And there is the ghost of Caswell, in the other wide chair that faces the ranch and the mountains. The only other chair. Two chairs, but I live alone.
I don’t have to guess what he looks like — everyone in the country pretty much knows. Unless someone is off the grid, they have at least heard the name. He’s been on the sexiest man alive list annually; he’s even played the Super Bowl. I don’t read articles about him, but I still draw up short when I see his face somewhere unexpected. His voice. It happens more often than one might think, but my reaction hasn’t changed in thirteen years.
He’s not here, and yet, he never leaves.
I can’t leave Caswell behind, no matter how hard I have tried. But, I don’t feel him at work, or in my studio, or even in my bed at night.
I feel him here, in this one place I have allowed him to be.
The insanity that keeps me sane.
Tomorrow I will get up and help my foreman Mason with the family ranch and our project of turning it over to a bison herd.
The next day, Sunday mornings, are for time with my brothers — and that means something active and outdoors, skiing probably since it is season.
Sunday afternoon, I will go to Mann Family Dinner with the whole family and whatever friends decide to show up. Just like every Sunday, the time will be set aside for family.
Friday is my time for Caswell.
“You need to finish that song,” I imagine him saying to me, and I smile. This song will be the last song on this last contract with his label. Maybe. I dunno. Maybe Jack will talk me into the new contract.
I just finished a song, the second to last, that I think was some of my best work. It’s a love song, so I don’t know what Cas will think about it. Lyrically, it’s the best song I have ever written. Er. . .probably. I’m not exactly objective about these things, but usually I have a good sense about the songs. And writingthatsong gave me the confidence forthisone.
I titled that song,‘Last Song,’although I still have to finish this one to fulfill my obligations under the contract with SongStar.
And whileLast Song, is an important love song, real and raw, the one I’m writing now has been a longtime in the making.
If only I could finish this one.
In a way, this song is the first one I wrote for myself. If the one I just sent is thelast song, then this is the first song. The first lines of it I wrote years ago, when I met Cas in college. In fact, those words came to me the very first day he walked into my life by plopping his lanky frame in the seat next to mine in a college creative writing class.
Although, I’m not sure I knew I was writing a song at the time.
The chorus came to me three years later, inked down in my notebook the weekend when I made the decision I wouldn’t be moving with Cas to LA.
Like always, I can’t say what I feel, but it comes to me in lyrics.
Pieces of this song have come to me for over a decade. The love song I just sent him was good, but this is even better.
It seems fitting that when this song is done, then so am I. Maybe that means something.
“Don’t look so sad, Bee,” not actually Caswell tells me in my mind. “We had a good run, man.”
I smile as I rearrange a few lines, finally starting to put together these pieces of song that have haunted me as much as the voice and presence of Cas haunts me out here every Friday night.
Yeah, we did. It was a hell of a good run.
No New Year love for me this year or last, but I knew that, despite the precedent my brothers set.
That’s fine though, I have the music.
Chapter 3 – Caswell
This Night – Black Lab
Ilookatmyemail first, giving Caleb time to finish his coffee before we head out on our morning run.
I’ve done some small acting bits, like a skit or two when I was the musical guest onSNLand a shortApple TVpiece for an ensemble show, that sort of thing, but last week I read for a part I really want. Submitted a video audition and everything.
