Fleetwood Mac-Part III of Fritz Series

Magic All Around Us, If I Do Say So Myself

"So do you have to get shots in your butt and wear a straight jacket?" My daughter in all her innocence with her big blue eyes and her floral printed shirt and jean shorts, looks up at me from her glass of orange soda on the picnic cloth outside. Stevie is next to me holding my hand and fussing with my collar she halts her inspection of my personage to stare blankly at our oldest child "Sara...honey who told you that?" Shrugging in her casual manner my daughter sips at her drink in response to her mother's query "Uncle Jeff" well that's not a shock. Robin is too tactful for that, and while the word is apparently out that I checked myself into a nut hatch...courtesy no doubt to a disgruntled member of the Los Angeles Police Department and his red haired hook up...none of my bandmates are available for comment. Neither is my mother or eldest brother.

The world has taken the news of my nervous breakdown in a fashion I've come to characterize as a celeb-norm. i.e. normal for us "celebrities". We're supposed to check ourselves into the hospital for extended periods apparently, usually for drugs and alcohol but occasionally we're allowed a respite from substance abuse for actual mental health reasons. Exahustion is the public relations excuse behind my hospitalization. Acute exhaustion from my tour schedule, and the re-hashing of the Petty rumours surrounding Tom's death are the official reasons behind why I'm here.

Stevie has done nothing to dissuade people from believing that, and neither has the band. After the LAPD made the rare move to publicly announce that Tom Petty's death was an accident and that any conjecture as to another person in the room with him at the time was the rouge findings of a discredited and disgruntled lone wolf, people moved on from the conspiracy theories rather rapidly. The Elvis is still alive and the "Paul is dead" people were getting jealous anyway.

"I've only had one injection since I've been here, and it wasn't in my butt. It was a flu shot" bravely I raise the short sleeve of my shirt showing the small beige bandage on my upper arm, Sara leans forward to inspect it nodding in satisfaction. She's taking this all in her stride, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I didn't have to explain mental health hospitals to her...she's read enough Victorian literature to understand what an asylum is-Stevie did have to clarify I wasn't criminally insane and that I was here voluntarily, but the concept wasn't foreign to her.

Nova and AJ are too young to understand, and it would upset them to see me here. Daddy's in the hospital is all the explanation they need and they're both satisfied by it "Are you depressed?" the depth of sincerity in Sara's voice gives me pause. She's genuinely worried about me, to the point that she's fidgeting in a very familiar fashion. Stevie takes my hand in hers and I measure my words carefully "Daddy's going through a lot right now, but the doctor's here are helping me understand it better then I can by myself"

"Is it cuz I was in the hospital?" leaning forward I pull Sara into my arms hugging her to me tightly "No baby girl, I've been sick for a long time I just didn't get the help I needed until now. That's my fault, not yours" she fidgets some more and I can tell she's not convinced. Smoothing a few of her chesnut curls from her forehead Stevie passes a look back and forth between Sara and I "Like I told you before baby girl, you and your brothers mean everything to me. That's never going to change"

Her arms tighten around my middle for a good long while and I take the time to re-center myself the familiar weight of her body, the smell of her shampoo, the tiniest hint of some fruity tweeny perfume she got for her birthday. She's my baby no matter how old she is, no matter where the world may take her or me she's my child. So are Nova and AJ. The three of them constitute the single greatest contribution I've ever made to the human race, music be damned.

Sitting back Sara grabs her empty soda glass looking at the covered walkway to the kitchen, I can see in her eyes that she wants a refill. Digging into my pocket I find some change and hand it to her "The machine's around the corner behind the pantry, grab me a coke" grinning she jumps from her seat running with the boundless energy that only a child free of cares or concerns can manage. Stevie goes back to examining me from head to toe, she's been doing that since she and Sara got here an hour and a half ago.