Consequences and choices

We followed the big black car to a part of Houston I'd never been to before. I had vague thoughts that maybe I should be paying attention to where we were, just in case I had to find my way back on my own -- after all, who knew what was going to happen -- but I was only a little bit sure I'd be able to find my way back to I-610.

The car pulled up in front of a huge house, a mansion really; not exactly what I was expecting. I'd been picturing some kind of condemned building with druggies laying around on the sidewalk outside and hookers on the corner. This place looked straight out of Architectural Digest, or an episode of one of those reality shows about rich people. We followed the driveway past the circular area near the front door and the fountain in its center. We drove around the side of the house past a sunroom that even in the dark I could see was full of green plants and gorgeous flowers. We parked in front of a five car garage and got out of the car. One of the thugs motioned for us to follow and we did, through a back door, into a commercial-grade kitchen and through a back hallway to room that must have taken up a good third of the bottom floor of the house, if not half.

The room was dotted with poker tables. I counted five, but only two were being used at the moment; most of the people around the poker tables looked strung-out, worried, sweaty and like they hadn't slept in a really long time. A wet bar stood at one end of the room, a bored-looking bartender behind it. Good grief; these people had their own personal bartender! Some model-like women sat on bar stools watching the room and sipping cocktails, their dresses barely covering...well, anything. A small group of people sat just opposite the bar on some couches. They looked a little spaced out, and I realized that a few weeks ago, that's probably where I could have found Pete. Drugged out on one of those couches, or losing his shirt at one of the tables. My stomach gave a sickening lurch.

"Peter." a smooth, deep voice with a slight Russian accent came from one of the tables. I turned to see a man with iron gray hair and nearly black eyes stand and walk toward us. He looked to be in his 50s, and was dressed in black dress pants and a thin gray sweater. Even I could tell his clothes had cost more than my current car.

"You brought friends," he said. "They are perhaps not so good of friends since they want to watch you die."

My head spun and I clutched Paul's arm to steady myself.

"Actually," John said, stepping forward. "I've come to work out a deal."

And this is love...

I could see Pete's hands shaking, but his face was resolute. He turned to the rest of us, as frozen as the Great Lakes in January.
"Bye, guys," he said.
His words pushed us into motion, and for a few minutes it was hugs and tears. I saw Paul and John talking in the corner, John's face peaceful and stubborn while Paul's skin seemed two sizes two small as it stretched tightly across his pained face.
It was my turn for goodbye, but I wasn't ready.
"I'm coming with you," I said, surprising myself.
"No." Pete's response was immediate.
"Yes." I could be stubborn too. "I'm coming.You'll have to punch me out to stop me."
I could tell he was thinking about it, but as I braced myself Paul and John walked up.
"We're going to drive you," Paul said, putting a hand on Pete's shoulder. "Let's go."
We followed Paul out to his car. John slid into the passenger seat, while Pete and I climbed in the back. The two thugs got into their shiny car and we followed them out of the driveway.

Car Ride

All day I tried to talk to Pete. I'd be sitting next to him, flipping through a magazine and trying to figure out what exactly the thoughts and feelings were bouncing around my sleep-deprived brain. Nothing came. We spent the day about how we'd spent the one before, but around 8 p.m. we heard the low purr of a very expensive car pull up the driveway. Lights shone through the front window and we all just did our best impression of a deer in the headlights. I knew it was coming, but the knock on the door still made me jump. Pete stood up and walked to the door; he looked scared and resolute and strong. Tears came to my eyes as he opened the door to to two very large, very greasy guys with big muscles and faces that looked like they'd been pounded a few times.
"Guess this is it," Pete's voice just barely shook on the last word. The goons nodded.

Lawn chairs

"Hey John."
"Gia."
It was one thing I loved about John -- he knew when to talk and when to be quiet. Which got my mind wandering.
"Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me?" I asked this strange guy who had become such a staple in our lives.
He smiled and shook his head. "Sorry," he admitted, "but no."
"You told me that my name means hope."
"That's right," he said, his smile widening. "I remember now. And you looked at me like I had a snake growing out of my head or something."
"You know, I think I'd have a different reaction if you told me that today."
He turned slightly in his chair and looked at me more directly, his head cocked inquisitively, his face open and inquisitive. "Why do you say that?"
"You get to know a person when they're living in your backyard," I said, turning slightly myself. "And you are hopeful. You make people around you hopeful and peaceful." The words were coming without much thought, but as I said them it was mini lightbulbs kept flashing in my head. "You know, John, I never thought of it until right now -- and the Lord only knows why I'm thinking of it now -- but you really are just this...shiny, happy, peaceful, hopeful, light that's made our two little houses a whole lot brighter. I know you're the reason Maria and Grant have a healthier relationship, and now that I'm thinking about it Kathleen's been a lot less grouchy the past few months. What gives? Why are you still here? I mean, I'm glad clearly, but why? Seems like a lot of give and not much get to me."
John was silent a minute, clearly surprised by my words. Maybe just their timing.
"Well, that's a lot of questions," he said with a smile. "But first off...thanks. Secondly, it's not really me, and I know we talked about this some the other night, but all I can say is that shiny light is Jesus -- I'm just the stuff the light shines through. And as for why I'm still here..." he shrugged. "I go where the Spirit tells me go and stay as long as I need to. Maybe you all needed a little joy in your lives," he grinned again, "a little 'shiny, happy.' But it's not all one way. You guys have a unique family life going on here. There's a lot of love on both sides of this fence; you all just needed a little help not fighting it so much maybe. But I have to say, it's been awesome. I am really blessed here."
My eyes were filling up with tears, which was practically a miracle considering how much I'd cried in the past few days. I reached out my hand and John met it with his own. I squeezed. "Thank you," I said. "And I'm not entirely clear on what for -- more than just being here and being such a rock. But for that too. Just...thanks."
He put his other hand around mine and looked me square in the eyes. "Gia," he said. "I don't know when I'll get a chance to talk to you just like this again. So here's something very important -- no matter what happens in the next few days, please start looking for Jesus. If things turn out to be hard, you won't want to; you'll want to be angry and that's okay. Jesus is big enough for your anger. He wants you to come find him and it's the only way you'll get through this crisis -- or if there is no crisis -- the next one. Please, Gia."
The love and authenticity of his request made my heart ache, but I couldn't respond. So I squeezed his hand. But he knew what I meant.

Waiting

Two days is a long time without sleep, but when you know that chances are someone you love is about to die, then two days just isn't long enough.

We didn't go to work. No one talked about it, but we all stayed pretty much at our house or the guys house. We didn't talk about Pete's deadline, although I know everyone was calling just about anyone we could think of who might have some money. No rich uncles were hanging out in the shadows. We played cards and watched movies and went out. Tod would sit with his guitar and strum ridiculously sad songs. Grant and Maria didn't have even one tiny fight.

I sat outside on a lawn chair watching the sun come up that last morning. My heart felt like a chunk of lead inside my chest, like it was trying to crush the life right out of me. I felt something move beside me and looked to see John pulling up another lawn chair. He looked over at me and smiled, but it was a sad smile.

The Truth

I slammed the pitcher down on the counter with a loud curse at my hands that were shaking so bad I couldn't even pour myself a glass of water. I'd come home a little early from the show, too amped up to sit around and act normal. Phil was keeping his eye on Pete, making sure that he didn't run off to who knows where after the show. I'd had a couple of beers to calm myself down, but they didn't work and possibly just made me more edgy. Well, that or the fact that Pete showed up with two black eyes. He didn't want to talk about it -- in fact, very clearly ignored it and made it clear he wanted us to ignore them as well. But the fact that he still showed up was so unusual that even Kathleen looked thrown off. Part of me felt bruised myself just looking at his beautiful eyes surrounded by swollen, purple flesh. But part of me felt some kind of confirmation that now was the time to confront Pete. John had smiled when Pete walked in and whispered, "God's with us tonight, G." And while I wasn't totally convinced of that, everything did seem to be falling into place.
I finally got some water in my glass without making a huge mess and heard cars pull up outside. Without really thinking about it I started pulling chips and pretzels and other munchies out of the pantry; Tod was always starving after a show. Everyone began filing into the house, grabbing the food out of my hands as they went by. Tod grinned at me. "Tonight I don't know if it's post-show munchies or nervous munchies," he murmured. "But either way...thanks."
The chatter began to die out as everyone sprawled in the living room. After a few minutes the only sounds were crinkling foil and crunching junk food. I was trying to catch Phil's eye -- we'd all agreed Phil should start things off -- when Pete shocked us.
"I know what's going on," he said, his voice low and husky. "I know why we're all sitting in here sweating and avoiding eye contact. I know you all aren't blind or stupid."
Maria crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Pete. "Te queremos mi hermano" She said. They hugged for a long moment before Maria sat down on the floor next to him; he gripped her hand like a lifeline. We waited.
"It's bad, guys." He said. "It's going to sound like I'm making it up, but I assure you, I'm not. I've been gambling, which you may have guessed. There have been a few instances with drugs, but mostly just the gambling. It started out with just some guys I met on the job. But I kept getting in with more serious games, bigger stakes...bigger players." He paused.
"Organized?" Kathleen asked, her voice surprisingly gentle.
Pete nodded. "Asian. A small-time group, relatively speaking. But big enough to pack a devastating punch...no pun intended."
"How deep are you in," John asked.
"Two and a half million."
My heart stopped and it's safe to say everyone else's did as well. Grant turned green.
"Pete," he said. "Dude...that's...." There were no words.
"I know."
John looked thoughtfully at Pete. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that your forthrightness was somewhat motivated by a deadline."
Pete nodded. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I've got two days."
Silence.
I couldn't stand it.
"And then what." I cursed my squeaky and panicked voice. "Then what?"
Pete exchanged a look with John and I could hear Maria start to cry as she realized what refused to.
Pete turned toward me, his swollen eyes full of pain and regret and something I'd never seen before -- tears.
"Then I don't come back." he told me.

what are friends for

"So, basically, I think we need to do something."
It had been two weeks since I'd gone to the bank with Phil and he'd told me his new theories about Pete. We'd both been watching him closely since then -- what there was to watch. Phil's gambling theory fit, and after Pete came home last night with what looked like two-day bags under his eyes, a fat lip and a bruise on his cheekbone, I'd decided that just sitting by wasn't an option anymore. Everyone was sitting in my living room, digesting what Phil and I had told them.
"Like an intervention?" Kathleen rolled her eyes. "Come on, Gia. Do you really think that's going to do anything. He'll probably lie to us -- IF anything is going on -- and then laugh himself out the door. And try getting him to come back after that. You know Pete."
"Actually, Kathleen," Maria chimed in. Her normally laughing and sparkling dark eyes were serious. "We do know Pete. And this isn't him. There is a stranger living in that house, and I agree with Gia. It's time to find Pete again."
I looked around the room, and saw determination staring back at me. I wasn't worried about Kathleen. We'd already figured she'd be the dissenting opinion, but we knew Phil could make her see reason.
"We thought we'd talk to him this weekend," I said. As I anticipated, everyone got a nervous look on their face. "I know it's soon," I said, "but the sooner the better, I think. He should show up for the show Saturday night, so we're going to keep him around and talk to him on Sunday. And John, we really want you there too," I looked at our new friend, who looked surprised.
"Pete really respects you, and I have a feeling you'll have a calming influence."
He nodded. "I know this seems drastic, and like the last thing you want to be doing," he said gently. "But if we're truly Pete's friends -- if we truly care about him -- we have to try and make him confront the truth and get some help. Otherwise it's like watching him walk blindfolded toward the edge of the Grand Canyon and not reach out to take off the blindfold."
I felt drained just thinking about confronting Pete, and I could see the tension in everyone else as well. It was going to be a long weekend.

Poker night

The last few bites of my apple were disappearing when Phil poked his head in the back door,
"Busy?" he asked.
I shook my head and swallowed. "Nope," I answered. "What's up?"
"I'm heading out to run some errands and wanted some company. You up for it?"
"Of course. Let me grab my keys."
Once we were in Phil's car, chatting and listening to the radio, I noticed the slight wrinkle in Phil's forehead.
"Okay, spill it," I said. "There's a reason you need company this afternoon, and I want to know what it is."
Phil was quiet for a moment, but his lack of denial was clear.
"I'm worried about Pete," he finally said.
My stomach clenched and my heart started pounding. "Oh?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even and calm.
"Yeah," Pete glanced over and I could tell I wasn't fooling him either, but he let it slide. "One of my errands happens to be withdrawing some cash for him. About $1,000."
"What!?" All attempts at calm and detached were gone as fast as a soap bubble in a hurricane. "Why in the world are you loaning him $1,000?"
Phil sighed. "Well, it's that or he loses his truck and then his job."
"Okay, that's the surface why, but I'm looking for a bigger picture here, Phil."
"When I asked him all he said was 'poker night.'"
My heart began to slow a bit. "So maybe he had a few bad nights, right?" I said.
The frown lines were back on Phil's forehead. "Maybe," he said without conviction. "But I've been noticing a...semi-return to Pete's former here then gone behavior. And after he said that I'm starting to wonder if he's got a problem."
"A gambling problem?" It seemed ludicrous.
"Well, that, and I think he's rolling in a crowd that's pretty out of his league," Phil continued. "I think he's in way over his head, and for more than just $1,000."
We sat in silence as Phil pulled into the bank parking lot. I stayed in the car as he went inside and tried to process what Phil had said. It made sense and would explain everything. But I couldn't shake images of various movies in which guys who couldn't pay their gambling debts got bones broken and appendages removed. I didn't want it to be true, but the more I thought about it the more possible it became.

Carrie

"I have a hard time believing that someone as intellectual and creative as you really buys into God," Pete spoke from across the circle.
"I look at it a little opposite to that," John said. "I'm intellectual and creative because of God, not in spite of Him."
"I don't know man," I could barely make out that Tod was shaking his head. "That doesn't quite make sense."
John leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "My mom died when I was six. It was just me and my dad, and like a lot of single dads he had to work and I fended for myself a lot and by the time I got to high school I was pretty self reliant, and pretty confident that it was just me taking care of me. I didn't need anyone, certainly not a God that I'd never really seen do all that much for me."
I saw a flash of white that looked like a grin. "Now we get to the part of the story where I meet a girl. Junior year, calculus. Her name was Carrie, and she blew me away. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and confident enough to stand up to my bullshit and call it for what it was...a whole lot of posing. She made it pretty clear straight off that she was a Christian and somehow that just made her more alluring; she wasn't like any Christians I'd ever known. Clearly, I was head over heals so when she started wanting to take me to a Bible study with her, I didn't put up a fight. It was a great group and the perfect place to really introduce me to Jesus; there were several other high school kids and everyone else was young and smart and people I'd have hung out with normally. Carrie knew I'd need to hear the gospel from people I'd actually be willing to listen to."
"So what did it," Phil spoke quietly from beside me. "What did they say that made the difference."
John thought for a moment. "It wasn't one thing," he said. "It was months of studying and talking and praying. Eventually what they said started making sense; when I opened myself up to the possibility that the Bible was true it just felt right, but it was the kind of feeling that takes over your whole being. There was an emptiness inside of me that I'd never even known was there and it was full now. I started studying more intensely with Kevin, the leader of the group. He helped me see the truth behind the faith growing inside me. I'd started feeling like God was real and Jesus really did die and come back to life to save me from a life of sin and death; Kevin helped me know it in my head. And after that everything changed."
"How?" I asked.
"I started looking at the world differently; life had purpose now, and the stuff that didn't," he shrugged, "I stopped worrying about it. Jesus took me -- all that unique John-stuff -- and made it better."
"What I really want to know, " Maria spoke up from her spot in Grant's lap, "is what happened to Carrie."
John grinned again. "Carrie and I went to college together, but about my sophomore year I started getting this idea that what God really wanted from me was a commitment to being different. I had no family -- my dad had died the year before -- and was in a perfect position in life to start going out in the world and really be Jesus to other people."
"So that's what you call this...gypsying of yours," Tod spoke again. "Being Jesus to the world."
"Exactly. I help people out when they need it, I try to spread a little happiness, and love, and if God tells me to, I talk to them about Jesus. Sometimes I just move on, knowing I've planted some seeds or maybe watered seeds someone else has planted."
Maria wasn't quite satisfied. "Well then where is she," she asked. "Did you break her heart?"
"I don't think so," John said. "Don't get me wrong, my heart was bruised pretty bad when I set out, and I think hers was too. We talked a lot about what I wanted to do with my life now, and I asked her to come along. But she said no; she said it was my calling."
I felt my nose prickle; sad, romantic stories really do get to me. I could just picture the tearful goodbye.
John laughed then. "Don't feel too bad for her, Maria," he said. "She's married now and has three kids. I stop by and see them usually once a year or so; they're really happy."
"What can I say," Maria laughed too. "I love a happy ending."

so...God?

"Is tomorrow really Monday?"
Kathleen asked this mostly rhetorical question from her spot on everyone's favorite chaise lawn chair. Her empty plate rested on her stomach while her left hand lazily brushed the still-damp grass. Mellow had been the theme word for the weekend. My Llama had taken the weekend off so that Grant could go to a big family celebration with Maria. I'd had a date with a guy from work Friday night, but had made it home by 11 p.m.; Phil and John came over then and Kathleen and I proceeded to smoke them at a 5,000 point game of spades before sending them home in a rainstorm sometime around 2:30 in the morning. It was still raining on Saturday, so Kathleen and I spent the day baking and watching movies. Sunday afternoon the sun came out again and they guys decided to grill. As the light began to turn purple and indigo, we all lounged around the guys' backyard, bellies full of Tod's amazing burgers and Maria's equally amazing dulce de leche. It was the kind of atmosphere that made people want to talk -- you were relaxed, satisfied, and you couldn't really see anyone that well.
"So John," Tod said, blowing out a thin stream of smoke from his cigarette. "You've been here a while now."
"True."
"And even after months of living with you, playing with you, hanging out with you...I have to say, you're still a very mysterious guy."
John laughed. "I don't try to hide anything," he said.
"Also true," Tod replied. "But it's not so much things you're hiding...I mean, we've all heard the stories and we all know about your weakness for macaroni and cheese with pickles -- which is disgusting, by the way -- it's more just the way you are."
I could just barely see John smile in the fading light. "I see," he said. "Well, that is mysterious I guess. But maybe not in the way you mean. Because it's not really me that's mysterious. It's God."
The peaceful, comfortable silence we'd all been marinating in got a bit thicker. I can freely admit that God is never something I'd talked about with any of my friends, and not something I'd really given much thought to. I held my breath wondering if we were about to have a heavy conversation, an argument, or if people were just going to get up and break the evening's summery spell. And a small part of me just wanted John to elaborate, because Tod was right.

change?

Okay, I'll be honest. I left Waffle House buzzing, and not just from the copious amounts of sugar in my maple syrup-and-whipped-cream-topped French toast. After my conversation with Pete in the truck, it was as though the CD in my head that had been skipping on the same song for the past few months had finally fixed itself and was playing my favorite songs again. A tiny part of me entertained the idea that maybe Pete and I could work things out romantically speaking, but I shut that train of thought down pretty fast. Mostly because I knew that my level of trust for Pete was still pretty low. And partly because I knew that if Pete and I got back together, Kathleen would officially lose it. But SXSW was officially awesome and the band blew everyone's mind. So much so that John decided to stick around a while; the guys cleaned out the storeroom above the detached garage (which was air conditioned thanks to Phil's studio being the half of the above-garage space) for John to sleep in. When I asked John how long he was planning on staying he just smiled and said "Until it's time to go."
Pete was around more after we got back from the festival; there were nights when the rumble of his old Chevy woke me up just before the sun did, but for a few months at least things seemed back to normal. Sort of.

at Waffle House

"This place is so disgusting." Kathleen wrinkled her nose and grabbed a napkin to swat at some non-existent crumbs in the booth we'd snagged.
"But it's road trip food. We are on a road trip." Tod slid in next to her, put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Lighten up, K. Road trip! Austin! Concerts! There is no room in this booth for a gloomy face."
And you couldn't deny that Tod's face was far from gloomy. In fact, I looked around as we all looked at our greasy menus. We'd taken up two booths -- me, Kathleen, Tod and Phil; Grant, Maria, Pete, and John. Maria's arms were waiving around, her mouth moving at light-speed. Pete and John were shaking with laughter; John's head fell to the table, his back still convulsing. Grant just shook his head, obviously having heard the story already. Tod turned around to ask what the racket was all about. His left hand still rested on the menu sitting on the table, his long fingers tapping out a rhythm. Phil and Kathleen were talking, I think about a new CD they were listening to in the car. I looked down at my menu and saw that my hands were shaking slightly. Odd. But maybe appropriate given that I felt like I'd just missed getting run over by a car, or made it to shore after being dumped into some wicked white water rapids.
Fingers snapped in my face.
"Hello space cadet," Tod said. "Beverage?" He motioned to the apron-clad waitress smacking watermelon gum at our table.
"Coffee," I said. "With cream, please."
As she moved on, Phil raised his eyebrow at me. "No offense, Gia, but you don't look like you need more caffeine."
I shook my head. "Why do you have to be so darn perceptive all the time," I said, smacking him lightly. "But I'm fine, really."

let's talk about this

A month after My llama's first show with John, I found myself once again driving my truck with Peter riding shotgun. However, the silence was slightly more awkward than the trip to the beach since I hadn't spoken to Peter in that month. Even Shawn Mullins couldn't soothe my rattling nerves.
We were on the way to Austin, my truck bed full of tents, sleeping bags, and of course the ever-present grill. I'd tried to convince Tod that the campground we were staying at had grills at each site -- we'd used them during every other road trip to Austin after all -- but he'd become strangely attached to this particular birthday gift. Since he was a little nervous about playing at South by Southwest this weekend, Kathleen and I had decided that his grill had become his security blanket. But who could fault him? I wasn't even playing and I was nervous; after all, some of my best friends in the world were making their debut at one of the hottest music and film festivals in the country. I think the only one of us who wasn't nervous was John.
"I'm beginning to think John is an alien."
"What!?" I was more than startled at this statement from Peter since last I knew he wasn't a mind reader.
"Think about it," he said, as though this conversation wasn't the first one we'd had in many weeks. "Aside from the fact that he's a professional homeless guy -- not all that unusual really -- he's always happy, never nervous, never angry, he's got this really unnatural..." Pete searched for the word.
"Peace?"
"Exactly!" Pete snapped his fingers. "He's like that Buddhist Kathleen dated for five minutes. Only not a Buddhist, funny, a first-class musician with great taste in movies, and an unnatural gift at Halo."
I rolled my eyes. "Someone's got a crush."
Pete smiled, surprising me by taking my joke as just that. He shrugged. "We've been spending a lot of time together when I'm at the house."
"I didn't realize you'd actually been around lately."
The lightness of our conversation did not make it into my voice.
Peter sighed. "How about we just get this over with. I really want to have a good weekend."
"And we all know that your needs and wants are priority."
"Stop being so passive-aggressive, Gia!" Peter said, his voice rising. "For goodness sake, let's not play around anymore."
"Fine!" my voice rising to match his. "Let's start with the fact that you've become a complete jerk. I can't even describe the look on Tod's face when you weren't at the pub that night. I mean, where were you? Working? Stuck in traffic? What? What excuse?"
"No excuse," Pete said. "And I told Tod that later. We worked it all out."
"Well that's great. And what's with you're hanging around lately? You're here, you're gone, you're back again...we never see you and when we do you're silent and surly and moody and a complete prick."
"Sorry mom," Peter said, sarcasm like acid in his voice. "Didn't realize I had to clear my calendar with you first."
"Did you ever just think about the fact that we're your friends, your family. We care about you and the last six months you've just been acting different. Not you. Friends are supposed to notice that kind of stuff."
"Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe hanging around got to be a little hard," Peter said. "I needed some time away from all that 'familiness.' "
My voice softened slightly and I knew I was about to step into a minefield. "I know it was hard when your brother died, but we wanted to be there for you. You didn't let us."
"I don't want to talk about it."
I shrugged. "I know. You never do."
We were silent for a moment, but some smoke still hung in the air.
"Keep going," Peter finally said. "You're not going back far enough into this anger you're holding against me."
"You sound like a psychiatrist."
"Gia."
I sighed and my heart constricted. "Fine. Fine. It still hurts, Pete, is that what you want me to say to you? I'm angry, yes. Sure, things weren't perfect. I was starting to get tired and overwhelmed getting carried along in your wake, but I loved you so much some days I thought my heart would explode. I wanted to get over that overwhelmed feeling. But you couldn't wait. You pushed and pushed and I'm sorry but sometimes pushing doesn't work and I'm sorry but I just got too exhausted. And then Travis died and you shut us all out. You shut me out but still wanted me to be just the same Gia, holding on for dear life to the tornado that is Pete. And it was all or nothing, but I never wanted it to be nothing, Pete. And then you got mean, and it hurt." I silently cursed the tear that sneaked out of my eye. "It really hurt."
Shawn sung about sad people.
"Guess that's it?" Pete asked, staring out the window.
"In a nutshell."
"Good."
I passed a semi-truck and glanced at a field full of cows. Were they Blue Bell cows? We weren't that far from Brenham. Shawn made it through his songs and my five-disc changer switched to Journey. My cell phone chimed once and delivered a text from the mini-van in front of me, full of instruments and musicians. Need food. Next exit.
"I miss you, Gia."

my llama

As My Llama took their first set break, I leaned over the the table and talked as quietly as a noisy pub on a Saturday night let me.
"So, does anyone else think they sound better now?"
Phil laughed and Maria and Kathleen nodded their heads emphatically.
"They haven't sounded this good since that night Grant was hopped on cough medicine and doing insane things to his bass," Kathleen said.
We were laughing at this true statement as the guys walked up to the table, slightly sweaty but with huge smiles on their faces.
"So, we're awesome right?"
"And so humble," I said, giving Tod a huge hug. "But yes, awesome. If I didn't know you already, I'd probably throw myself all over you and vow to be a groupie forever."
"Sweet."
"I'll be a groupie," Maria said, draping herself across Grant and planting a kiss in the middle of his stuck-on grin.
"We were just talking about what a great addition you are," I said to John.
"Thanks," he replied. "These guys are great. Makes it easy to play. And this crowd!" he gestured to the packed pub. "I mean, I've played some gigs that were one step up from a funeral. A good crowd also makes it easy."
We pulled up some chairs to the table and I went to see Lance about some more drinks. As I stood at the bar waiting, I turned back to watch my friends chatting and laughing. I noticed Tod lean toward Phil and Phil shake his head. Tod's helium mood deflated slightly as he craned his neck and scanned the pub. Unconsciously I balled my fist, wishing Pete's face was within punching distance, because I knew that was who Tod looked for. Because Pete had never missed a gig. Ever.
"Here you go Gia."
I turned and grabbed the tray of drinks. "Thanks Lance."
When I turned around I had to tighten my grip on the tray and thank heaven that my nerves had gotten stronger over the years because speaking of the devil...look who'd walked in the door.
"Hey Lance," I turned back to the bar. "Better give me one for Pete too."

...

"Thanks, Lance." I grabbed the frosty bottle off the bar and handed the bartender a ten. "Keep it," I said, raising the bottle in salute. Lance was the regular weeknight bartender at Marbles, and we had become regular customers ever since My Llama started playing gigs there at least once a week. It was a sweet find though; the owner had spent several years in Scotland and Wales, and Marbles was a definite nod to your typical neighborhood pub. Lots of worn-in wood, cozy booths, big tables if cozy wasn't your thing, and a couple of pool tables back in the corner. Food was good too and not too expensive. Anyway, we hung out here a lot and Lance took care of us. Tonight was a big night and I'd staked out a table close to the small corner stage; tonight was the debut of My Llama's new temporary drummer, John.
What a crazy few days. First of all, even though we'd all told John to crash with us and look us up and all that next time he made it to Houston, I for one didn't expect him to actually show up one day. It's one of those things you just say when you meet new people. You mean it of course, but no one ever really expects a follow-through. Anyway, so that was mildly crazy. But a drummer? Come on. Tod, however, swears that he's "money" and Grant is quick to nod his head and say "totally money." (Way too many late-night viewings of Swingers). We'll see.
"Hey Gia," Phil sat down next to me after squezzing my shoulders. "How's your day?"
I shrugged "same ol' stuff, you?"
"Yep."
Kathleen walked up a few minutes later, carrying drinks for her and Phil and a big pink frosted thing that could only be for Maria.
"Where's Maria?" I asked scouting out the comfortably full room.
"Ladies' room."
The guys had climbed onto the stage and begun to pick up there instruments and get settled. I felt a fierce behind-the-back hug and turned to smile at Maria.
"Hola, chica!" I said with a grin.
Maria rolled her eyes as I knew she would. "Seriously, gringo. When are you going to let me teach you some Spanish?"
"When my brain develops some language skills and you sit still long enough to deliver...or whichever happens first."
She laughed, brown eyes sparkling. "I've missed you Gia."
"I know... where've you been?" I asked. It had been a few weeks since Maria had made an appearance at our house or the guys' house.
"Work has been unbelievably busy," she said. "And my sister got appendicitis so I've been taking turns with my mom and sisters-in-law cleaning and cooking."
"Ouch," Kathleen said. "Makes me glad I don't have any family."
"Yes, but then who takes care of you when you're sick," Maria said.
"Gia."
We all laughed because we all knew it was true. I was a nurturer, or to put it another way, a girl prone to being stepped on and getting her heart broken.
Our conversation got interrupted by a drum riff.

...

...I was lounging on the couch in a pancake-induced stupor, watching through the archway as Grant and Phil washed the dishes and stacked them in the drainer on the counter. Kathleen was still at the kitchen table, alternately reading the newspaper and criticizing -- I'm sorry, critiquing, the dishwashing. Tod also sat at the table, head on his arms. Every now and then a groan would escape. I had just managed to stop thinking about Peter when the doorbell rang. I rolled off the couch and walked the few feet to the front door, opening it as Kathleen poked her head out of the kitchen. I stared out the door.
"John!" I said, queen of the obvious.
"Gia!" he said, his eyes crinkling as he grinned.
"What..I mean, come in," I held the door open wider.
"Thanks," he said, walking through. He set a good-sized backpacking pack on the floor next the door, leaning against the wall. "Hi Kathleen."
"Hello yourself," she said, "I think we have a few chocolate chip pancakes left if you'd like some."
"Who says no to pancakes," he said with another grin. "I tried the guys house first but no one was..." he stopped and laughed as we fully entered the kitchen. "hey guys."
"Hey."
Kathleen set the last plate of pancakes on the table in front of an empty chair.
"Milk?" I asked, opening the fridge.
"That'd be awesome. This is quite the welcome."
"It's Saturday," Grant said.
John took a bite and cocked his head toward Tod's still figure which hadn't even moved after John came in.
Phil quickly filled him in and I was pretty shocked to see yet another grin flash across John's face. Did this guy do anything but smile?
"Funny how God works things out sometimes," he said and before we could process that surprising comment -- even Tod lifted his head at the mention of God that didn't involve swearing -- John had gotten out of his chair and walked into the other room. In a few minutes he was back deftly twirling two drumsticks in his fingers. "I don't have a set with me, but I am planning to stick around town for a while."
We all started with gaping mouths.
"Finish your pancakes," Tod said. "Then come over. I've got a set at the house and you can try out a set."


author's note: thanks to those who are reading and pushing me on; I need the shove now and again. Sorry I've been MIA on the story-telling; but don't give up!

...

...
"Want some pancakes? I'll even thrown in some chocolate chips."
Pause. "Do you have whipped cream?"
Kathleen rolled her eyes. "Good grief, Tod," she said. "You want to watch a chick flick too?"
I shot Kathleen a look and answered, "Yes, Tod. Plently of whipped cream. And coffee too, so come over whenever. Bring anyone else at home."
Tod lived in an old Victorian two-story house with Grant, Phil, and Peter. He and Peter had grown up together -- the whole best-friends-since-third-grade thing. They'd met Grant when Tod got serious about putting a band together, and I think Peter had once dated Phil's sister. I met Kathleen when the temp agency I work for sent me to her marketing agency when the receptionist went on maternity leave. Despite Kathleen's notorious frostiness we managed to become friends quickly, maybe because I saw beyond her cold exterior and she saw beyond my aversion to having a "grown-up" job. When our apartment leases expired around the same time, we decided to throw our lot in together and found the tiniest two-bedroom house known to man. But it was perfect. We'd met the guys behind us when they threw a fourth-of-July party several years ago. Grant and Maria were already dating at that point, and there you have it. The story of how this motley crew of friends managed to find each other.
I was on my second cup of coffee and had six hot pancakes staying warm in the oven when Tod and Phil straggled in the back door, heading strait for the coffee pot.
"Grant's coming too," Tod said. "He's on the phone with Maria."
"Yelling or making up?" Kathleen asked from her spot at our tiny kitchen table, eyes still on the Saturday Chronicle.
"Making up from the sounds of it," Tod said.
We were all silent, but the air of expectation was clearly just me.
"Peter went out last night," Phil said quietly, his intuition as keen as his skill at recreating light with paint. I thanked him silently, and handed him the first full plate of chocolate chip pancakes to emphasize my appreciation. As I pulled three more cobalt blue plates from the cabinet and flipped the pancakes on the griddle, my gut twisted as I thought about Peter. We'd all noticed a difference -- Grant even commented on how Peter was home less than he wasn't. Peter had been digging a moat around himself for a while now; building a solitary island fortress that kept out even his closest friends. The only bridge across the moat at this point were the band's gigs. Peter still showed up at each one.