Skates

And here I am. Am I 57 or 58? I honestly lose track. I’ve had such an incredible, improbable life, and despite all the magic, I still feel empty. So many loves I’ve had, and I found new ways to push them away. Drugs surely played a part. Other times it was just letting distance grow and not being able to swim back to her and try and pull her to shore. A few years ago, maybe 5? Maybe 6? I wound up again in rehab after doing what I’ve always done. Giving in. I eventually just give in. But there were people at this place who put me on a path that led to this very moment. These beautiful people who I still love dearly today. I’m sitting here typing, and I feel nervous. I feel somewhat afraid.

Tomorrow morning I’ll drive to Culver city and see two clients at a sober living house. Both are from Montreal. One is a 23-year-old kid who has trouble even believing he’s human. He’s done things that he can’t even wrap his head around. Violent things. Rage-filled things. Drug-filled things. But he never asked for this life. And he’s trying his best to change The other is an Ex NHL player who shot it all away with gambling, coke and lies. The kind of guy you’d want as a best friend. Just a good guy with a fucked up, wholly hidden second life. And I’ll try to help them. I’ll try to make some sort of inroads into the heinous things that were done to them when they were just little kids. Imagine being raped by some motherfucker and having to hear him tell you he loves you. Imagine that. Imagine what it does to a kid. I’d just as soon put a bullet in his abuser’s face as I would help this client. And I just found a gun in my house. It’s in a metal box in my bedroom. It just showed up. Someone else’s stuff I’ve been holding for them after they left for parts unknown. It’s just sitting there in this little metal box. I’d use it happily. But that’s not available to me, so I can only do what I can. I’ll try my best. I’ll use EMDR, a therapy I fully respect but have almost no confidence in my ability to do it.

I truly love being a therapist. That’s what I call myself. I’m allowed to call myself that. I turned away from getting a license when the state of California told me I wasn’t a “good fit,” as I have a DUI in my past. I fought it for a year. Eventually, they offered me a three-year probation offer. I said yes. Weeks later, when the documents arrived in the mail and I read what I was meant to agree to, I said fuck ‘em. I don’t need a license. I’m better than that.

So I sit here and listen to a song I haven’t heard for years. When I was touring with my band Lifter in the mid-nineties, some guy named Hayden put a record out. Our manager, Scott, loved it. It wasn’t my kind of stuff. But there was one song. One song that just yanked at all of my cells and chilled all of my blood. It was called “Skates.” The singer is a kid working in a department store who sees a sad middle-aged man come in. He’s distraught. He wants ice skates. It’s summer. He doesn’t care about the price. He wants the best. The singer does what he can to find the best skates for this guy. And why does he need skates so bad? Well, Jesus, to tell you that is to dissipate all the magic. He needs them for reasons I hope none of you ever have to experience. He needs them for the same reasons the guys I’ll try and help tomorrow need me. He needs them, and they need me because life can really fuck you up. It can rip you apart and leave you clinging on out of fear and anger alone. Just grasping onto to hate and worry like some vine, some branch.

Tomorrow at about 10Am, I’ll pull up in front of this sober living house in Culver City. I’ll be wearing my teal suit and carrying my Haliburton case with all my notebooks and EMDR devices in it. I’ll walk in, and the dogs will run up to me excitedly. They love me. Ona, in particular. A beautiful pitbull says hi with her mouth as she bites down on your hand. It’s all she has, and I love her for it. I’ll bend over and hug and kiss her. Other dogs will orbit around, but Ona stays latched onto me. The guys will offer me coffee, and I take some and ask what room we’re gonna be in. Hopefully, it’s the office. I need a good outlet for the EMDR deal.

We’ll walk up, and we’ll talk a bit. I’ll sense the nervousness and also the hope that they’ll feel. They’ve carried this destruction for years. They’ve been looking for new skates for so long. They need to save someone. Maybe them. Maybe their parents. Maybe, everyone they’ve loved and lied to. We relate on this level. I tell them everything about me. They trust me. At least, I believe they do.

We’ll start. We’ll try. We’ll see if the skates fit. And we’ll skate until there’s just no river left. We’ll skate unto we reach the beautiful shining desert. And I’ll pull them aside and say, “I love you, man. I’m not going anywhere.”