Finding Light

Lisea wrung her hands in anxiety as a large group of people gathered in the giant gallery hall, all anticipating who's name would be called. Tonight they were dedicating an entire wing of the new Greenwich Village gallery to a deserving photographer and their work. Word was that Lisea was a shoe-in to win and she felt she deserved it more than anyone else in there.

She had been taking pictures professionally for more than fifteen years and hoped with that this new wing, and the money she'd earn from it, she would finally be able to open her own gallery in Manhattan. But she had to keep telling herself 'you haven't won it... yet.'

Everyone took their seats and the man who owned and operated the gallery stepped up to the podium.

"It's an honor that tonight; I get to award a very deserving woman with this new wing. For years she has been dedicating herself to the world of photography, not being afraid to include her own opinions and family into her work," he smiled at the crowd

A knot began to tie in Lisea stomach, it was her, and she knew it.

"I now officially open: The Sara Silverton Wing of the Greenwich Village Gallery of Photography!"

Lisea's heart sank. But she put on her best smile and stood up to cheer with the rest of the crowd. She hardly knew Sara, but now she officially hated her.

After the party, Lisea hailed a cab out on the street and instructed it to a local bar room. She entered the smoky, dimly lit room and when she stepped up to the bar the bartender smiled, looking up from the glass he was cleaning, and asked what she wanted.

"Jack Daniels," she replied, pulling forty dollars out of her purse she nodded toward the shelf in the middle of the bar, "The whole bottle."

The steady beeping of a cell phone stirred Eliot out of a light sleep. She reached over to the bedside table and turned the alarm off. Her cell phone was the only alarm that could wake up her, but not Tré.

Eliot sat up and stretched her arms out above her head. She looked over at the man sleeping beside her and smirked. Tré's face always seemed to appear chubbier when he was asleep.

Careful not to wake her partner, Eliot slipped off of the mattress, hoping she didn't disturb Tré's sleep. He had been so tired the last couple of days and had been complaining about headaches that Eliot blamed on stress. When she was completely off of the bed, the dark haired woman gently pulled the comforter over the sleeping drummer.

As quietly as she possibly could, Eliot began to get dressed. She pulled on a worn pair of Khakis and simple blue and black blouse. She pulled her dark hair into a messy bun and applied just a light layer of eyeliner and lip gloss to her face. Eliot opted for a plain look because she hated it when people brought attention to her beauty. Where as most people would believe they were lucky to have the genes that Eliot was blessed with, she always thought of it as a curse. As if her looks took away from the brain she was also so blessed to have.

Grabbing her purse from the dresser, Eliot gave Tré a small kiss on the forehead before she left the room. Tré didn't so much as stir at the feeling, which made laugh quietly; he was such a deep sleeper.

Eliot tip-toed down the stairs toward the kitchen, assuming that Ramona was still sound asleep in her room. When she reached the large kitchen, she reached into the refrigerator for a yogurt and jumped when she saw Ramona sitting at the kitchen table.

"Oh, you scared me honey," she said, taking a deep breath.

"Sorry," Ramona said lamely, taking a sip of her coffee.

"You're up early," Eliot commented, pouring herself a cup of Folgers and sitting down across from the teenager. It was only 8 o'clock and it was rare to see Ramona awake before eleven.

"I couldn't really sleep," Ramona shrugged, taking a banana out of the fruit bowl and peeling it slowly. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"I have to work the opening shift, again," Eliot rolled her eyes and peeled back the lid of her yogurt, stirring the dairy product.

This was news to Ramona. Usually after her Dad asked a girlfriend to move in with him, they quit their job and lived off of his money. "You still work there?" she asked.

"Uh huh," Eliot replied around a mouthful of Dannon, "Of course, after I moved in here your Dad told me I didn't have to anymore, but I don't know," she paused for a minute and thought. "I guess I felt that if I just lived off your Dad I would be, I don't know."

"A Gold-Digger?" Ramona replied, which was exactly what all of Tré's ex-girlfriends were.

Eliot laughed, "I guess. Plus I love my job. I'm a huge dork so I love being around books all day," she joked.

"Me too!" Eliot smiled. This is why Eliot was her favorite, because she wasn't just some whore looking to bang a rock-star. She was an actual person who cared about her Dad, but had the mind to care about her own life, which brought another question to Ramona's mind.

"How did you meet my Dad?" she asked, slicing the banana into her bowl of Rice Crispies.

"You know that story, don't you?" Eliot asked, quirking her eyebrow.

"I know you met at your work, but that's about it," Ramona shrugged.

"Well," Eliot smiled and began to tell the story. "I was working an all day shift at Barnes and Noble and it was finally getting down to the last twenty minutes of the day. I was in the worst mood because the bitchiest and most annoying people kept asking me for help and I was tired and I had my period."

Eliot shook her head at the memory. "So anyway, I was really looking forward to getting out of there when this guy comes up to the service desk. I remember thinking that he looked familiar but I had no idea where I had seen him before. So he comes up to the desk with this panicked look on his face and says 'Can you help me? My daughter's birthday is in a few days and I, I have no idea what to get her'"

Ramona laughed and Eliot continued.

"And so I asked him, what does your daughter like? And he said 'She loves to write and she loves to read.' I was thinking 'That really narrows it down buddy'"Eliot rolled her eyes to add effect. "So I took I asked him how old you were going to be and he said thirteen so I brought him to the Young Adult section and helped him pick out a few books for you that I figured you might like. A few Sarah Dessen novels I believe?"

Ramona nodded; he had given her two of Sarah Dessen's books that year.

Eliot smiled. "And then I took him over to the part of the store where we sold all the diaries and he picked out one with a lot of pages just for you."

"The blue one, with all the sequins on it, I use it all the time," Ramona added. She never knew this part of the story. If it wasn't for her, Eliot and her father probably wouldn't have gotten together.

"Yep," Eliot smiled. "And the whole time we were talking and he was really silly and sweet, he made my day really. So I let him go check out and buy the books and afterwards he came up to me while I was walking out to go home and asked if I had any plans after work. He tripped over a stack of books while he chasing after me to ask." She added with a laugh. "And the rest I suppose is history," Eliot stood up and noticed the clock above the stove. "Oh shit, I'm late."

Eliot grabbed her purse from the table and stopped right before she left the kitchen. "I'll be back around four, so maybe we can get your Dad to take us out tonight. "If you feel up to it," She added, remembering how Ramona had been laying low the past few months.

"Yeah, that sounds great," Ramona smiled, "See you later."

"Bye Honey," Eliot called out before slipping out the back door.

Now sitting alone at the kitchen table, Ramona felt cheerful for the first time in months, funny how one conversation can make you see a whole new brighter side to things.
*-*-*

"Shit, Tré!" Billie Joe growled as he rubbed the back of his scalp where the drumstick had just struck. It had slipped out of Tré's hand mid-song and clipped the back of the guitarist's dark head causing the whole set to be interrupted.

"Sorry man," Tré offered lamely as he got up off his seat and walked over to the wooden door to the room. "I'm going to get some water, you guys all set?" he asked dully, lacking the sense of goofiness and humor that he usually added to the atmosphere.

Both men nodded and waited until he had left the room of Billie's basement where the men held Band Practice. Mike rolled his eyes and pulled his bass from around his shoulders, placing it gently on the floor before putting his hands on his hips and sighing. "What are we going to do about him?"

"I don't know," Billie Joe answered, still rubbing the sensitive spot on his skull. "He seems more upset about Lisea than I thought he would. I don't want to sound like a jerk, but I thought he would have rebounded by now."

"I'm know, obviously I thought he would be upset, but it's almost September, you'd think he would have let it go," Mike said "It's just not like him."

Billie Joe shrugged at his band mate's comments "Adie's been the same way." he sighed. "She's just been getting into these gloomy moods. I think she feels some sort of guilt about the whole thing."

"Well have you talked to her?" Mike asked, crossing his arms.

"Of course I have," Billie Joe answered defensively "She's not listening to me. Maybe Tré feels the same way about everything."

"Maybe," Mike said thoughtfully, "Maybe we should talk to him, he tends to listen to us. Most of the time at least. "

Billie Joe didn't have time to answer because when Mike finished his sentence both friends hushed up as they heard Tré walk down the basement stairs and push open the door only to find both his band members staring at him.

"What's up?" he asked, placing his water on a nearby table.

Billie Joe didn't answer right away. Instead he grabbed Tré's wallet from the counter behind in and tossed it into the drummer's hands. "C'mon," he said "We're going out."

**

"How's Ramona doing?" Mike asked as he tipped back his glass and downed his first sip of Guinness.

"Good," Tré said, spinning the liquid of his Cheech with the stirrer "She's been really quiet since she moved out here, although I can't really blame her." He lifted his glass and finished the rest of his beverage in one chug.

Billie Joe's eyes caught Mike's and he motioned them toward Tré, if they were ever going to talk to him about this, now was the time. "C'mon man," Billie said, putting his hand on his friends shoulder, "You have to move on."

Tré looked from his two best friends on either side of him and then looked down at the wooden surface of the bar. He shook his head, "No," he said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard in the loud bar room "I can't."

"Tré," Mike started "You can't do anything about it, she's gone and you have to let it go."

Tré shook his head again and fought the persistent urge to get up and walk out. "You guys don't get it," he said, solemnly motioning to the bartender for another drink.

"It wasn't your fault," Billie Joe told him quietly, just like he had told Adrienne over and over the past few months.

Tré nodded and looked down at the bar again "You don't know the whole story," he said coldly.

"What story?" Mike questioned quirking an eyebrow at Billie Joe, who shook his head in confusion.

Tré looked at both of his friends and felt the weight of their hands on his shoulders; maybe it was time to get this off his chest. "Buy another round," he instructed. "It's going to be a long night."