”
I feel the lump in my throat and try to ignore it as I answer back, “One of the most incredible women I’ve ever known.”
“She’s very pretty.”
I watch as she runs her fingers over the glass, tracing out your smiling face. It’s a photo of us on our honey moon four years ago. I can remember it clearly, like it was yesterday.
“Is that you?” She points to the picture.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“You look a lot younger here,” she comments, and I know she’s right. Even if that picture is only four years old, I’ve aged tremendously since you left.
“Is she here?” she asks, breaking me out of my trance.
“Yeah,” I say barely above a whisper, “she’s here.”
Sometimes I see you standing there
Sometimes I feel an angel’s touch
“Well,” she says, placing it down, “lunch was very very good, Justin. My mom can’t cook that much since she’s so busy. She even got a job at the grocery store so we could get a discount on food…” I hear her stand up.
“Are you going already?” I ask, getting on my own feet.
“Yeah,” she says, “Grandma will need my help babysitting.” She walks through the family room to the living room, me right behind her.
“You sure you can’t stay longer?”
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Thank you for having me over, Justin.”
“It’s not a problem at all,” I tell her. She readjusts her jacket, taking small footsteps through the doorway. “Oh, wait.”
She turns back to me, “Yes?”
“Here,” I say handing her a wad of money, “Take this.”
“Justin,” she says with shock, “I… can’t take this.”
“Please, Angie. You need it more than I do,” I say, holding it out further.
She stares disbelievingly at my open palm. “But-”
“Please,” I plead again.
She sighs, slowly taking the wad of money and shoving it into her pocket. “Thank you Justin. Thank you so much.” The tears in her eyes are starting to form, barely settling in the brims. “I don’t know how you can be so kind to me… but I really thank you for it.”
A warm feeling rushes over my heart. I know how.
“You come back anytime you want alright?” I say, patting her head. “I hope to see you soon.”
“I will. Bye Justin,” she says, walking down my porch.
“Bye Angie,” I say, waving, “Bye.”
I shut the door again, repeating the same clean up routine as yesterday. The sun is starting to set, so I decide to take another shower. I strip down to nothing, and step into the bathtub, letting the warm cascade wash my worn out body. My eyes voluntarily close, relaxing my mind into thoughts of you.
It’s amazing how one event could change someone’s life. Your accident, meeting Angela, everything. They all happened unexpectedly, but yet still, so effective, so life altering. How could things like that make such a huge impact?
Within the last twenty four hours, I’ve realized what I’ve become. How different I am with everyone, it’s not right. The monster I became because of my selfishness, my stubbornness to listen to helpful hands. The way I turned away from every helping hand, trying to convince myself I was fine. I wasn’t.
Sometimes I feel that I’m so lucky
To have had the chance to love this much
Honestly, it was all out of guilt. I know I’ve never admitted it out loud but, I blame myself for your death. If it wasn’t for me… you would have still been here. If I had just let you go back home to stay with your parents like you had wanted to, instead of staying with me in L.A. You wouldn’t have been there on the road. You wouldn’t have died.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I had never met you before. Maybe then, your life would have been better. But then I think about all the things you’ve done to better my life. And I realize then, we were made for each other. I realize how fortunate I was to have even met you. It’s something I used to take for granted and now that you’re gone, I truly know that saying of you never know what you have until it’s gone.
God give me a moment’s Grace
Cause if I’d never seen your face
I probably wouldn’t be this way
So if we were made for each other, why would God take you away from me? People even suggested that this might be a blessing in disguise. I remember even going off on them for saying things like that about you. I just can’t understand what they could mean, but maybe… maybe one day I’ll see it.
I turn off the water, and dry off with a soft towel. I take a seat on my bed, staring all the mess I created last night. I replay the event again, staring off into nowhere. Then, almost uncontrollably my head turns towards the old Gibson lying in the corner.
I wearily pick it up, the feeling all too familiar. The smooth, glossy wood and old strings, holding so many stories and songs behind it. I retrieve the pick secured between the frets and begin strumming, tuning it here and there. I don’t play anything in particular, but before I know it, I’ve got something going.
“Got a day… dum, dum, da da,” I sing, “na na dum da…” I continue playing the chords, my voice trying to find a tune to go along with it. The melody thick, yet soft and twangy, a mixture of blues and country. Kind of like the ones I grew up listening to.
“I probably na dum be this way,” I mumble, “I probably wouldn’t hurt so na…” With every stroke, I feel the rhythm unfold itself to me. Like the emotion from my body traveling through my fingertips. “Mama says da nuh nuh shouldn’t speak to you. Susan says la la move on…”
I tap my foot in sync (no pun intended) to the song, “Na na na the way these people look at me. When dah dum da talking to this stone…”
I sit there for about an hour, creating the song that has been within my broken soul for so long. Forgetting how much I missed music, I put the guitar back, mentally reminding myself to play some more later.
For now, I decide to go back to the cemetery once more. I walk in silence, with my head down. I sit back down at the all too familiar spot, and greet you.
“Hi honey,” I say, playing with patches of grass. “I miss you.”
A few people out in the distance stare at me, but I don’t bother to deal with it. “I’m sorry about yesterday… I know I got out of hand.” I sigh, ready to relieve myself of the stress I’ve built up for so long. “I almost made the mistake of killing myself yesterday, and now I think I know why.”
Leaves chase each other beside me, like two children playing tag. “I can’t keep thinking about the way things could be, or should be. All the things that have led up to where we both are right now, there’re reasons behind them. Reasons I have yet to find out. And although I want you to be here with me more than anything else… it can’t happen.”
“I’m sorry Lauren. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been. It’s… it’s not the way you would want to see me, or the way I want to be.” I fold my knees up, wrapping my arms around them for warmth. “Honey, all my other visits here were to search for the answers. I sat here in this spot for hours, I’ve thought about you every second of the day, trying to understand. But today… today I came for closure.”
“And now I think I’ve got it,” I say softly. The wind blows by, cooling my face and I smile. “I’m going back home for the holidays, but I don’t know how long I’ll stay. My mom needs me, and I can’t disappoint her anymore. Not her, not you, not the people I care about. I have to make things right. For the both of us.”
“I think this is the first time I’ve come here without crying,” I say, standing up. I blow a kiss to your grave. “I love you.”
Got a day and a week from Friday to see the preacher’s son*
Everybody says I’m crazy
Guess I’ll have to see…
The walk back home is a peaceful one. I feel as though the weight of the world has been taken off my shoulders. I enter the house, and immediately change into grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, heading back down stairs.
I guess I didn’t notice the weather outside, but it appears to be raining now. I go into my now stocked fridge, and gather the necessary items to make a quick PB&J sandwich. I bring the plate to the floor, so I can unpack and eat at the same time.
I start off with a box labeled “Justin’s things”. I open it up, dumping the contents out, finding some not so important items. I file through another box, discovering a Bible, and some other books I used to read on my free time. One by one, I go through the boxes until I’m down the last one, which surprisingly, isn’t labeled.
I lean over the box, and take out the first item. It’s your things. A collection of pictures, souvenirs, small birthday gifts, hairbrushes, a couple of sweaters, some jewelry. I don’t remember packing this box, so I figure my mom must have done it.
The last item in the box is a big manila envelope. I put on my glasses and hold it under the dim light, trying to find some soft of writing. But there is none. I rip it open, pulling out the first thing I can find. It’s a few documents concerning the accident. I can’t quite handle looking at the pictures, so I set them aside.
At the bottom of the envelope is a tattered newspaper I’ve never seen before, dated the week of your death. I unfold it carefully, reading the headline in heavy set print: Lauren Timberlake Killed in Accident.
Shock and disbelief hit everyone around the world as the announcement was made: Lauren Timberlake, 27, was killed in an accident late last night, by a drunk driver.
Reports say that Timberlake was driving home, after working late hours at the Merril Areid Dance Studio, where she had been rehearsing for her farewell concert, scheduled for mid-August. Timberlake announced earlier this year that she would be taking a break from the limelight to spend more time with her family and be with her husband, solo artist and former member of the band Nsync, Justin Timberlake, 28.
It is believed that Lauren’s car had spun out of control, due to the slickness of the roads. Although her car had already been in great damage, Lauren was still struggling to survive when an on coming car had crashed into her vehicle, killing them instantly. The driver of the car was twenty-three year old Jacob Irretie, who was not only drunk, but under the influence of marijuana as well. Irretie’s family says that they are extremely devastated about the tragedy, and apologize on Jacob’s behalf for all the families affected.
Timberlake was found early this morning, on Hillbridge Drive, about seven miles from her L.A. home and officially pronounced dead at 2:27 AM. Doctors say she had severe injuries, including broken ribs, internal bleeding, and a fractured skull.
The whereabouts of husband Justin are unknown, but his camp did have this to say: “Mr.Timberlake would appreciate it if the media would not invade his personal privacy at this tragic time.”
Hillbridge Drive will be blocked off for the next three days for more investigation. Police say that they will scan the area for causes of the accident, and may possibly meet with the city’s Town Counsel, if road construction adjustments are needed.
Special memorial services will be held in about two weeks, Nadine Knightman, Lauren’s mother said.
“If anyone would like to pay their respects in a different ceremony, we will declare a time and date for it later this week,” Knightman announced early this morning.
Lauren Timberlake’s final resting place will be in her hometown of Jackson, Mississippi.
Sadness washes over me as I let the words sink in, followed by a cold jolt of terror rushing through my entire body, the goose bumps covering me from head to toe, making every hair stand up. With a gasp of complete disbelief, my eyes skim over the very last paragraph.
The man who had been trying to rescue Timberlake from the wreck has been identified as twenty-five year old Mississippi firefighter, Jarrett Redmond. He had been stationed in Los Angeles only for the summer. Redmond leaves behind wife Karla, and their three children Joseph, 2, Shane, 5, and Angela, 7.
Lyrics:
“Probably Wouldn’t Be This Way”- LeAnn Rimes
*Got a date a week from Friday with the preacher’s son
(lyrics were altered to fit this story)
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