c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-26)
Jessica Decosta Breen had lived her early life on the precipice of sanity. More as an episode of performance art than a journey to fulfillment and adulthood. She traveled frequently, had many romantic partners, and friends from every corner of the world. Yet upon having her first child at the age of 27, a son who was energetic and curious about everything, her focus shifted out of necessity. She was no longer simply a gypsy adventurer and vagabond. Now, she had become something more demanding and consequential, by far.
She was, due to an accident of happenstance, a mother.
Her move to accept that role did not come immediately. While changing diapers and feeding baby formula, she continued to drink copious amounts of vodka or vinted concoctions. And smoke marijuana or hashish whenever it became available. She painted portraits for extra money, and designed jewelry for friends. Waiting on tables at local restaurants when this stream of income proved to be unreliable. Underneath the rebellious flair of a creative femme, however, was something more sturdy. She had learned to be self-reliant at an early age. Therefore, she always kept mentally attuned to every situation, thinking ahead of the game like a chess-master at the board.
But her encounter with Townie Link, a teenaged drunk and music addict, happened idiopathically. They met through a mutual friend with whom she stayed, while on a vacation trip back to her former home in New York State.
Lincoln was wide-eyed, skinny, reckless, and full of confidence that outstripped his abilities. Yet authentically talented in a sense. His Appalachian background did not mesh well with an existence among performers, poets, and malcontents in the shadow of Cornell University. So, despite prancing around on stages in the area, with a motorcycle jacket and boots, he never felt completely comfortable. That tension kept him teetering like someone affected by vertigo. But it also gave him a personality that could at times be charming to behold.
Jessica took him into a side bedroom, during a party where she was celebrating. Perhaps as much out of curiosity as anything else. She wondered how he would respond to an older, experienced woman who had already seen both coasts of the continent, and the old world of Europe.
The spark between them was genuine. Each one complimented the other. Almost instantly, they became a couple, living in conditions of squalor and profligate behavior. Clubbing, sitting in at recording sessions, and keeping late hours that defied normalcy and parenting.
Link reckoned they were minor stars in the Rock & Roll constellation, mirror images of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen. It was a role he eagerly adopted, while manufacturing a timeline for himself out of whole cloth. He claimed to have grown up on the hard streets of Pittsburgh. Before coming to his new home, for an apprenticeship in television broadcasting. An escapade that irritated police officers, judges, and elected officials in their city. But yielded very little actual notoriety, along with dropping out before earning a formal degree.
His adoptive girlfriend was entertained for a moment, while the lure of loud guitar riffs, wine, whiskey, and cocaine held sway. But then, they were stuck in a hillside house with four apartments. A structure poorly maintained and sparsely furnished. They were broke and ruled by a chaotic ethos. Neither of them could settle on a stable routine of any kind. Meanwhile, the needy howl of a developing infant continued to resonate. He was perpetually hungry and cranky, and craving attention.
Finally, Jessica realized that the partnership she had initiated was out of step with her altered responsibilities as a parent. She had to prioritize her young seedling above all else. Or surrender to the reality that her authority as a custodial mater would be stripped away in legal terms. Yet in her former home, among the creative outcasts and visionaries, that would never occur.
She told a series of convincing lies, while stashing funds in her dresser drawer. Then, as she and her male companion were drinking and smoking away an evening in the fall, she announced her true intentions with a confession of inconvenient truth.
“Townie, I have a plane ticket to fly back to California, with my son. We leave next Monday morning, my soul-sister Sage is coming to pick us up at six o’clock...”
Lincoln reacted by excusing himself to the bathroom. He had imbibed over half a gallon of potent, red juice. Sorrowfully, he stared into the mirror over their sink, frowned and grimaced, then turned to the wall and lashed out with his right fist. This righteous blow scattered plaster and wooden trim around the small space. When he exited with a bleeding paw, to explain this noisy interlude, his voice had risen to the sound of a wounded lion’s roar for relief.
“YOU’RE GOING BACK TO CALIFORNIA? WELL, I’LL TELL YOU WHERE I’M GOING, HONEY! DO YOU WANNA KNOW? I AM GOING STRAIGHT TO HELL!”
Their relationship continued in silence, until the airport rendezvous had transpired. After that wordless farewell, he was once again a vagrant bum, on the sidewalk. With no job, place to stay, or advocates left to offer comfort. He had alienated every friend in the city. And emptied every bottle in his possession. A chain wallet hung meekly at his hip, bare and useless, except for carrying an expired license and coupons for pizza.
Now, the senior mom relived this bygone adventure while considering the queries of her daughter. Who was her real father? The question burned her ears with a toxic resonance. She had been stoned, dizzy, and intellectually compromised until that moment of clarity, some four decades earlier. She could not be sure of anything before+ her escape to the gold coast. Lovers? Partners? Chance encounters? They had been many and numerous. Her only interest had been to seek pleasure and gratify herself. Anything else turned her stomach as being decidedly square and out-of-touch.
Only the call of motherhood planted her feet solidly on the ground.
In Cali, she realized that her belly was growing again. With the gift of another child, soon to follow. And new alliances forming, as she skillfully navigated through circumstances, to rebuild her life in view of the Pacific Ocean.
Townie Link no longer existed in her mind, or heart. But as she looked into the face of her daughter, lovingly, an odd vibe made her lips tremble. There in the eyes of her offspring was the look of someone else, someone very far away. Not only in terms of chronology, but also, geography.
A forgotten man that she never intended to remember.
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