Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter 6: These White Pills aren't Kind

A week later, I was at my apartment scheduling the tour for Box Car when I got a call on my cellphone. I turned off the music I was listening to and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Raleigh? Hey. It's Tom," his voice said. I was wondering why he was calling me at such a late time, but I was there for him. I ran my hand over my face and looked at the clock on my computer screen which read 12:54.

"Hey Tom!" I said rather excitedly.

"Are you getting the dates set for Box Car?" He asked a little grief in his voice. Oh, this is all he wanted.

"Yeah, I just scheduled the last show for the tour, actually. It's in Sacramento."

"Rad, thanks Raleigh. You're really a great assistant." He said, coughing.

"How's the recovery?" I asked.

"Going along. I'm still on crutches and haven't been able to walk. It's been tough," Tom said, sounding like he had been drinking.

"Need me to come over and help you out or anything man?" I asked, hoping he'd say yes he needed help because I had been worried about him since that one day at the hospital.

"Actually, you know what; I could use some company around here."

So I drove to Tom's house at nearly 1:30 in the morning. Normally I would protest the idea of driving past midnight because I tend to get more delusional at night, but I was doing this for Tom. I just needed to see him. I wondered what he looked like on crutches, giggling to myself because he was incapable. The fact that he was on crutches was not funny to me, just that he was not the sort of guy that could stand to be told what to do or be restricted to doing only certain things.

When I arrived at his house, the lights were on in it and his car was parked crookedly in the driveway. I let myself in without knocking because I figured I could. I pretty much knew where he would be at that time, which was in his guitar room playing or something. I found him sitting on the black couch with an acoustic guitar singing and playing melodies on it. I stood in the entryway smiling and then said,
"hey."

"Raleigh! Hi!" He said, looking up at me, but I still noticed that he still wasn't normal. His eyes were kind of bloodshot, in fact. The house didn't smell of any drugs, and I looked down next to his foot where I saw a half empty bottle of vodka. I didn't know if he was allowed to drink while recovering from surgery, and I highly doubted it, but I couldn't stand there and tell him what to do. I took a seat next to him on the couch as he took a swig of the vodka. He set the bottle down and started to play his riffs again, this time with lyrics:

"I should have asked, I could have helped, at least a fucking thousand times before..."

As I sat there and listened to him sing that particular line, I noted how he must have really been hurting. The way the words came out of his mouth in the song really made me realize that he was having trouble coping with everything that was going on. I could tell he missed Jen. I knew he loved her and I knew that his back was causing him problems. He was feeling out of place. I could only imagine what was running through his head, and I was amazed that he had held up for this long without slipping. He was stronger than I could ever be, which was one of the many reasons I found comfort in him.

After he was done singing and playing that particular song, I looked at him and said, "Wow. That was amazing,"

"Thanks. It's nothing much," he scratched his neck, "I think that will be the final song for Box Car. When does the tour start?"

"It starts in about 2 weeks. So we need to get this cd mixed and sent to the company so we can leave. "

"Alright. I'll come into the studio in a few days. I just need to finish polishing these lyrics. Want a sip?" He held the bottle up to me, but I said no. I suddenly remembered that day at the hospital with Mark, and I was dying to know what happened.