Free Lily of the Valley by Sarah Daltry Page B

day now.
    “Jack,” my grandmother prods, but I don’t reply.
    “Leave it,” my dad says.
    They talk quietly about his case, the proposed plan to rehabilitate him, the halfway house program he’ll have to go through if he’s released. It all seems so pointless to me. If there are all these resources to ensure that he stays on the right path, to ensure that he stays sober and clean even though he never really drank or did drugs, then why were none of those things available to help my mom? Why didn’t anyone try to stop this before we were sitting here, in this dingy fucking room, with everything grey and hopeless ahead of me?
    I want to leave, to excuse myself, but I stay for my grandmother’s sake. She and my father talk for nearly half an hour before the guards come and tell us time’s almost up. He’s not allowed to hug her, but she brushes his upper arm. Before he stands to go back to his cell, my father turns to face me.
    “Jack, I hope we can-”
    “No. I’ll fake it, but that’s it. I’ll sit here so it looks like you’re an all-American father and I’ll say whatever bullshit I need to say the next time the lawyers come to see me, but don’t even think of asking me to mean it. I’m only doing this for her.”
    He opens his mouth to respond, but then shuts it again and nods. The guards lead him away and we wait to be escorted from the room. My grandmother is sad, but I don’t have more to give her. I came here after all. That’s enough.
    Outside, it’s sunny now and it bugs me. Couldn’t the world have stayed ashy and miserable?
    Grandma brings me back to school and I’m barely out of the car before I run to the parking lot and hop on my bike. I put as much distance as I can between myself and the prison, wishing that the memories were like the miles, and as easily left behind.
    ****
    For several weeks, school begins to become routine again. Classes, work, band practice - and repeat. I can’t believe how fast the show comes up. I know we’ve been working on my songs, but suddenly it’s the night before and I realize that my words, my music, will be shared with everyone. I know no one knows it’s all mine, but it frightens me. People are so quick to criticize, and criticism of something so personal is intimidating. Still, after we practice for a while, I know the songs are damn good. I just hope it won’t feel like walking onstage naked, with my entire history printed out for everyone to read.
    Neil stops me again when it’s just us left after practice. I can’t believe the show is tomorrow and even my practiced calm can’t hide the fact that I’ve bitten down my fingernails until they are bloody. Stupid , I think to myself. You’re going to suck because you can’t even control your anxiety. My self pisses me off, though, so I tune it out.
    “You ready for this?” Neil asks.
    “It’s not the first show.”
    “No, but man, your songs are… well, they’re more intense than usual. And I know you don’t like to be that out there with everyone.”
    “They’re just songs.”
    He shakes his head. “No, they’re not.”
    “As far as they know? They’re just songs.”
    “Okay, as long as you’re sure. I think they’re epic and I think they’re gonna give us the boost we’ve been hoping for, but I’m not sure it’s worth the cost of-”
    “Neil. Enough. It’s fine.” I don’t want to talk about the songs, outside of their musical parts. Either the songs are good or they are not. No one needs to know how deep every word cuts.
    “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you at the show then.”
    I hesitate. Sometimes I think Neil and I could be friends, not just cowriters and comusicians. With Dave overseas and Alana and I, well, a mess, I could use a friend like Neil. But then I picture coming here, with my whole story hanging over practice, with the constant reminder of my parents, and the constant need to reassure everyone that I’m fine. I don’t want to taint the only place I