Smoke and Mirrors (Jimmy 'The Rev' Sullivan)

Chapter 17

So blue, so warm and so deep were Jimmy’s eyes when I finally saw him again and yet so hollow with sadness they seemed. My heart drummed with the cold adrenaline that pumped through it and my breath seemed to have caught in my throat for eternity. There was something so different about him. Everything around James Sullivan seemed to have changed. I know, it’s not like I’ve ever truly known him for the person he actually was. But whenever we met, whenever he touched me and spoke to me ever so softly and caringly, I could not help but believe every single word that had slipped from his mouth, even when he told me who he truly was and when he told that he was married, I loved him. Even when he finally found the strength to tell me that he was dying. I loved him more for it.

For months he seemed like a complete stranger. A mysterious character that would come and watch me perform at the club from afar once or thrice a year, no more than that. And so I could not help but wonder what made him stay for so long this time. How could he afford to meet with me so often? How could he take me to his hotel, which he had shared with his band members, and his wife? How could he possibly manage to meet me again, after his wife had told me how horrible his health was and that he had not had much longer to live? He could drop dead any minute. And so I loved him deeper.

Yes, I love him. I do. I don’t know him well and he doesn’t know my story either. No one knows my story, in fact. No one knows how I ended up working as a dancer at the Scarlet Anchor club. No one knows my real name and no one had a clue as to where I come from. Sometimes I think that I makes us soul mates, Jimmy and me. I’ve never met him while he had already loved me deeply and I loved him back just as dearly, without having a clue as to who he really was.

That man took me on such a crazy ride through life and love, and death. He unchained me and set all of my fears and desires free. This man occupied my mind at any living second and nestled deep within my soul. I never lived in fear. I knew I’d die another day. I never viewed my life as something slipping away. Jimmy sang to me once in his surprisingly captivating, pitched, raspy voice. How could he not? How could he not fear the death awaiting him just around the corner? I had no clue.

It has been a year since I’ve last seen Jimmy. He did not come back to see me after out final encounter. He could not come, because he had left the land of the living and departed from us, departed from me. I can remember the icy cold wind that fluttered through me hair that night. “I have the right to die.” He told me ever so poetically when I urged him to seek more medical care, to find some magical doctor who specialized in his condition. I remember how warm his breath felt on my neck and how my skin shivered when his tears soaked my shoulder. I remember everything like it was yesterday. He took my hand and he kissed me. So strange his kiss felt, so different from the first time. I noticed that in his final days, Jimmy had gained some weight and a thick beard found its way around his jaw line. But he still looked beautiful to me. He is the most beautiful thing to have ever happened to me. So often I wonder what the hell did I do that was so right that God had decided to bring Jimmy into my life.

He saved me. If it weren’t for Jim, I’d still be a broken, lonely dancer fighting to earn a living by selling her body and her dancing skills. Without Jimmy, I would have not become the woman I am today. I wouldn’t have had my home, my career and my son. When I picked up the phone to call him and his wife, who is now his widow, answered, it was the last time I ever dialed his number. I could not put myself through such an emotional rollercoaster again. I could not bear hearing that woman’s voice again. The woman whose life was already so difficult without having me weighing any further upon her. That night on the pier was the last time our fingers touched and the last time I felt his skin against mine, so warm and so smooth. If I close my eyes and imagine, I can feel him again so perfectly.

He told me to make a new start, that he would not be there to see it, but he believed in me. Like no one had ever believed me. Not my parents, not Lou, not my old boyfriend. No one but him made me feel complete the way Jimmy did. We talked for hours and hours and I fought so hard to carve every single thing he had said to me in my mind. I struggled so hard to remember every single breath and chuckle of his, that I lost track of him. He laughed at me, he knew what I was doing. Jimmy was my soul, he was my husband though we had never married and we only slept together once, but it was the most beautiful night of my life and he gave me the greatest gift of life.

As I was saying, spending that last evening with him was the best decision I’ve ever made. I feel so proud of myself for being able to cast all of my hurt and fears aside and agree to meet with him. I knew it’d be the last time anyways, whether he had died or not. Sometimes you just know. Everybody has got to die sometime. When he kissed me goodbye and held me in his protective embrace for what seemed like eternity, I knew that it was it. That this was the last time, the last chapter in the surreal ride life has taken me on. I knew this was where it ended. And it couldn’t have ended more perfectly.

The posters advertizing his band’s concerts had been swept off the streets and not a word about them was ever spoken here again. I understood that he had moved on to the next state to tour or maybe to finally have some rest. I learnt of Jimmy’s death by accident. Well not entirely, I’ve had a hunch for a couple of weeks prior to finding out. He came to me in a dream. “I’m all done.” He smiled. I hoped he was cured, I prayed that he did not take his own life. Later on, a girl and some lawyer came by my new home and informed me that James The Rev Sullivan had died. They also said that he had left something for me. A tiny box it was, containing a letter writing in his beautiful, thin, swirly handwriting. I still read it religiously up until this day and each time I do, I find more little clues, jokes and meanings in it. As it turned out further down the road, Jimmy had actually left me a very generous amount of money. His wife was not prepared to give it up and I didn’t desire it very much either. I did not want to fight her in court, hearing her broken voice during that phone call was enough contact with this woman to last me for the rest of my life. Months later, two kind friends of his, Matt and Brian were their names, I think, found me and gave me a cheque. It was only a fracture of my original inheritance, if you can call it that, but it was enough for me to leave the club, rebuild my life and to support my son.

So there it is. My little love story with the most generous, kind, philosophical, loving man to have ever existed. A great, talented, music man with whom I had a privilege to spend those blissful times. Jimmy will live in my heart forever along with my many other secrets. Maybe someday, when it is my time to go, I’ll see him again. For the time being, he has my heart, and the memories keep me going.