Chapter 40 Dawsen
Dawsen
Business at the Merc and Southbound have been absolutely insane.
Apparently that article about Southbound that came out was seen by a whole lot more people than I anticipated.
I’ve had restaurants, hotels, and even a couple celebrities reach out about placing orders of our wine to have in their cellars and on their menus.
I’ve always known that this place was special, but it feels good knowing that other people believe in it too.
I do have Birdie to thank as well—the article went pretty viral, mostly the part about how I named a whole business after a woman whom I wasn’t even dating at the time.
In fact, I’ve had tourists come in and ask about her.
She thinks it’s hilarious and loves meeting them.
She’s even signed a few autographs which made her laugh.
I laughed too, but only because to me, Birdie is the type of woman who should be signing autographs.
She’s not famous, but she’s one of a kind, and that’s something to behold.
We hosted a New Year’s Eve bash at the winery pretty last minute, but it was a full house. I wanted to have some sort of event to showcase the mural and New Year’s Eve seemed like the perfect time.
The same journalist that came out for the initial article came by for the bash as well. The Daily wanted a follow up story with Birdie and her mural. I was so excited for her. This is the type of recognition this woman deserves.
They had her posed on a stool in front of the mural, she was holding a glass of red wine, wearing a black dress with hot pink heels. She looked breathtaking, as always.
Birdie was insistent that I would be in the photo with her, but they wanted solo shots. After about ten minutes of switching her poses and getting different angles, she jumped off her stool and dragged me by the arm. She told the photographer, “trust me, these are going to be the best ones.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and I’m not sure I ever actually looked at the camera despite the flashing and sound of camera clicks.
When I’m with Birdie, so much of the time it feels like an out of body experience, something that doesn’t even feel real.
I’m sitting at my desk working through payroll when Greg knocks on my office door. It’s not fully shut, just open a crack.
“Yeah?” I say, still signing checks.
“Hey, uhh, So listen, there’s someone out front that wants to talk with you. He says it’s a personal matter.” Greg says, sounding almost nervous.
I look at him somewhat suspiciously, because I’m trying to read his expression.
“What’s his deal? Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”
“Because… it feels like I have.” He takes a breath and rubs the back of his neck before he continues. “It’s… the driver that hit you and your mother.”
My stomach drops, I feel the blood in my veins start to boil. My hands are clammy, and without a thought, I notice I’ve balled them into fists. My knuckles are white from the pressure.
I look up at Greg, looking for more answers. Or maybe I’m looking for help? A way out?
“Listen, I’ll tell him to get the hell out of here—but I didn’t want to do that without at least letting you know first.” Greg offers, and I want to so badly take him up on that, but there’s also a weird stirring in my gut that’s telling me to figure out what the hell he wants.
“No, it’s fine. Thanks man. I’ll be out in a sec.” I say, running my fingers through my hair and then re-adjusting my baseball hat.
Greg just nods and heads out, giving me the space I need to collect myself.
I’m doing the math in my head, trying to figure out how many years this guy has been locked up, and how he’s here now. I can’t even remember what he was sentenced—that whole time in my life is a blur and a lot of it was spent intoxicated. Not my finest coping mechanism, I’ll admit.
I get to the front of the winery and see him standing near the front. He looks nervous. He’s clutching an envelope and rocking back and forth on his feet. I can tell he probably wants to be anywhere but here.
I walk up to him, and I can tell he didn’t hear me coming. He spooks easily. Noted.
“Let’s talk outside.” I say, nodding towards the door. I’d really like this conversation to be brief, and I don’t need any of my patrons eavesdropping. It’s a small town, I’m sure this has already started circulating just by him being here.
We take a few steps towards the street, and I put my arms across my chest. I don’t speak, I just let him know I’m listening.
“Shit man, I rehearsed what I was going to say thousands of times it seems like. I knew if I ever had the chance to be face to face with you, I needed to do that and I needed to do it right.” He sighs, and looks at his feet. He kicks a pebble off to the side, and I remain still. Waiting.
“I don’t want to take up much of your time, so I’ll just come right out with it.
I’m sorry. I wish I could go back to that night and do everything different.
I wouldn’t have been an asshole in the bar, I wouldn’t have thrown a punch at you, and I wouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel drunk.
But, I can’t change the past. I made the mistakes and I know you’re living with the consequences of it everyday.
There’s no possible way for me to earn your forgiveness, especially because I don’t deserve it, but I did want to give you this”—He holds out the folded envelope towards me. I reach out and take it.
I’ve carried a grudge for the man standing in front of me for years, I’ve held it proudly, almost like a badge of honor.
You killed my mother, well congratulations, I’m going to hate you for the rest of my life.
It wasn’t until this very moment when I feel a tug in my gut. Like, something is sour and rancid within me. Like, I need to spit out whatever is eating away at me from the inside. It’s unfamiliar, but it’s almost painful.
“I forgive you.” I don’t even recognize the voice or the words that just slipped through my lips.
As soon as I said the words, he dropped down into a squat, his elbows on his knees, face in hands and I can hear the sobs racking from his body. A full body cry. He sits there for a beat, trying to compose himself, like my words have somehow freed him from something.
I don’t know what else to do, so I kneel down to his level. I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Listen man, I don’t know what the fuck is happening.
I came out here with all intents and purposes to tell you to fuck off and get lost. But something switched inside of me, and I just felt like I needed to give you that.
I’m still pissed as hell and I truthfully never want to see you again, but I feel like I no longer need to hate you. ”
He looks up at me, face still wet—“We all fuck up. Trust me, I’ve done my fair share. Some fuck ups just have worse outcomes than others.”
I stand up, and he follows suit.
“Thank you.” He can hardly get the words out.
I nod, and hold the envelope up.
I turn to head back inside, but before I reach the doors, I turn back towards him
“Right before the accident, my mom said the words, let’s do better. I think if we both go forward trying to do that, that’s what counts.”
My chest is tight, and I have felt like a stranger in my own body the last few minutes. Forgiveness. Something I never thought much about until I was staring straight in the face of someone who desperately needed mine.
I walk straight up to my loft, knowing Birdie is in her office, knowing I need a safe place right now.
I step into the apartment and can hear her early 2000s rock pop playlist floating throughout the whole apartment. It makes me smile. I love her taste in music. But that’s not surprising, there’s really nothing I don’t love about the girl.
I lean against the door jam of her office, and she’s laser focused on her computer screen. Her fingers are moving across her keyboard like she’s playing music, but that music is words, weaving together a story.
I sit there and stare for awhile, still trying to process the last fifteen minutes. I’m holding the envelope, itching to see what’s inside, but I didn’t want to do it without Birdie. I just needed to be near her.
“Holy Shit, Dawsen!!! You scared me!” She rolls back in her swivel chair, slapping her hand to her chest!
I just smile softly at her. “My bad!” I say, making my way over to her.
“What’s wrong? What’s that?” She senses things being off almost immediately. I hold up the envelope, “The drunk driver that hit my mom and I just showed up downstairs. I talked to him, and he gave me this.”
“Holy shit…again… What did he say?” She says, standing to her feet and rushing over to me. She grabs my hands, “Are you okay?”
“I’m surprisingly okay. Bird, I forgave him. I wasn’t expecting to, but he was standing there, and something like twisted inside of me, and it just came out.”
She pulls me into her. Her arms are wrapped around my back, and her face is pressed against my chest.
“Did it feel good?”
“So fucking good. Like I was finally able to relax my shoulders or something.”
“I’m so proud of you, honey.” She whispers. I can feel her warm breath against me.
She pulls back and looks up at me, eyes welled with tears.
“What’s in the envelope?” She asks, quietly and timidly like she doesn’t want to overstep.
“I don’t know. I wanted to be with you when I open it.” I tell her.
We head to the living room and I take a seat on the couch. Birdie is in the kitchen popping the caps off of a couple bottles of beer.
She saunters into the living room holding two beers and a box of tissue.
“Liquid courage, and just in case.” She says holding both up.
I laugh and pat the spot next to me on the couch.
She sits down and snuggles close. She nudges my shoulder with her nose.
“Okay, here goes.” I say as I tear open the side of the envelope. I can feel something inside so I tip it on it’s side.