Kim
Marietta, GA -1970
"You're from Los Angeles, California?" He asked, eyes wide with awe, as if he expected her to be a movie star or some celebrity. Kim was just getting used to the accent, for the first few days she had wanted to burst out laughing when she heard it. "Yep," She responded smugly, taking a stab at the southern drawl. God he was cute. "So what do you Georgia boys do for fun out here?" He grinned sheepishly, "Horses, motorcycles, guns and outdoors stuff mostly..." His grin faded as he could tell she'd been unimpressed so far. "Uh, and beer!" he added. He quickly resumed his grin when he saw that he had finally made her smile.
"So what are you all doin' out here in these parts?" He asked. "I don't know... something to do with a job my step-dad has to do" She answered, wrinkling her forehead as if she was not one hundred percent sure of her answer. "It's crazy too," she continued, "My Mom is nine months pregnant and about to have a baby, and we still drove halfway across the world to get here... damn that drive!!!" She immediately wanted to take it back. Movie stars and celebrities didn't drive across the country with pregnant Moms in the middle of winter.
He didn't seem to notice, "So, we're having a party up on Butcher Hill this Friday night, wanna come?" She'd been starving for something to do, some kind of human interaction, for the week since they had arrived, and now she had this cute Georgia boy asking her to go to a party! Trying to contain her excitement she responded with, "I guess so." "Do you have a curfew?" he asked. "Curfew? Shit... my folks don't even know that I'm alive most times, they could care less when I come and go as long as I leave them alone..." She thought that maybe it was too much information, but it was true that Movie Stars and Celebrities were typically poor parents. Once again, he didn't seem to notice, "OK, so how about I meet you at the end of the street at seven, and I'll take you up there on my motorcycle?" She smiled and nodded while he added, "I'll introduce you to everybody, you'll love it here!"
She laid in bed that night thinking of her new boyfriend. His thick reddish brown hair, hazel eyes, that sheepish smile. He was tall and muscular too! She loved big, tall guys. He didn't know it yet, or maybe he did, but he would be her boyfriend. She fantasized about him and riding on the back of his motorcycle, visiting new places and living without a care in the world. She'd been so depressed lately, this turn of events was so exciting. Maybe Georgia wouldn't be so bad after all. When she enrolled in school next week, she'd already have friends, and a boyfriend!
Mom had her baby the next day, they named him Darin. He was Mom's fifth kid, with 4 different men. Even though she had contended that Kerri was artificially inseminated, nobody really believed it. She herself had never known her father or anything about him except that he had died while in the Marines before she was born. It had been four years since her Mom's last divorce, when Bert had been forced to tell her that he wasn't her natural father, and couldn't legally keep her. Somehow she had always known, but not wanted to. It had been crushing, to have been lied to all those years. She had loved Bert and thinking about him made her miss Bret and Brad as well, even though they were both turds. Now she was getting a baby Brother at 15 years old, and she knew who would probably have to take care of him too, just like she had to watch Kerri more often than not when she was a toddler. Maybe Kerri would help with Darin, she wondered.
Nobody noticed when she slipped out the back door at 6:30. She walked casually to the rendezvous point, she was early. He was already there, though, bent over, fiddling with something on his bike. "How's it goin'?" She asked before he noticed her approaching. He grinned when he looked up and saw her. 'He's mine!' She thought to herself when she saw his face light up at the sight of her. "You ready?" he asked. "Born ready," she replied.
The ride up into the hills was exhilarating. The wind in her hair and her arms wrapped around his waist, it was just like she had imagined. He sped around curves and across traverses forcing her to hold on tighter and tighter. Later on in life, she would reflect on this ride and say that this was where she fell in love with motorcycles and the men who rode them.
There were about 50 kids up on the side of a hill that looked like it had been cut in half. "That's Butcher Hill," he said. "Ha! I thought some people were murdered up here or something," she replied. "Oh they were! There's more than one meaning to the name." She couldn't get over how cute he was when he said certain things. He introduced her to a bunch of people that night. They had a seemingly limitless supply of beer and it wasn't long before everything went blurry.
When she woke up it was still dark. Laying beside to him on a blanket next to his motorcycle, she could hear his regular breathing. It was cool, but not cold. The stars were amazingly bright. "They don't have stars like that in L.A." she said to herself. "What?" he mumbled as he rolled over and picked his head up to look at her. "Nothing..." she said, "Don't you have to be back home?" she asked. "Yeah, I'll be in some hot water, but you passed out and I couldn't leave ya," he answered. "I'm sorry, it just went to my head... I'm out of practice," she said apologetically. He laughed as he stood up and brushed himself off, "We got enough time to make it back before sunrise, maybe."
The sun was just peeking over the horizon when they arrived back in town. He dropped her off where he had picked her up. "I had fun last night," he said. "Me too, sorry I passed out." She replied. "hey it happens to the best of us!" He flashed his best winning smile. There was a period of silence, awkward, like neither one of them really wanted to leave or knew what to say next. Finally, she spontaneously threw her arms around him and planted a kiss right on his lips, before turning and jogging away without a word. He stared in disbelieving wonder at her as she disappeared around a corner. He shook his head, "WOW!"
"Kimble Ione! Just where the hell have you been?" her mom bellowed at her when she tried to slide in the back door. "Why should you care Janet Clair?" she shot back. She knew that if her Mom had not had Darin in her arms she would have slapped her. As it was she figured she had the upper hand. "You better watch out young lady! As it is you are grounded for two weeks!" It didn't matter, though. She knew that her Mom never followed up on stuff like that and, besides, she was on cloud nine and her lips still tingled from her first kiss with her new boyfriend.
The school year went as well as it could have, she passed all her classes and played on the softball team. She and her boyfriend broke up in July, which was just as well she thought since she would be moving back to L.A. in a few weeks. Six months was the longest time she had ever had a boyfriend before. She told him that she would always love him. He said that they could still be friends, and that he would stay in touch.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Chapter 2
Janet & Patrick
Vancouver, WA -1954
Janet would see him again tonight. Patrick was always there on Friday night, but this time they had a real date! The man was the very definition of sexy and had a personality to match. She smiled, just slightly, remembering what he had told her the last time they had been together. He would be leaving for a tour next week, though, and she already felt like she missed him.
She had joined the US Women Marine Corps a few years earlier and left her small town in Utah hoping to travel the world. The recruiters had come to her school and done their presentation. It seemed to her to be her best chance at escaping the dull, small town life that she had always despised.
Janet had never felt close to her family. She had been adopted and had never known her biological parents. She felt a distinct tension with her sister Barbara, who was the natural child of her adoptive parents, whom she felt did their best for both of them but somehow it wasn’t quite enough. All her life she had dreamed of leaving.
So one day, just a few weeks after turning eighteen, she got on a bus and left. Six weeks of boot camp and a short stay in Quantico, VA wasn’t exactly what she had bargained for, though. She didn’t really like the other women much and the regiment was stifling. The simple fact of the matter was that she didn’t love the Marine Corps and never would.
But this current assignment wasn’t so bad. Vancouver, Washington was a pretty nice place besides the fact that it rained a lot. Her job at the warehouse sorting and repairing uniforms wasn’t so bad either, especially since she had some interaction with some of the men. One of these men, Patrick, she had become particularly fond of. They met the first week she was on base when he came in to have a few uniforms altered. When he first looked into her eyes, she knew that they had something special.
Patrick's buddies were not very nice, though. Janet guessed that was probably to be expected from hard men like they were, seasoned killers still fresh from the Korean War blood bath. Patrick also had the killer element, but he had so much more as well. She would get lost in the sound of his voice when he talked, and when he touched her it sent chills up her spine. It was magical. Lost in a fairy tale daydream, she imagined her and Patrick in their house overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Kids playing in the backyard and hot, delicious smells coming from the kitchen while they frolicked in their upstairs bed on a lazy summer afternoon. It was all very clear to her. This was the man of her dreams.
"You feeling alright darlin'?" Patrick asked, breaking into the daydream. Janet shook herself, smiled, and looked deeply into his deep gray eyes, "Of course I am honey, I was just imagining you and me on a beach somewhere..." she trailed off, knowing that his imagination was working with the scenario and feeling the color in her cheeks. The club was loud and smoky, glasses clanged and chairs squeaked on the tile floor, but the space between them felt serene and beautiful. "After I get back from this next tour, we can make a trip out to the coast. How would you like that?" he asked. "Oh Patrick, I can't wait!" Janet replied breathlessly. "OK, honey..." Patrick had that look in his eyes as he lit an unfiltered Chesterfield cigarette and inhaled deeply, "but tonight, how about we get a room at the Mcmenamins and celebrate the moment?" Janet nearly melted in his arms.
In the space of a time that seems like less than the blink of an eye, Janet stood along the shore watching the ship that was carrying Patrick disappear behind the bend as it made its way down the Columbia River to the Pacific. Tears streamed down her cheeks. It would be six months before she would see that beautiful man again. Their time together over the weekend had only served to reinforce to her that she was, in fact, deeply and painfully in love with him. Even though they had only known each other a short time, she felt as if she had finally met her soul mate. It was going to be an eternity before he returned, though.
In the days, weeks, and months that followed, Janet constantly thought of Patrick. She wrote him a letter every other day and never seemed to run out of things to write to him about. From trivial day-to-day stuff to risque descriptions of what they would do when he returned, she lost herself in her letters to Patrick. His replys were irregular and infrequent at first, but she still cherished every word of them. He wanted to get out of the Marines and had alluded to taking her and running off to some exotic local to get married.
When she finally realized that she was pregnant about six weeks later, it wasn't even a shock to her. She just knew that Patrick would be so happy! They would need to get married as soon as he returned, and the thought of being 6 months pregnant in a wedding dress was horrifying... but it didn't offset the joy that she felt about the little baby inside her and the fact that her dream was getting closer. She wrote a long letter trying her best to be tactful about explaining the situation and carefully optomistic about laying out their plans.
Another month went by, she checked her mail drawer every day, but there was still no reply from Patrick. Doubt crept into her thoughts more and more. Another month, still no reply. She sent a series of follow-up letters trying to explain herself and the way she was feeling. Nothing came back. She cried every night for the last 2 months.
A letter came just weeks before Patrick was supposed to return. She looked at the envelope, it was addressed to her from Staff Sergeant Boyle. The name didn't not ring a bell. She opened the letter and began reading, "Janet, I regret to inform you that Patrick has died in the service of his country..." Her vision blurred and she dropped the letter as she sank to her knees in anguish.
The man of her dreams was gone, forever.
Vancouver, WA -1954
Janet would see him again tonight. Patrick was always there on Friday night, but this time they had a real date! The man was the very definition of sexy and had a personality to match. She smiled, just slightly, remembering what he had told her the last time they had been together. He would be leaving for a tour next week, though, and she already felt like she missed him.
She had joined the US Women Marine Corps a few years earlier and left her small town in Utah hoping to travel the world. The recruiters had come to her school and done their presentation. It seemed to her to be her best chance at escaping the dull, small town life that she had always despised.
Janet had never felt close to her family. She had been adopted and had never known her biological parents. She felt a distinct tension with her sister Barbara, who was the natural child of her adoptive parents, whom she felt did their best for both of them but somehow it wasn’t quite enough. All her life she had dreamed of leaving.
So one day, just a few weeks after turning eighteen, she got on a bus and left. Six weeks of boot camp and a short stay in Quantico, VA wasn’t exactly what she had bargained for, though. She didn’t really like the other women much and the regiment was stifling. The simple fact of the matter was that she didn’t love the Marine Corps and never would.
But this current assignment wasn’t so bad. Vancouver, Washington was a pretty nice place besides the fact that it rained a lot. Her job at the warehouse sorting and repairing uniforms wasn’t so bad either, especially since she had some interaction with some of the men. One of these men, Patrick, she had become particularly fond of. They met the first week she was on base when he came in to have a few uniforms altered. When he first looked into her eyes, she knew that they had something special.
Patrick's buddies were not very nice, though. Janet guessed that was probably to be expected from hard men like they were, seasoned killers still fresh from the Korean War blood bath. Patrick also had the killer element, but he had so much more as well. She would get lost in the sound of his voice when he talked, and when he touched her it sent chills up her spine. It was magical. Lost in a fairy tale daydream, she imagined her and Patrick in their house overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Kids playing in the backyard and hot, delicious smells coming from the kitchen while they frolicked in their upstairs bed on a lazy summer afternoon. It was all very clear to her. This was the man of her dreams.
"You feeling alright darlin'?" Patrick asked, breaking into the daydream. Janet shook herself, smiled, and looked deeply into his deep gray eyes, "Of course I am honey, I was just imagining you and me on a beach somewhere..." she trailed off, knowing that his imagination was working with the scenario and feeling the color in her cheeks. The club was loud and smoky, glasses clanged and chairs squeaked on the tile floor, but the space between them felt serene and beautiful. "After I get back from this next tour, we can make a trip out to the coast. How would you like that?" he asked. "Oh Patrick, I can't wait!" Janet replied breathlessly. "OK, honey..." Patrick had that look in his eyes as he lit an unfiltered Chesterfield cigarette and inhaled deeply, "but tonight, how about we get a room at the Mcmenamins and celebrate the moment?" Janet nearly melted in his arms.
In the space of a time that seems like less than the blink of an eye, Janet stood along the shore watching the ship that was carrying Patrick disappear behind the bend as it made its way down the Columbia River to the Pacific. Tears streamed down her cheeks. It would be six months before she would see that beautiful man again. Their time together over the weekend had only served to reinforce to her that she was, in fact, deeply and painfully in love with him. Even though they had only known each other a short time, she felt as if she had finally met her soul mate. It was going to be an eternity before he returned, though.
In the days, weeks, and months that followed, Janet constantly thought of Patrick. She wrote him a letter every other day and never seemed to run out of things to write to him about. From trivial day-to-day stuff to risque descriptions of what they would do when he returned, she lost herself in her letters to Patrick. His replys were irregular and infrequent at first, but she still cherished every word of them. He wanted to get out of the Marines and had alluded to taking her and running off to some exotic local to get married.
When she finally realized that she was pregnant about six weeks later, it wasn't even a shock to her. She just knew that Patrick would be so happy! They would need to get married as soon as he returned, and the thought of being 6 months pregnant in a wedding dress was horrifying... but it didn't offset the joy that she felt about the little baby inside her and the fact that her dream was getting closer. She wrote a long letter trying her best to be tactful about explaining the situation and carefully optomistic about laying out their plans.
Another month went by, she checked her mail drawer every day, but there was still no reply from Patrick. Doubt crept into her thoughts more and more. Another month, still no reply. She sent a series of follow-up letters trying to explain herself and the way she was feeling. Nothing came back. She cried every night for the last 2 months.
A letter came just weeks before Patrick was supposed to return. She looked at the envelope, it was addressed to her from Staff Sergeant Boyle. The name didn't not ring a bell. She opened the letter and began reading, "Janet, I regret to inform you that Patrick has died in the service of his country..." Her vision blurred and she dropped the letter as she sank to her knees in anguish.
The man of her dreams was gone, forever.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Chapter 1
Scott
College Station, TX -1995
The morning came too soon, as usual. The weekend had been a whirlwind. The band had played its first show on 6th Street in Austin at a Bar called Hondo’s on Saturday night. A friend of a friend managed the club and had let the band play without even hearing a demo.
Even just playing the opening spot, the club was packed and the performance went better than anyone could have expected. Right next door was the famed Steamboat where so many famous acts had cut their teeth through the years. Mark had said "Steamboat here we come!" as we left the club that night.
So the triumphant party spilled over to Sunday. Robert & Billy came over and brought the remnant of a keg from a party they had had the week before. The guitars came out at some point in the early evening, and over the bubbling of fourteen aquariums in the living room, the acoustic jams flowed well into the early morning hours.
Tim and Mark had already left for work, and he was already late for his timed experiment cooking in his lab at the University. He washed up and dressed hurriedly. "Last one out feeds the animals," he muttered as put Rocket outside with Sam and filled up their food and water bowls. He fed Pimmer, threw some fish food in each aquarium, and started for the door.
A thought occurred to him as he reached for the doorknob. "Dammit why do I always do this?" he asked himself as he dropped his backpack in the entryway and went back into the living room. Twenty minutes later, he found himself sitting on the couch with his guitar in his lap, looking at the song he had just written.
"Just one more time so I won’t forget…"
Thank You Mother
As an unborn child
I learned a valuable lesson about love
By virtue of my life
I was rescued from the hands of death
By a woman I have never known
And I thank you Mother
Couldn’t be less perfect
Illegitimate child
Of a sixteen year old
Adopted into respectability by two loving pairs of hands that gave me a home
And loved me
And I thank you Mother
You give me my chance in life
Lord, I thank you Mother on high
You give me my chance in life
You give me my chance in life
You give me my chance…
You have saved my life
When I couldn’t reach out
And when I could scream out for my chance in the world
I want to see the world
Please let me see the world
As an unborn child
I learned a valuable lesson about love
By virtue of my life
I was rescued from the hands of death
By a woman I have never known
And I thank you Mother
Couldn’t be less perfect
Illegitimate child
Of a sixteen year old
Adopted into respectability by two loving pairs of hands that gave me a home
And loved me
And I thank you Mother
You give me my chance in life
Lord, I thank you Mother on high
You give me my chance in life
You give me my chance in life
You give me my chance…
So you turned forty this year
I can’t find you anywhere
But I hope you’re doing fine
I think about you all the time
I don’t have a picture
I don’t know your name
But I know you loved me Momma
And I love you all the same
I go to the University
And I, I do alright
I make good grades
Play my guitar about every night
But as an unborn child
I learned a valuable lesson about love
By virtue of my life
His Mom had always said that his birth mother had been nineteen when he was born, so she would have been forty-three this year. The lyric didn’t work though. Call it poetic license. Besides, he’d been thinking about this for several years now. He’d been thinking more and more about it lately though.
It wasn’t as if he had ever had a problem with being adopted. There was no sense of abandonment or resentment. In fact, being just twenty-two and still in school with long time girlfriend Sandra doing Dental School in San Antonio, he could completely understand how a nineteen year-old girl could feel like she was incapable of properly raising a child.
His own upbringing had been more than adequate. He had never felt like he lacked anything and his adoptive parents had been honest, loving, and supporting of him his whole life. He could not remember them telling him he was adopted, he had just always known. It had never once been an issue.
He did feel guilty from time to time though. All the trouble he had managed to find in High School had probably taken years off of their lives. He remembered them asking him if he wanted a little brother or sister when he was younger. He thought he remembered saying "Yes" but for some reason or another, they had never adopted another child.
While on his way to school on his bike, he continued to recite the melody and some of the words to his new song. It was simple, but he had been choked up several times while writing it. ’That’s the mark of a good song,’ he thought. ’You never cry when you do it in public anyways.’
Kyle Field loomed in the distance and as usual he felt a sense of pride that he had become a Texas Aggie. Leaving California and coming to Texas A&M University had been a new beginning for him. He had graduated with a B.S. in 1993 and decided he loved the place so much that he would stay and go to grad school. "She would be so proud of me," he thought as he raced toward his lab and the microbe experiment that was going to probably have to be repeated.
Upon arrival to his lab, he found a technician underneath his work bench and wires going this way and that. As he stood there with a confused look on his face, Dr. Z walked up "We’re getting the internet!" He said excitedly. "Cool!" Scott answered. They had had ’the net’ in the computer labs for a year or so but he hated the computer labs. At the time, there were only two graduate students using this lab, and the other one was hardly ever there. Besides having to share with Ramona, the lab technician, the computer was pretty much his.
Another thought occurred to him, ’There’s hundreds of thousands of people on there by now, maybe I can search for my birth mother on it!’
Later that evening, Scott, Tim, and Mark sat around the living room of their rent house on Brothers Blvd., watching the fish and talking. "We got the internet in my lab today," Scott announced. "Man that’s awesome!" Tim replied. "I got on this thing called the IRC at the lab the other day," Mark added, "there’s thousands of different chat rooms full of people talking about stuff! Its mostly sex though, the wildest, most fucked up shit you could imagine… but I found a room full of people talking about real estate stuff, it was pretty awesome… they answered a lot of my questions." "Yeah it’s a trip there’s so much stuff on there!" Scott continued, "I still can’t believe email is free! That’s so crazy I can email anyone anywhere in the world for free! Insane! Totally insane!"
"So I wrote a new song this morning wanna hear it?" Scott switched gears. "Yeah," "Sure," Mark and Tim answered reaching for their guitar and bass respectively. "Let me get my words real quick," Scott said leaving the room for a second and returning with his guitar and the notebook paper with the lyrics.
"Whoa, that’s heavy," Mark said at the conclusion of the song. Neither he nor Tim had joined in at any point. Both of them just sat there, dumbfounded. Finally, Tim asked, "So how does it feel to be adopted? I mean, it must be weird…"
"It doesn’t feel like anything," Scott responded, shrugging. "I never used to think about it much, but lately I just think that it is weird to never know the person that gave birth to you… it’s not like I feel I’m missing anything, there’s just a blank space there. I wish I had a picture of her."
A few days later Scott and Mark bumped into each other at the front door. Scott was leaving and Mark was just getting home. "You going to open mike night tonight?" Scott asked. "Nah, I’m tired I’m going pass on this one." Mark replied. "Fine then, so… no lead on my new song then?" Scott tried to make him feel guilty. "You don’t need a lead on that song anyway, besides I have to study for this test." Mark pointed to the real estate book in his hands.
The singer/songwriter night had been a regular routine for them, but since they had found a drummer and taught Tim how to play bass, they had begun to frequent it less and less. Scott was the only one that made it on a regular basis anymore. For him it pushed him to write new material all the time. You got to play three songs and, when he played solo, he always tried to play original songs that nobody had heard before. This week, he had the one new song and two others that he hadn’t played yet.
Singer/Songwriter night was pretty busy this time. Roy Gene and most all of the "irregulars" were there. Scott showed up a little late and signed his name at the bottom of a long list of players, most of them recognizable but a few he hadn’t seen before. He bought a beer and sat down next to Ron Pico, the best left handed, upside down guitar player since Jimi Hendrix. "Got a new one tonight!" he said to Ron. "Cool!" Ron said, "You want me to run lead for ya?" "Nah, it doesn’t really beg for one… thanks though." Scott answered. "Besides, I’ll be pretty lit by the time I’m up if I’m not careful!" "Don’t worry Scotty, we’ll all be lit by then, just like usual! That’s why I got here early!" They both laughed.
So, player after player played their three songs that night. Some good, some not so good, but the camaraderie was always exceptional. More people drifted in to listen later on as usual, and before he knew it, it was Scott’s turn to play. True to form, he’d had a couple too many, but it had never deterred him before and it wasn’t going to on this night either. Short on talent, but heavy on inspiration, he rolled the songs out week after week irregardless of the circumstances.
He used this singer/songwriter thing to test himself and his songs. Years later he would say that this is where he became a "singer/songwriter" for life. He never rehearsed what he was going to say or anything besides the three songs he was ’bringing to the table’ that night. The Stage at the Third Floor Cantina was huge and the sound system was first rate. Alone on the stage, enveloped in sound, oftentimes it felt to him like he was floating in space.
The first two songs flew by, just like they always did. The crowd was appreciative, applauding and hooting. There were quite a few non "irregulars" there that night including a large group up near the front. He assumed they were there for one of the players playing after him, but still a good opportunity to grab some fresh ears.
"I wrote this song on Monday," he started out and began to play the song. It was easier to play in public, he didn’t get choked up on the soft part and he didn’t mess up on the melody change at the end. It was fast, as usual he played it faster live than he had been rehearsing it at home. Finally, the blur of rhythm and rhyme came to its conclusion, "….and I thank you…"
He heard her before he saw her, realizing that he’d played the entire song with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes in time to see the girl in the front row lurch out of her chair and run out of the club, sobbing. For what seemed like an eternity, everything was uncomfortably quiet. Scott just sat there on the stool in the middle of the stage, eyes wide with disbelief, everyone staring back.
Its hard to comprehend the series of thoughts flowing through the hearts and minds of all those people after everyone at different levels realized that he had just sliced open the guts of society, politics, religion, life, death, adoption, abortion... in 3 minutes, he’d ran an editorial on being adopted instead of being aborted at high volume to a bunch of college students. He was horrified. He decided to never play the song for anybody again, unless it was her.
Roy Gene saved the day by thanking Scott and announcing the next act.
College Station, TX -1995
The morning came too soon, as usual. The weekend had been a whirlwind. The band had played its first show on 6th Street in Austin at a Bar called Hondo’s on Saturday night. A friend of a friend managed the club and had let the band play without even hearing a demo.
Even just playing the opening spot, the club was packed and the performance went better than anyone could have expected. Right next door was the famed Steamboat where so many famous acts had cut their teeth through the years. Mark had said "Steamboat here we come!" as we left the club that night.
So the triumphant party spilled over to Sunday. Robert & Billy came over and brought the remnant of a keg from a party they had had the week before. The guitars came out at some point in the early evening, and over the bubbling of fourteen aquariums in the living room, the acoustic jams flowed well into the early morning hours.
Tim and Mark had already left for work, and he was already late for his timed experiment cooking in his lab at the University. He washed up and dressed hurriedly. "Last one out feeds the animals," he muttered as put Rocket outside with Sam and filled up their food and water bowls. He fed Pimmer, threw some fish food in each aquarium, and started for the door.
A thought occurred to him as he reached for the doorknob. "Dammit why do I always do this?" he asked himself as he dropped his backpack in the entryway and went back into the living room. Twenty minutes later, he found himself sitting on the couch with his guitar in his lap, looking at the song he had just written.
"Just one more time so I won’t forget…"
Thank You Mother
As an unborn child
I learned a valuable lesson about love
By virtue of my life
I was rescued from the hands of death
By a woman I have never known
And I thank you Mother
Couldn’t be less perfect
Illegitimate child
Of a sixteen year old
Adopted into respectability by two loving pairs of hands that gave me a home
And loved me
And I thank you Mother
You give me my chance in life
Lord, I thank you Mother on high
You give me my chance in life
You give me my chance in life
You give me my chance…
You have saved my life
When I couldn’t reach out
And when I could scream out for my chance in the world
I want to see the world
Please let me see the world
As an unborn child
I learned a valuable lesson about love
By virtue of my life
I was rescued from the hands of death
By a woman I have never known
And I thank you Mother
Couldn’t be less perfect
Illegitimate child
Of a sixteen year old
Adopted into respectability by two loving pairs of hands that gave me a home
And loved me
And I thank you Mother
You give me my chance in life
Lord, I thank you Mother on high
You give me my chance in life
You give me my chance in life
You give me my chance…
So you turned forty this year
I can’t find you anywhere
But I hope you’re doing fine
I think about you all the time
I don’t have a picture
I don’t know your name
But I know you loved me Momma
And I love you all the same
I go to the University
And I, I do alright
I make good grades
Play my guitar about every night
But as an unborn child
I learned a valuable lesson about love
By virtue of my life
His Mom had always said that his birth mother had been nineteen when he was born, so she would have been forty-three this year. The lyric didn’t work though. Call it poetic license. Besides, he’d been thinking about this for several years now. He’d been thinking more and more about it lately though.
It wasn’t as if he had ever had a problem with being adopted. There was no sense of abandonment or resentment. In fact, being just twenty-two and still in school with long time girlfriend Sandra doing Dental School in San Antonio, he could completely understand how a nineteen year-old girl could feel like she was incapable of properly raising a child.
His own upbringing had been more than adequate. He had never felt like he lacked anything and his adoptive parents had been honest, loving, and supporting of him his whole life. He could not remember them telling him he was adopted, he had just always known. It had never once been an issue.
He did feel guilty from time to time though. All the trouble he had managed to find in High School had probably taken years off of their lives. He remembered them asking him if he wanted a little brother or sister when he was younger. He thought he remembered saying "Yes" but for some reason or another, they had never adopted another child.
While on his way to school on his bike, he continued to recite the melody and some of the words to his new song. It was simple, but he had been choked up several times while writing it. ’That’s the mark of a good song,’ he thought. ’You never cry when you do it in public anyways.’
Kyle Field loomed in the distance and as usual he felt a sense of pride that he had become a Texas Aggie. Leaving California and coming to Texas A&M University had been a new beginning for him. He had graduated with a B.S. in 1993 and decided he loved the place so much that he would stay and go to grad school. "She would be so proud of me," he thought as he raced toward his lab and the microbe experiment that was going to probably have to be repeated.
Upon arrival to his lab, he found a technician underneath his work bench and wires going this way and that. As he stood there with a confused look on his face, Dr. Z walked up "We’re getting the internet!" He said excitedly. "Cool!" Scott answered. They had had ’the net’ in the computer labs for a year or so but he hated the computer labs. At the time, there were only two graduate students using this lab, and the other one was hardly ever there. Besides having to share with Ramona, the lab technician, the computer was pretty much his.
Another thought occurred to him, ’There’s hundreds of thousands of people on there by now, maybe I can search for my birth mother on it!’
Later that evening, Scott, Tim, and Mark sat around the living room of their rent house on Brothers Blvd., watching the fish and talking. "We got the internet in my lab today," Scott announced. "Man that’s awesome!" Tim replied. "I got on this thing called the IRC at the lab the other day," Mark added, "there’s thousands of different chat rooms full of people talking about stuff! Its mostly sex though, the wildest, most fucked up shit you could imagine… but I found a room full of people talking about real estate stuff, it was pretty awesome… they answered a lot of my questions." "Yeah it’s a trip there’s so much stuff on there!" Scott continued, "I still can’t believe email is free! That’s so crazy I can email anyone anywhere in the world for free! Insane! Totally insane!"
"So I wrote a new song this morning wanna hear it?" Scott switched gears. "Yeah," "Sure," Mark and Tim answered reaching for their guitar and bass respectively. "Let me get my words real quick," Scott said leaving the room for a second and returning with his guitar and the notebook paper with the lyrics.
"Whoa, that’s heavy," Mark said at the conclusion of the song. Neither he nor Tim had joined in at any point. Both of them just sat there, dumbfounded. Finally, Tim asked, "So how does it feel to be adopted? I mean, it must be weird…"
"It doesn’t feel like anything," Scott responded, shrugging. "I never used to think about it much, but lately I just think that it is weird to never know the person that gave birth to you… it’s not like I feel I’m missing anything, there’s just a blank space there. I wish I had a picture of her."
A few days later Scott and Mark bumped into each other at the front door. Scott was leaving and Mark was just getting home. "You going to open mike night tonight?" Scott asked. "Nah, I’m tired I’m going pass on this one." Mark replied. "Fine then, so… no lead on my new song then?" Scott tried to make him feel guilty. "You don’t need a lead on that song anyway, besides I have to study for this test." Mark pointed to the real estate book in his hands.
The singer/songwriter night had been a regular routine for them, but since they had found a drummer and taught Tim how to play bass, they had begun to frequent it less and less. Scott was the only one that made it on a regular basis anymore. For him it pushed him to write new material all the time. You got to play three songs and, when he played solo, he always tried to play original songs that nobody had heard before. This week, he had the one new song and two others that he hadn’t played yet.
Singer/Songwriter night was pretty busy this time. Roy Gene and most all of the "irregulars" were there. Scott showed up a little late and signed his name at the bottom of a long list of players, most of them recognizable but a few he hadn’t seen before. He bought a beer and sat down next to Ron Pico, the best left handed, upside down guitar player since Jimi Hendrix. "Got a new one tonight!" he said to Ron. "Cool!" Ron said, "You want me to run lead for ya?" "Nah, it doesn’t really beg for one… thanks though." Scott answered. "Besides, I’ll be pretty lit by the time I’m up if I’m not careful!" "Don’t worry Scotty, we’ll all be lit by then, just like usual! That’s why I got here early!" They both laughed.
So, player after player played their three songs that night. Some good, some not so good, but the camaraderie was always exceptional. More people drifted in to listen later on as usual, and before he knew it, it was Scott’s turn to play. True to form, he’d had a couple too many, but it had never deterred him before and it wasn’t going to on this night either. Short on talent, but heavy on inspiration, he rolled the songs out week after week irregardless of the circumstances.
He used this singer/songwriter thing to test himself and his songs. Years later he would say that this is where he became a "singer/songwriter" for life. He never rehearsed what he was going to say or anything besides the three songs he was ’bringing to the table’ that night. The Stage at the Third Floor Cantina was huge and the sound system was first rate. Alone on the stage, enveloped in sound, oftentimes it felt to him like he was floating in space.
The first two songs flew by, just like they always did. The crowd was appreciative, applauding and hooting. There were quite a few non "irregulars" there that night including a large group up near the front. He assumed they were there for one of the players playing after him, but still a good opportunity to grab some fresh ears.
"I wrote this song on Monday," he started out and began to play the song. It was easier to play in public, he didn’t get choked up on the soft part and he didn’t mess up on the melody change at the end. It was fast, as usual he played it faster live than he had been rehearsing it at home. Finally, the blur of rhythm and rhyme came to its conclusion, "….and I thank you…"
He heard her before he saw her, realizing that he’d played the entire song with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes in time to see the girl in the front row lurch out of her chair and run out of the club, sobbing. For what seemed like an eternity, everything was uncomfortably quiet. Scott just sat there on the stool in the middle of the stage, eyes wide with disbelief, everyone staring back.
Its hard to comprehend the series of thoughts flowing through the hearts and minds of all those people after everyone at different levels realized that he had just sliced open the guts of society, politics, religion, life, death, adoption, abortion... in 3 minutes, he’d ran an editorial on being adopted instead of being aborted at high volume to a bunch of college students. He was horrified. He decided to never play the song for anybody again, unless it was her.
Roy Gene saved the day by thanking Scott and announcing the next act.
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