Chapter 20 – The Long and Winding Road

“I wonder what Eric’s thinking about all those mornings he wakes up early and has a smoke at the back of his car? Even on the coolest of mornings he’s just wearing shorts, looking oh so serious. Isn’t he cold in those? He stares intently out toward the eastern horizon’s rising sun and pulls from his cigarette. What wanders into the thoughts of those solitary discussions? Oh Eric, where do your dreams take you today?”

A not so mellow time rolled on and my work week ended on Friday, July 2, 1976. I had already been yelled at by my boss and two unconcerned customers. The phone had been ringing off the hook all morning with stupid questions about the sale albums that were delayed and had not yet been received. The patriotic red, white, and blue banners seemed overgrown and suffocated the store. I felt boxed in and just wanted to leave, obtain some freedom, and go back to being with Jenny.

Adding to my frustrations, for some bizarre reason, I felt sick to my stomach. Trying to make my way through the opening hours, I couldn’t shake the awful vibe that preoccupied any undistracted moment I had to myself. It sharply dug into my gut in the brief moments between customer interaction, fronting the album racks, and answering calls. It was definitely more than a stomach ache and there wasn’t time to determine why this imaginary knife was stuck in me. But I still worried: was it an ulcer from the recent stress? I’d never had one before, so why now?

My efforts failed to shake it. I wanted to call Jenny at noon; however due to the almost non-stop flow, my boss said “no” to my lunch break. To me, that meant no separation from me and the chaos, no food, and no Jenny. The 12-1 hour crept forward in slow motion; every minute stinging and painful. I began to feel something deep within me hurt far worse than my stomach. It felt like my soul simply deflated. At 1:11 PM, I knew my suffering was not an ulcer. For the thousandth time, the phone rang and I answered it now in a short tone, “Yeah, you got Eric.”

            “Eric, this is Marion.” I recognized his voice but it sounded shakier than usual.

“Uh, hi.” He had never called me before at work. Hell, I didn’t think he had the number.

“Fuck, man…,” drawing out his words through heavy breathing, “They’re all dead!”

My brain tried to focus on this brick that just hit me. “Who’s dead? What the fuck are you talking about?” As I uttered that question, a lady holding an 8-track stares at me in protest.

“Jerry and Sissy and Jenny, man. They’re…all…fucking…dead!”

I think that anyone who gets horrific news such as this internally reacts in many different diverting ways, in just seconds’ time, but settles for what they know is true.

“Marion, please…please, what the hell happened, man? What are you saying?” I’m trying to keep my composure, nothing’s sinking in yet, and I’m glaring back at the lady now without really seeing her before me.

Marion kept urgently repeating, “Just get to Cedars-Sinai, man!”

I slammed down the phone and rushed passed the lady who had been waiting to ask me something about the album. I told my boss what I knew, or didn’t know, and ran right out the door with him yelling to my back. I floored the Camaro to the hospital, running every red light without a pig in sight.

Marion was there in ER, bawling his eyes out, his face and hands covered in smeared make-up. He explained to me that Jenny, Jerry, and Sissy had gone down to the market and were making a beer run. Driving north back up La Cienega, a large truck drove into their lane and hit them head on. As Marion called upon God and asked why, I walked out with not one emotion. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t do anything. This was some awful illusion and how could I escape it? My ears stopped listening besides the heavy ringing, my eyes stopped seeing beyond the mental haze, and somehow I believe my heart stopped beating. I hurt more than I ever had in my life.

The desensitized woman at the desk seemed unmoved by our distress and then she strangely faded from my vision. In sudden darkness, for everything had vanished before me, I could hear Jenny crying but was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t run in any direction because I had no idea where I was. Her moans continually seemed out of reach. It felt like this continued forever until I came to. Apparently, I had blacked out and was being checked out by a doctor. I didn’t see Marion and the sound of Jenny faded.

An officer stepped forward from behind the doctor and asked me a few questions. In my shaken state, I for once did not fear a man in uniform. He calmly and compassionately went on to explain to my saddened mode that a drunk in a ‘73 Ford F100 heading south had accelerated to 60-65 mph, swerved into the northbound lane, and hit Jerry’s ‘62 Chevy Bel Air head-on. Sissy and Jerry, who were in the front seat, died instantly. Jenny later died at the hospital. Marion got notified when they traced the Chevy and called the listed phone number.

When I was cleared, the officer learned of my relationship with Jenny, who he referred to as “the victim.” He asked if I could identify her body since she had no ID on her. My body was still in a trance-like state of shock and it took a lot just to control my breathing. He took me down too many white and cigarette filter-colored tile corridors for me to count until we got to a lone room at the end of a hall. On a table three feet off the floor, I saw a white sheet pulled over what was obviously a thin, female form. Composing myself, somehow, I chose not to look at a possible mangled body. Instead, I pulled the white sheet from her side. Between her blouse and jeans I saw the oval shaped birthmark on her left hip and instantly bawled. The officer got the point and left me be. Now, it sunk in and hurt a whole lot worse.

I pulled out her arm so I could hold her hand to my face. It was starting to get a little cool as the life that once filled it had left just a few hours ago. On her finger was the ring I bought for her birthday. Just above the wrist were dried blood droplets. I didn’t have a thought in my tormented brain. I did nothing but sit on the cold tiled floor and cry and cringe in a ball of suffering. For however long I was there, I sat in the fallout of a thousand H-Bombs. As they were still exploding like the ending of Dr. Strangelove, I was eventually escorted out by two nurses. I don’t remember driving back to Diane’s, but somehow I got there and broke the news. We hugged and cried and talked about Jenny all night. It was the eve of the fifth anniversary of Jim Morrison’s death, the seventh anniversary for Brian Jones, and two days before our country’s bicentennial.

“I’ll never make it into confession, so…here I go. And Eric, if you wind up reading this, please don’t tell me you did. I’d rather not know.

·        I regret not watching the Apollo 11 moon landing.

·        I've never told Eric I hate football.

·        If I still had my dolls, I'd probably still play with them.

·        Since junior high, I can't remember a time I showed my mom love. And I always loved her.

·        When I was in grade school, I’d try so hard to fit in. And for a while, I did.

·        Dylan’s songs were sung better by other people.

·        Sometimes I think of having a baby. Not for me, but for Eric.

·        For some reason I think about food. A lot.

·        I’ve never learned how to drive.

·        I first tried drugs to get friends, and I did more to forget about them.

·        I wished that my father would die, and when he did, I wanted him back just to make Mom happy.

·        Roller derby looks really fun.

·        Diane told me she thought Eric was cute and looked like her boyfriend in senior high. She made me jealous.

·        Every day in class I’d hope something awful would happen, like the school would burn down, just so I could get away from my classmates.

·        I really enjoy compliments.

·        I've had naughty dreams about singers I don't like and never about ones I do.

·        I’ll never have as good a high as my first joint.

·        For two weeks, I hid an orange kitten from my parents. I spent six months hating them for taking Peaches away. I’ve always wondered what happened to him.

·        When I see an Oh Henry! candy bar, I think of Henry's wife getting off.

·        Liberace is a hell of pianist.

·        I ran out of money and stopped taking birth control for three months. Eric didn’t know and luckily I didn’t get pregnant.

·        Kathy and Diane and Sissy are like sisters to me. I guess that makes me the youngest.

·        I like the smell of old, musty books and the record shop.

·        John Dillinger is one of my heroes.

·      Every rude customer I get, I consider doing something to their food…and sometimes I do.

·        I think Eric's paranoias are petty. I think mine are a sign.

·        I once went a week without bathing. Big mistake. I'll never do that again.

·        I had a crush on the rich kid in grade school.

·        I hate the sound of marbles clanking together or if I bite hard onto a fork.

·        Fat people bother me.

·        Morbid curiosity is not a bad thing.

This list got longer than I thought.”