Ambrosia

I knew that I probably should’ve left everything exactly where it was, but curiosity got the best of me, and I picked up the papers to see what he had been working on. Reading the words that he had poured out from his heart into that song broke me. Complete. Devastation.

Need you, like the air I breathe

My Angel, that’s what you are to me

Watching you fall is tearing me apart

When you leave there won’t be much left of my heart

Drawn to him

Pulled to him

You just can’t stay away

I know the end is near,

Getting closer every day

Your happiness is my happiness

Simple but it’s true

That’s why I can never clip your wings

Could never stop you

Because you are

Drawn to him

Pulled to him

You just can’t stay away

I know the end is near,

Getting closer every day

So go to him

Be with him

Set your soul free

I only wish instead of him

It had been me

My perfect angel

That’s what you’ll always be

Yeah, that’s what you’ll always be

There is not a word that exists that could do justice to the way I felt after I read those words. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt as if I was going to internally combust with the emotions pumping throughout my body. I picked up the small square mirror that he had obviously used for his drugs and chunked it across the room, shattering it against the wall. That didn’t make me feel any better. I continued to just sit there in the deafening silence , until I was startled by someone knocking on the door.

“Room service,” a voice called out on the other side of the door.

I jumped up and walked over to let him in, even though I suddenly had no appetite at all. After I signed the ticket and the guy left, I put the food on the table, grabbed my purse and sweater, and went to catch some fresh air. I walked at a snail’s pace down Ocean Drive, looking at all of the hotels, restaurants, gift shops, and tattoo parlors that lined the street. Everything was closed since it was nearly midnight on Christmas night; the serenity and peacefulness of what I was sure normally hectic and chaotic helped calm my manic state.

A little ways down the street, I saw two seagulls walking side by side almost as if they were humans out for a stroll. I sat down on the curb and watched them waddle down the sidewalk towards me, every so often looking at each other as if they were talking. Seeing them made me think of Jonathan Livingston Seagull and reminded me of the lessons of self-forgiveness and courage he was forced to learn. As they got just in front of me, they stopped walking and stood for a split second, both looking right at me. They then took flight, flying off back behind me. I turned to watch them take off into the night’s sky when I noticed the building I had set down in front of: Eternal Truth Tattoo Shop.

Knowing exactly what I needed to do, I jumped up and headed back to the hotel. Once in Mason’s/ my room, I began cleaning up the broken mirror from earlier. I then cleaned his room completely and searched the internet until I found the perfect thing for the project I was going to tackle the following afternoon, anything to keep myself busy until I could get to the hospital. I finally fell asleep around four in the morning, but I had no problems getting up when the alarm clock went off three hours later. I was so anxious to see him. I needed to see him.

Once I was ready to go, I called Cruz to let him know, grabbed Mason’s guitar case, and went to meet him on the lobby. As soon as he saw me get off the elevator, he hurried over to me and picked me up in a tight embrace. His eyes were still swollen but he looked much better than the night before.

“Good morning, Scarlett,” he said borderline cheerfully while looking down at the guitar.

“Morning, Cruz. Did you get some sleep?” I asked.

“Yes, I did. I’m feeling much better. I have such a good feeling about you being here to see him. I can’t wait to get you to the hospital. So you are planning on playing music for him?”

“Cruz,” I warned as we walked towards the door. “I’m not here to get back together with him, and I can’t promise that I’m gonna make anything better. I’m here because I love him as a person and I want him to get better for himself. And yes, I’m hoping that some music might help.”

“Perfect, that’s all I can ask. Now come on.”

On the ride to the hospital, Cruz gave me the background on what had happened. It was hard to hear the details, but I knew that I needed to know. He had told me that ever since they had gone on tour, that both Mason and Sebastian had unraveled out of control at an alarming rate. He said their music was already suffering from it because they were out all night doing who knows what and who knows who, and would then show up for practice strung out and looking like warmed over death. Christmas Eve night everyone had gone to some party at a producer’s house in South Beach, and Mason disappeared with some girl into the house. Hours later when everyone was ready to leave, they went searching for him. Smiley finally found him unconscious in a bathroom with a bunch of drugs and paraphernalia surrounding him. No one knew where the girl was but when they couldn’t get him to wake up for anything and his body was burning up hot, they took him straight to the ER.

The taxi dropped us off at the front door, and I allowed Cruz to lead the way. We found out that they had moved him out of ICU because his vitals remained normal overnight, but he still had not woken up. We found our way to his new room, and Cruz insisted that I go in first by myself. He told me to take as long as I needed; he was going to go find some coffee.

Walking into that room, seeing him hooked up to the IVs and machines, was harder than I thought it would be. I took a deep breath and walked towards his bed to get a better look at him. Setting the guitar down on the floor, I stood there for a minute just taking him in. He was pale and his face was thinner than normal. They had taken his lip ring out and his shaggy hair hadn’t been cut recently. It looked like him, but it didn’t. I reached out and gently rubbed my thumb over his cheek several times, but he did not react.

I sat down in the chair next to him and got the guitar out of the case. I had searched all kinds of music the night before trying to find the right song to express my feelings and hopes for him. The first time I heard P!nk’s The Great Escape, I knew it was perfect.

“Hi Mason, it’s me Scarlett. I’m here,” I began, feeling a bit awkward talking to an unconscious person. “I’m not sure if you can hear me or not, but I just want to tell that I came as soon as I heard what happened.” I took a deep breath trying to keep my cool and not break down crying. “I’m so upset with you doing this yourself. What are you thinking? Ugh… I may just kill you myself when you wake up,” I joked.

“No, really, I’m not even sure what to say. So, I’m doing what all musicians do; I’m gonna sing to you how I feel. I really hope you can hear this…”

Mindful that I was in a hospital and that there were people in the next rooms, I closed my eyes and quietly strummed my guitar, singing my heart out to the lifeless body that lay several feet from me. Through the lyrics I told him that I wasn’t going to allow him to escape this life; I was going to help him use the emotions that he was fighting to get rid of to give him a reason to be a better person; I wasn’t going to let him run away and take the coward’s way out like I had done so many times. I had learned through my own stupidity that wasn’t the answer, and how he had helped me build myself back up when I came back, I was going to do the same for him.

Tears flooded my face, as I put every bit of feeling I had in singing the final lines to him. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. Staring back at me from the hospital bed were the beautiful gray eyes that I had come to love so much.

“Am I in heaven now, Angel?”

EPILOGUE

A Twist in My Story ~ Secondhand Serenade

SCARLETT

Sitting in the chair at the tattoo shop I had sat in front of the day prior, I closed my eyes as the hum of the needle worked steadily across my left shoulder blade. I used the time to collect the thousands of thoughts running through my mind and to plan my next move. There were two things I knew for sure: One, the love I had found with Ash was a timeless, eternal love that only came along once in a lifetime. When I was with him, I truly felt complete. Two, I still loved Mase very much; it was a different kind of love, but love nonetheless. I could not allow him to destroy his life, especially when I felt an enormous amount of guilt as the primary cause for his downfall.

I now had to figure out how to incorporate both of these men into my life without making a bigger mess than I already had. I had up and left Ash and his family on Christmas Day for my ex-boyfriend who had overdosed, and even though he seemed okay with it at the time, I was sure that discussions would ensue when I returned. If the roles had been reversed, I would’ve been furious. However, Mase needed me. He needed my help, love, and support to get his life back together. There was no way I was turning my back on him after the way he took me back when I had returned to Houston. He had helped me to learn to love myself by loving me, and I wanted to do the same for him.

I owed my happiness to both of them. One taught me how to fly like an angel ~ to free my spirit, to accept forgiveness, and to love without restraint. The other had taught me to fly like a butterfly ~ to embrace change, to celebrate innocence and vulnerability, and to open up my soul. Together, they had both given me the courage and the strength to fly with my own wings.

The tattoo artist tapped me to wake me from my daydream, and held up a mirror so that I could see the fresh ink on my back ~ the words Alis Volat Propriis with birds flying out of a feather off my shoulder. I smiled and nodded my head; it was perfect. Even though I wasn’t sure how it would all work out, I had faith it would. Fate would find a way.

“Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding. Find out what you already know and you will see the way to fly.”

― Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull

The End