Saving Motley Crue

Chapter Fifteen- Trying to Remember

My mind working furiously but happily because this was a moment I'd been waiting for ever since I first found out about Motley Crue, I skipped downstairs and back to the kitchen.

Taking a sip from my neglected coffee, I asked Mr. Collins, who was reading, "Do you by any chance have something I could use as a journal? And a pencil or pen?"

"Actually, I happen to have about a dozen blank journals in my room. I'll be right back."

"Thank you so much!" I watched him excitedly as he disappeared into his bedroom, only catching the slightest glimpse of a white carpet, white bedframe and sheets. I guess he liked the color white- or was it an absence of color?

A moment later he emerged with a vintage fountain pen that I very much wished I could have instead of it be for Tommy, and a dark leather bound journal that looked handmade. "Hey, did you make this yourself? It's beautiful."

"I did, thank you. I like to work with my hands."

"Are you sure you want to give it away? It's for Tommy, so . . . "

"Nonsense! Why else to make something than to benefit others?"

I could only smile gratefully in response before Tommy came shuffling into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with balled up fists like a toddler. I shouldn't have been surprised, though, that he'd be slow the first morning. After all, he's been going to bed at five in the morning and waking up at three in the afternoon for years. New, healthy habits were going to take him some getting used to.

"Nice to see you among the land of the living, Tommy. How'd you sleep?" Mr. Collins winked at me, and I set a cup of coffee before Tommy with a grin.

"Don't even talk to me about sleep." He threw a dirty look my way before begrudgingly taking a sip of the coffee.

I waited until Mr. Collins had left the table to lean forward and say to Tommy quietly, "Okay . . . so on a more serious note, if you're going to get your memories back, than the most important thing for you to do is journal. Saying anything that comes back to you aloud is just gonna work against you, and only make it harder for you to move on. You've got to sit down in a place that's quiet, and private, and that'll help you focus."

He gazed at me unblinkingly with wide eyes, and I waved a hand in front of him, "Are you listening to me?"

Tommy finally blinked and stretched back in his chair. "Sorry. That was a lot of information so early in the morning."

"Do you need me to say it again?"

"No, I got it. So, that's the journal I'm going to be using . . . " Tommy picked it up a little skeptically and paused before asking, "Isn't that kind of gay?"

"No, Nikki has one. Well, he will have one."

"Really?" Interest brightened his eyes, and when I nodded earnestly, he looked down at the book with noticeably more excitement. "Okay, where am I going? I'm ready." He tucked the pen behind his ear, pushing his chair back noisily to stand up.

Rolling my eyes, I led him to the stairs and stopped him, pointing to a door about half the size of the other ones throughout the house, grinning as I said, "It's the cupboard under the stairs . . ."

He gave me a blank stare, and I remembered that Harry Potter hadn't been made yet. "Alright, come on, in you go." I pulled open the door and he practically had to double over to duck inside- I forgot how tall he was. It really was the perfect place for journalling, not reaching as high as a normal closet, but wider so it was the perfect little nook. "You good?" I asked, and he nodded with a serious expression, cracking open the journal to the first page and uncapping the pen. I moved to close the door behind me when he abruptly called out, "Liz?!"

"Yeah?"

He looked down sheepishly, "Um, what am I supposed to do? How can I write down memories I dont' have yet?"

"Oh, right . . . sorry, um . . . you've got to clear your mind first and completely relax before anything can happen, "I tried to recall the process I had studied back when I was home, "The first thing you need is this- one second." I fumbled to take off my watch and handed it to him. He put it on his wrist dutifully, but looked up at me questioningly, "You see, it's very important that you're conscious of the time. Be honest, aren't there days when you realize time passed, and you don't really remember what happened?"

He thought about it and then hesitantly nodded, obviously beginning to think there might be more to things than he had originally thought. "Okay, now that you've got it on, relax yourself. Take a deep breath in, and then out. Close your eyes . . . relax your face, and relax your neck . . . feel how heavy your arms and legs are. You could move them, but you really don't want to . . . you just feel so relaxed. Now allow any thoughts to enter your mind . . . follow that thread of memory." I had been slowly walking out of the room the entire time I was talking, and finally quietly shut the door so he could be alone to think.