Rock and a Hard Place

chapter 18

Libby stepped quietly through the door of the Milwaukee group home. Could she be lucky enough that her housemates would be asleep?

“Yo, girl. You got me anything good tonight?” Darnel, a tal skinny black kid, asked from the couch where he lay watching a reality show featuring rappers and drug dealers.

“This is al they had left.” She tossed him a white take out-bag. “Maybe there’l be extras from the fish fry tomorrow.” Days after arriving at the group home, Libby got a job working at a restaurant in the mal. If she was going to be stuck living in this hel hole, she planned to avoid it as much as possible.

Only two weeks passed since her arrival on Thanksgiving Day. It felt like months.

“Hot damn, you done nice girl, but where’s my rings?” Darnel stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth. He ate constantly, but was the skinniest guy she’d ever seen. The first time she laid eyes on him she’d been terrified of his gangster appearance--baggy pants, metal chains and mega attitude. Now she knew his image was mostly an act, probably for survival’s sake. He talked smack but so far was harmless.

“Sorry, no onion rings tonight. Maybe next time.” In an effort to blend in and not make enemies, Libby always brought back leftovers from work.

She walked down the halway, her grip on her bag tightened like a vise as she approached the bedroom. Silently, she opened the door to the room she shared with Juanita, a volatile psychopath, whose single goal in life was to terrorize Libby; and Kely, a pale girl who dyed her hair the color of death, wore dark eye makeup and dressed in black. Juanita sat on her messy bed sheets cleaning her fingernails with a switchblade as she rocked to an iPod. Kely slept soundly in her depressed state.

Ignoring Juanita, Libby went straight to her side of the room.

She grabbed her shower stuff. Living at the home was a cross between a colege dorm and juvenile hal. You kept your stuff to yourself. You didn’t share, and stealing was a common occurrence.

Libby’s things disappeared on a regular basis. Within hours of her arrival and Thanksgiving Day the phone Peter gave her was gone, her last tie to him permanently cut. She’d bet money Juanita was the klepto. She kept her money with her everywhere she went, including the shower.

She grabbed a long t-shirt to sleep in and padded to the door. A swish and then thud rang in her ear. Libby froze. Juanita’s knife stuck in the wal just inches from her face. She held her breath, afraid to turn around.

“Hey blondie, what’s the big hurry? Ain’t ya gonna say hi?” Juanita lounged against the headboard, a snarl on her face.

Libby ran out of the room. At least she knew the knife was in the wal and couldn’t hurt her. Juanita’s cruel laughter folowed down the hal.

Inside the bathroom, she locked the door and rested her head against it. Her hand gripped the door knob until she could breathe again. She hated that girl. Her mom always said it was wrong to hate, that everyone had good in them. But Mom never met Juanita.

She closed the lid to the toilet. The boys always left it up. She sat down and took a few moments to pul herself together, but it was getting harder. It took her al just to survive.

Scott, the leader of the group home, was nice enough, but he didn’t have a clue what went on. He was al ‘peace out and love your neighbor.’ Why a pacifist wanted a job surrounded by teenage derelicts she couldn’t imagine. His easygoing manner kept the kids a little less stressed, but he did a lousy job with behavior management.

She looked around the smal bathroom. In here she was safe from hassle, in the only spot she could be alone. Before she took her shower, she grabbed cleaning supplies from under the sink and gave the room a quick once over. Everything in her world was a mess. At least she could shower in a bathroom that didn’t have smears on the mirror and the guys’ whiskers al over the sink. In a couple of minutes, the bathroom countertop and mirror were clean and smeled like lemons.

Libby inhaled deeply, and released some of her stress. She turned on the shower and organized her stuff, pretending it was her own private place that no one would invade or touch. After folding her work clothes, she stepped under the weak shower pressure and let warm water rol over her body. She tried to imagine she was in a magical place under a waterfal instead of this hel hole.

She stood under the flow long after she was clean, wishing she could wash away the reality of her world. Her thoughts turned to Peter; she missed him so much. At least she didn’t cry each time she thought of him anymore. She tried to cal him from the group home phone as soon as she arrived. She needed to make sure Garrett wasn’t puling a cruel joke, but Peter’s cel number wasn’t in service. He must have changed his number to keep her away.

She even caled his record company, but couldn’t get past the operator. Peter was now a part of her past, like every other happy part of life. No knight in shining armor for Libby.

The water turned cool. She stepped out and dressed for bed.

With wet hair hanging down her back and her arms filed, she left the security of the bathroom to return to hel.

Halfway down the hal, a door opened and BJ, a teenager the size of a linebacker, stepped out and blocked her way.

Shit.

BJ was in for sexualy assaulting a teacher. His parents had money so his high priced lawyers were able to convince the judge to prosecute him as a minor, even though BJ looked more like thirty than seventeen. He scared the hel out of her.

“I thought I heard the shower going and hoped it was you.

You’re always up late working hard. You need to relax. In fact, why don’t you join me and I can help.” He winked as if she agreed he was a great catch.

Libby bit the inside of her cheek. There was no good way to answer BJ, and there was no way she was stepping inside his room.

“What’s the matter? You scared? You don’t need to be scared of me. I’l be real gentle.” BJ walked toward her, put his mammoth arms against the wal and leaned over her. He took a lock of damp hair that hung over her shoulder and sniffed. “You smel real good. I could just eat you up.”

Libby’s stomach churned as she gripped her clothes and towel. She could turn around and run back to the bathroom. Or scream and hope Scott heard and would come to her rescue. But his room was on the other end of the house and he slept to the hum of a fan.

Before she decided what to do, Darnel came strutting down the halway.

“Hey man, waz up? You guys having a party and didn’t invite me?”

BJ glared at him sending a message of cease and desist, but Darnel ignored him.

“I’d love to join ya, but I’s need my beauty sleep. Now if you’l excuse me, I be on my way.”

BJ stepped aside to let Darnel by. Darnel pushed Libby through the quick opening and toward her bedroom door before BJ

realized what happened.

“Ladies first, don’t you have some big test tomorrow or something? You shouldn’t stay up so late.” Darnel said with a pointed look at Libby.

Libby quickly entered her shadowed bedroom and mouthed the words ‘thank you’ so BJ wouldn’t hear. Tomorrow she’d bring onion rings home even if she had to pay for them herself. Inside the room the street light outside iluminated the space. Juanita slept on her back, her mouth open, as tunes from her iPod blared in her ears. Relieved, Libby put her stuff away and climbed into the lumpy bed.

Two close cals in one night; she wished she had the guts to run away, but there was nowhere to go. Darnel told her plenty of kids ran away and the authorities were too backlogged to care or go after them. She asked why kids stayed; he said most stayed either to pay their dues for their crimes or because it was a warm bed and three squares a day. For Darnel, she believed he lived a safer life here than on the streets.

She fel asleep wishing she and Peter had runaway together when he first suggested it.



# # #

“Peter?”

“Yeah, Mom,” he walked to the side of stage.

“Let’s go talk in the dressing room.” She wanted to break it to him gently, privately, but he wouldn’t folow. Peter knew it was about Libby.

“What? You found her? Where is she?” His eyes grew wide with excitement.

“It’s a long story.” It hurt to see his enthusiasm.

“Tel me,” he said, eager for news.

Karen glanced around. Adam and Garrett watched from their places on stage. Crew members littered the arena securing equipment and completing final security checks.

“I’m sorry.” She tried to hide her regret as this was not the news she’d hoped to give.

“What? What’d you find out?” Peter demanded.

“We tried to find her, but she’s gone, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean gone? Gone where?” Peter’s confusion broke her heart. He was too young to feel such disappointment.

“We don’t know,” she tried to soothe him with words. “The authorities arrested her aunt for seling drugs. The authorities couldn’t locate Libby’s father and so they placed her in foster care.” She watched him closely. For once his brothers stayed silent.

Not a sound echoed in the arena as the crew looked on.

“How could they do that to her?” He shoved his hands through his hair and locked his fingers above his head, turning away to hide the anguish in his eyes.

“She tried to cal you.”

He turned back to her, hoping for better news, as he fought back emotions.

“Several times.” She fumbled with some crumpled slips of paper. “The front office took these. They’re dated a couple days after her aunt was arrested.” Everyone in the arena witnessed his pain. If only she could have told him in private. “We caled the number, Peter. It belonged to a pay phone at a mal in Milwaukee.” As the bad news continued, Peter stood paralyzed. His eyes became glassy as he fought back tears, each piece of information worse. She could see the heavy weight of her words bear down on him.

“Libby must have waited for hours. The last message said she was sorry.” Karen spoke softly. “I can’t imagine why.” After al she learned about Libby’s situation, it was obvious this girl needed someone to help her, not throw her out into a world of more strangers and fear. She wanted to take the lonely girl in and hug her as her own mother would have.

“Can they find her? There must be a record?” Peter’s voice broke, he turned away, his chest rose with each breath.

“We tried. They won’t release the information. She’s a minor and under custody of the state. It’s the law.”

“This is shit!” He snapped, and let his anger over power his pain. “Libby’s suppose to be at home with her family enjoying life, not locked up in the foster system.” Peter paced. “She’s too sweet and good.” He turned to her, tears roled down his face. “She has no one, Mom, no one,” his words fel to a whisper. “I’m it. I was al she had and now she thinks I abandoned her too!” Karen watched Peter’s pain. She wanted to hold him in her arms and kiss his forehead like she did when he was a little boy, but it wasn’t what he wanted.

Peter paced like a caged animal, his jaw set and eyes wild.

He stopped at the side of the monstrous speakers and pounded them with both fists. A mournful groan roared from him, startling the many who watched. He braced his head on the speakers trying to keep control. His arms shook with rage, his body taut as he restrained himself. Karen saw her little boy for the man he now was.

A young man in love and suffering the cutting pain of a broken heart. His love for this helpless girl tore at him.

He turned and grabbed the edge of a heavy equipment table and up-ended it like a toy. Expensive equipment crashed to the ground. The onlookers exchanged concerned glances. Peter had never behaved like this. He was the quiet one. The bandleader they al counted on no matter what.

His father walked out from backstage where he observed the exchange. “That’s enough, Peter, take a walk,” he spoke quietly, but with a steel tone. “We have a sold out show tonight. Pul yourself together.”

Peter glared at his father, his face tortured and in agony. “You did this,” venom tinged his voice. He noticed the crowd of spectators who stared at him as the best part of his life fel apart.

Without a word or a glance to anyone, Peter walked off the stage and out of the arena.

He puled his hood up to disappear from the world, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets as he braced the cold December air. Not even the colection of fans gathered to catch an early peek at the Jamieson brothers noticed the brooding young man walk from the arena.

His emotions strung tight, he didn’t know what to do.

Dammit! Everything about this situation was wrong. So he wandered the streets, not stopping, not pausing, losing track of the world around him. He didn’t care about the band, the pre-concert interviews or the demanding fans. In any other situation, he would put al these things before personal stuff, but not today. Libby had needed him and now she was lost in some shit hole.

He walked on.

Holow.

Empty.

Then he pictured Libby taken from her home, or at least her temporary home. They were supposed to be there for each other.

Correction, he was supposed to be there for her. He needed to pul her out of the terrible life forced upon her. But there was no place to go. Who would help him? How could he ever find her?

His throat choked up like a vice. He trudged on as the late afternoon sun set and winter darkness threw a cold heavy blanket over his world.

Where was she? Was she okay? A foster home sounded scary and dangerous. He’d heard about kids being mistreated in foster homes. Libby was his rock, but she was also a fragile soul.

She’d lost too much. More than anything he wanted to make her world right. He wanted to steal her away and hide her in their roling tin can of a home.

The wind picked up and tiny shards of sleet whipped at him as he pushed forward against the wind. The sharp sting of ice hit his face. His emotions deadened, his whole being numb.

He walked on.

Much later he shook off the haze and realized he didn’t know the time or where he was. He’d walked so long, locked in his thoughts. It was dark, the stores were closed for the night. He peered in a nearby window. It was wel after eight.

Shit. The warm up band would be finished and Jamieson would take the stage any minute. He stood on the cold empty sidewalk and battled with himself. He wanted to walk forever and never go back, but an inner voice stopped him. Dammit! His sense of responsibility won. He turned back in the direction of the arena.

He must be several miles away. He didn’t have his phone, but did have his walet. He picked up the pace and started to jog. After a few blocks he hailed a cab.

“Nokia Arena, please.” He climbed into the warm vehicle.

“How long wil it take?”

“Fifteen minutes or more in this traffic. There’s a big concert tonight,” the cabbie replied.

“Yeah, I know.” He reached back and puled out his walet.

“Make it as quick as you can.” Peter slipped several twenty dolar bils through the payment slot. “Stage door please.” He leaned his head back against the seat, staring blankly. His body began to shiver, but not from the cold.

Twenty minutes later Peter stepped out of the cab, through the stage door and back stage. The crammed area held dozens more people than normal, al in a panic. Al eyes turned to Peter.

“Where the hel have you been?” His father belowed. “Do you know what time it is? There are thousands of fans who paid a lot of money to see Jamieson tonight.”

“I’m here now,” Peter responded duly as he moved through the crowded space, ignoring al.

A loud chant of “Jamieson, Jamieson, Jamieson,” echoed from the fans out front.

“Thank God. You had me scared to death.” His mother rushed forward and hugged him tightly. “You’re freezing. Oh honey, where’ve you been?”

He shook off her embrace and walked past the crew and technicians as they yeled into radios and rushed around to start the show. He stepped onto the lift that would deliver him to his grand entrance, the muscles in his shoulders tight knots.

The music in the arena rose to epic levels as techies used hand signals to indicate the show was a go and the countdown started. A fog machine filed the stage in a mysterious haze as lights and lasers glowed.

“Are you ready to party?!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the mammoth speaker system. The crowd responded in a deafening roar.

“Geez, Pete, could you cut it any closer!” Garrett looked ready to blow.

Peter stared through him, unconcerned. He wanted this night over.

“You wearing that?” Adam asked, guitar in hand.

Peter looked down at the sleet soaked sweatshirt, puled it over his head and flung it away revealing a ragged t-shirt. He stared straight ahead seeing nothing, his chest tight and suffocating. Adam and Garrett exchanged concerned looks; Peter ignored them. A tech ran up and attached his headset, securing it quickly without a word. Around them chaos reigned as the crew launched the show.

The lift jerked and rose as spot lights circled the stage and the announcer spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Jamieson is in the building!” The crowd erupted in screams. The lift stopped high above the stage. The view was staggering. The spots iluminated the three young entertainers, as if they were statues from the heavens.

This was the last place Peter wanted to be.

He stood lost in thought, not thinking to start the show.

Garrett took over and gave the count. He and Adam hit the strings of their instruments and the music of Jamieson filed the air. On autopilot, Peter went through al the motions of the concert. He channeled his anger and frustration into the pulsing music. His performance was intense, the light side of him nowhere to be seen.

He sang each song with anger and pain. The tender balads became mournful wails of emotion. The high-powered rock numbers a snarl of passion. His eyes closed as he lived each word.

It wasn’t their normal upbeat, chatty concert, but there existed an incredible energy that no audience had ever witnessed.

Peter felt drained with nothing left to give. The final encore ended, and the trio ran off stage.

“Way to channel that anger, Pete,” Garrett smacked him on the back. “We need to piss you off more often.”

“F*ck you,” Peter spat, with a venomous glare. He ripped the headset off and whipped it across the room. He stormed out the same door he came in.