A Snapshot of Dixie

33: Who is Tucker James?

TUCKER

"You mean Jeffrey can help you. There's no us, Dad. I'm going to call a lawyer to get out of my contract and as for the rest I'm done living your dream."

"Tucker..."

"NO! Just stop! I can't even stand being around you! Leave me alone!" I shout, pushing past him to head back inside the bar.

"Hey man. You alright? Who's that dude?" Flint asks, gazing behind me.

"No one important. Listen, this was fun but I gotta head back and catch a flight to Connecticut. Are you gonna be alright?"

Flint glances behind him before looking back at me, wearing a devilish smirk.

"Have you seen all the fine-looking women here? I think I'll be just fine."

Chuckling, I take my guitar from his grasp and pat his back in a hug.

"I'll miss you, Flintmeister. The tour ending doesn't mean this is the last we'll see of each other. I know we haven't spoken much about what's next for the band. I gotta figure out what's next for me first," I say looking down at the black and white checkered floor.

My head feels like it's going to explode from listening to my parents over the last few days. Whenever I get a free moment of clarity they're right there clouding it even more with all these fucking secrets. I can't take it!

"No need to explain, Tuck. We all have skeletons in the closet. You just keep writing those amazing songs of yours and I don't doubt that the rest won't fall into place."

"Thanks, Man. I'll be seeing ya." I wave at the ladies and bid my goodbyes before exiting the bar. Not seeing my father waiting for me, I breathe out a sigh of relief, hoping he finally got the picture.

Fuck, I mean the nerve of him to try and come at me with all his damn drama. Like I don't have enough of my own? It's mind-blowing that he's even here right now and that my mother is okay with it. I've hardly had time to process anything.

Pulling out my phone, I type in my grandma's address to point me in the right direction to get back to her house.

Seeing a voice message on my phone, I listen to it as I begin my walk, my heart fluttering hearing Dixie's voice on the other end. Smiling to myself as she tells me she has an offer on the table to showcase one of her photos gives rise to joy filling out my chest. I don't know if it's because I'm genuinely happy for her or just so goddamn thrilled to hear her voice but either way she deserves every bit of recognition that comes her way.

Continuing the rest of the thirty-minute walk, I head toward the backyard so I can have some privacy to call Dixie back.

Seeing the four-foot wooden fence that I used to love to jump over, I place my hands on the top and get ready to swing my legs over.

"Tucker!" My grandma's voice startles me, causing me to hit my groin at the top and tumble over it.

"Tucker Everett! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Holding my manhood, I roll on the ground for a minute wanting the ache to stop.

"For the love of crawdads, Grammy. There are better ways to greet someone."

"And there's such a thing as a door. You're going to break your legs doing that crap. You're so much like your grandfather. Always taking the hard route instead of going for the obvious. You know I may be old and blind but I can see exactly what's going on here."

Getting to my feet, I pick up my guitar and slowly walk toward her.

"What do you mean?"

"All this fighting and running. It seems to me like you need a good lesson in life from your old grandma. Come sit with me." She lets out, limping on her cane toward her wooden swing.