The Show Must Go On

Maybe in some ways talking to the lawyers was good practice for talking with the plainclothes police officers who wanted to interview me about Claire’s drug use. And maybe listening to Digger weasel out of a lot of speeding tickets and the like helped, too, but let’s not think about that.
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Pretend We’re Dead

If she could have gotten two seats on a flight I think Carynne might have gone with me. But as it was the best option had only one seat left. The plan was to fly me to Atlanta and then I got on a puddle jumper that had only like eight rows or something? And which bounced all around in the turbulence while sounding like something from a World War II movie. For all my flight to LA had been relatively stress free thanks to me being asleep for nearly all of it, this was the most nerve-wracking flight I’d ever taken and it was only like 50 minutes long. But of course the whole flight to Atlanta I’d also been just wondering if I was going to get there in time.
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I Can’t Make You Love Me

Where do you think I would rather be, sitting in front of a court reporter while middle-aged men (and one woman) in suits grilled me about my relationship with my father, or sitting in front of a bunch of doctors grilling me about my mother’s drug use? Unfortunately, Ziggy’s principle that things are usually not either/or and are instead both, came to pass. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you about today.

I want to talk about music. Even if at the time I didn’t, I want to talk about it now. I want to talk about how every human has a heartbeat, we have a rhythm inside us even if we aren’t aware of it half the time. If you can walk, you have a rhythm there, too. If you can breathe. Rhythm is a part of being a living creature like us in the world. It’s part of being flesh and blood.
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Impulsive

I got back to the apartment feeling vaguely grimy, probably from the travel but maybe also from the lawyer talk. When we practiced the deposition, Feinbaum tried every underhanded trick he could think of to try to get me to act defensive. Because the thing is even if what you’re saying is the absolute truth, if you sound defensive about it, it sounds like you’re either lying or hiding something. And if the jury thinks you sound like a crook, well, it’s not good.
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Get a Leg Up

It was decided among the lawyers that I should go to New York to prepare for my deposition. I resigned myself to the process. Courtney came to Tennessee and I handed off the keys to the extended stay place and rental car the next day, after showing her around the care facility and introducing her to everyone. She and Ruth hit it off right away during the nightly game of hearts while Claire and I just kind of shared amused looks with each other.

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Man on the Moon

(As sharp-eyed readers may have noticed, last chapter seemed to skip a bit of time? That’s because I managed to get these two phone calls mixed up. Daron talks to Carynne first, then Ziggy, but I posted the Ziggy phone call last time by accident! Sorry about that, folks! Here’s the Carynne call you were expecting! -ctan)

Okay. If there’s one thing you should try to remember about all the lawsuit stuff, it’s that there are a million details and a whole team of lawyers was required to keep track of them. In other words, trying to keep track is a $500 an hour proposition. I’d say that was above my pay grade except I know I’ve made ten—no, a hundred—times that much in one night, so maybe not. The point is that at first I thought I couldn’t keep track of it all because my brain was in avoidance mode. But actually it was just that there was too much to keep track of.
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Voice of the Beehive

“So, why do you hate talking on the phone?” Ziggy asked, a couple of nights later, after we’d gotten into a bit of a habit of talking every night after I came back to where I was sleeping. I appreciated that the place was basically right down the road from the care facility—close enough that I could walk if I didn’t mind walking along a road that had no sidewalk and clearly never had pedestrians in mind. Which was why I drove. (Was it technically the “road” that was unsafe or was it the drivers?)

Anyway. “I don’t hate it. It’s just not my favorite thing.”
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Walking on Broken Glass

Before you ask, no, we did not wake Colin up in the middle of the night. He had been right, as usual, about it being important for it to be just me and Ziggy. We woke up in the morning still as tightly wrapped around each other as if we’d slept in a tour bus bunk. He yawned and stretched and went back to sleep after I got up and got dressed.
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Candy

When Court and I returned from the pizza joint, Ziggy and Claire were holding hands and laughing so hard they were crying. Ziggy jumped up to get napkins and silverware and Court cleared the miscellaneous magazines and stuff off of the table, while I started carefully unpacking the paper bags of food.
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Stop Making Sense

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m sure: I’m not sure if I’m a good son. As if I can even define what that means. Case in point, I think if I were a better son than I am, I’d have understood a little more what the hell my mother was talking about some of the time.

I’ll try to recreate a little of that night’s dinner conversation. If I can even remember it. That’s the thing about things you don’t understand: it’s hard to remember what was said. Because you keep trying to make it make sense, and you know it didn’t. So this might come out making more sense than it did at the time.
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