A Wasted Life

The next day we spoke again just like she said we should. I told her about my childhood, my brother James, and sister Joanne. We all called James “Jay” for short. I gave her all the particulars and the who’s who of my family. I told her what I could remember about what a spitfire I was as a child and the mischief I got into. I told her how I used to pit my sister against my brother all the time and get them into fights. “I learned early on, that I could use this as a diversion to sneak out of the house,” I explained. “Wow, so shrewd, even back then,” Maria answered. “They were both younger than me so I always felt they both had the need to outdo each other to impress me, the older brother. It was really too easy to get them going. But as every middle child has a relentless need for attention, Jay did and he got noticed and excelled as a musician.” “How great,” Maria said. We spoke a lot about my teenage years, and yes, I was a punk and yes, I smoked by the age of 12 and oh well. She wanted to know more about Jay and where he was now. “Well dear, Jay is a case of wasted talent. Dinero described this term best in “Goodfellas.” You know, to have such talent and potential only to get caught up with the wrong things and waste it. I guess you could say… maybe we all do that to some extent,” I said with lament. “We had high hopes for him. Jay was talented but weak.” “How do you mean?” “He was on his way to the top,” I said, feeling my voice getting angry. “He was part of a band, big recording contract and the whole nine. Did concerts up the ying-yang. But it was the seventies and he got caught up in the shit, ya know, coke. Anyway, long story short, that was the end of that. What are ya gonna do?” “What does that mean?” she asked. “What do you mean, ‘what does that mean?’?” I thought my summary was quite clear. In addition my brother was sort of famous, so I didn’t want to get into too many sordid details. “Listen sweetheart, he was a ‘big’ name in the rock scene. You probably wouldn’t know him because his music was a little before your time. But his life didn’t turn out glamorous my friend. He is in jail.” “Oh my, how long has it been?” Maria asked. “It’s been a while. He’s due to get out soon, again.” “Oh so this is a recurring thing with him?” “Yeah, but more like a recurring nightmare for my family,” I explained. “Mahdoan, my poor mother’s heartache for her son and my father, fuhggettabout it. He wanted to rip Jay’s head off so many times. And he came close too. You see his band is still somewhat together, but he was replaced several times because he had this drug problem. It got in the way of everything. And do you know at one time he was called one of the greats in the guitar world? Man, it really pisses me off. He had so many chances and fucked it up so many times. He just lived the high life, literally, and thought he could turn it off whenever he wanted to.” “Did he ever have any kids?” she wanted to know more. “Yeah, two yuppie shitheads who just want to bleed him dry, even now. Even though he has nothing.” I explained further. “You see he is in jail for tax evasion, not actually getting caught doing or using. He had a problem and had nowhere to turn. He desperately needed professional help. This was before all the rehab shit you hear about now. He tried to get clean many times but he had no support. His wife was right along with him in the beginning. She managed to straighten up for a time when the kids came along. Shortly after she turned her sights on pills and that was no picnic, certainly no help for Jay. Look just about everyone did drugs back then. I was certainly no choir- boy myself but he was so out of control that he was out of the band more than he was in. Eventually he was out for good and got involved with techie stuff, computers. He was good at that too, but I guess he also made money from his drug involvement, if you know what I mean. Anyway, years later the government caught up with him. You know how that goes?” “No I don’t, explain it to me.” She said flatly. “C’mon, I though you were a smart kid,” I told her. “Don’t you know that the government could give two shits less if you’re destroying yourself with drugs. If they did, there would be more drug rehabilitation services for those poor bastards in jail for usin the shit. The government doesn’t concern itself with large penalties for that because then you can be in and out of the system. Eventually you’re asked to be a snitch, give up the dealer and that is whom the big penalties get awarded to. The government can’t stand getting ripped off and in their eyes that’s what drug dealers do. It’s money under the table that doesn’t get taxed and that seems to be a bigger crime than even some murders. After all, the illegal drug dealers are only stepping on the toes of the legal ones. Pharmaceuticals are where it’s at and big gov makes a lot of money on that. Hell they make a ton just off me! You should see my dining table. It’s full of prescription drugs that I need to take daily and that’s not including anything for the cancer that’s killing me.” “I can hear you are pretty opinionated about the subject,” Maria said. “I’m sure government officials wouldn’t see it that way.” “I’m sure not. Hey, you really trying to get me on a roll today?” “Yeah I guess I just wanted to get your thoughts and feelings out about your brother, not expecting all this of course,” she stated. “It’s just a sad state of affairs. It’s a shame, a damn shame and a waste, you capisce? “I capisce,” Maria answered. I wasn’t feeling well so we cut it short. The day after that she asked me about my time in the service. This conversation was even more upsetting than the previous day…