The Visit

Written 7/21/26

A rewrite of an old RP between myself and Jesse's creator that was finished waaay back on 12/11/22. Some of the old lines of dialogue were carried over but it's otherwise a complete remake from Custer's POV

In 1984, Jesse invites Custer over for their first meeting in seven years, but it turns out his old buddy isn't doing too well...

Warning for mentions of alcohol (but nothing on-screen)

Back to Custer

Approaching the porch of Jesse's oddly simple house, the birdsong and occasional rush of a passing car to his back, Custer took a deep breath. He pulled in his black leather jacket over the gift bag in his arm to protect it against the autumn breeze. Three days ago, he and Jesse had planned their meeting over the phone. It would be their first time seeing each other face-to-face again after seven long years and a truckload of questions ran through his head. What did Jesse look like now when he wasn't posed for a magazine? What would Custer look like to him? Did he blame Custer for what happened with that Fire Magnolia record?

Remembering their mysterious hiatus, he opted not to bring the band up around Jesse. Better to talk about his new solo career. But then Custer thought back to his own solo career and hesitated before the door.

This was Jesse Kinsman's house, the very same Jesse Kinsman whose song left him crying one night and determined to restart to little success. Try as he might to remind himself that he was merely visiting an old friend, Jesse was in a different league now. Just the same, the two stories of red, immovable brick towered over him. He felt small in comparison, like a feather that the wind could blow away at any moment. Adjusting his blond wig, he checked the inside of the bag one more time, and then reached for the handle. When the unlocked door opened, he felt a tiny sense of relief. Jesse didn't forget.

"Howdy, Jesse! Are you here?" His voice was weathered with age and noticeably English despite his vocabulary. He tried his best to put some energy into it just for his friend. A respond came from another room.

"Custer? Hey man, hold on a second! I gotta finish this riff."

He dropped the gift back beside the door and shook his head, a smile forming on his lips. That was Jesse, alright. Always had to finish one thing before starting another. The living room was surprisingly ordinary and held the usual disarray: a few cups and dishes on the coffee table, a pair of crumbled socks and a t-shirt on the couch, and further away, a scattering of children's toys on a large rug. But what caught his eye was a small child, maybe four or five, facing away from him and playing with some of the blocks on the floor. He had almost forgotten that Jesse was a father now. It felt like only yesterday that he received that letter talking excitedly about the birth of his son. What was his name again? Maxwell? Malcolm?

Custer quietly approached, and suddenly the name came to him. Mason. He wore wide shorts and a blue t-shirt, his hair dark like Maggie's but curly like Jesse's. The fellow guitarist still hadn't come out yet, his complex acoustic finger-picking coming from a half-open door. The child, meanwhile, was too immersed in his toys to have noticed him- like father, like son. Although Custer knew he should probably wait for Jesse to introduce them, curiosity got the better of him. It couldn't hurt to say hello while he waited, right?

Trying to avoid the blocks and toy cars, Custer stepped to the side of Mason, slowly crouched down, and put on a wide smile.

"Hi there, little guy! I'm Custer, what's your name, eh?"

As soon as he began to speak, Mason jumped to his feet, his blocks spilling to the floor. His eyes were wide and startled. Then his soft face scrunched up. Like the flip of a switch, he began to back away and cry. Custer dropped his smile and stood up, looking around the room in a panic. This wasn't meant to happen. He couldn't remember the last time he had interacted with a child, but it definitely did not go like this.

"Oh, uh- Geez..." He stuttered, starting to follow Mason, "Don't- Don't cry. Please don't cry. I didn't mean to make you-"

Before he even realized that the guitar had gone silent, Jesse appeared in the living room. Mason tugged at the long legs of his jeans, sobbing incoherently, and his first priority was picking him up and making reassuring sounds. While doing so, however, he narrowed his eyes at Custer. Guilt prickled up his spine as he noticed the accusatory tone in the two simple words.

"... What happened?"

Mason was still crying but quieter now, his face stuffed in Jesse's white polo. Custer scratched the back of his head and shrugged.

"I-I don't know... I was just coming in to say hello, and then he started crying, and all I wanted to do was build... y'know, I-I guess, try to say-"

"Custer, Custer, it's fine." The impatience in his voice was obvious and Custer realized that his Problem was coming back. He cut himself off to focus on the child again. Was there really something about himself that could scare kids like this? The thought only just occurred to him. Perhaps he was simply too forward, or too flashy, or too old. But he nevertheless stepped closer to the duo.

"Little guy, I'm real sorry..." He began in a hushed tone, reaching out for Mason as if to grab him to which Jesse flinched back and pulled the child closer. He thinks I'm going to hurt him. Custer realized, the pieces clicking together- Jesse's tone, his distrustful look. For a moment, their eyes met and Custer's muscles clenched, the urge to yell at Jesse rising in his throat. But then his tensed shoulders fell, his gaze trailing to the floor. His friend eventually let out a sigh.

"Look, I'll just put him to bed for a bit. It's about time for his nap, anyways," He said, walking away without waiting for a response. Mason's muffled whimpers disappeared up the stairs until a door closed and Jesse came back down. Custer had been pacing the entryway in the meantime, and upon seeing Jesse, he stopped.

"Hey, again, I'm sorry about all of that," He said more calmly to which his friend shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, really. Mason's still a little... shy, y'know? You're not the first." He took the last step down, still almost a foot taller than Custer. "Anyway, seven years, huh? How've you been?"

Jesse smiled softly, looking as young as ever, and Custer knew he couldn't tell the truth. Not now. "Good. Everything's... good," He paused, and then let out a forced chuckle, "Got your hands full with that kid?"

"Oh yeah, Mason's a handful and more but I wouldn't have it any other way. Makes me practice harder when I have less time to do it. But what about you? What's been keepin' you busy these days?"

"Well, y'know..." He hesitated, picturing his average day lately with a grimace, "Making music. Trying to do something new with it. Quite."

"Same here. I've been meanin' to give your new album a listen. They're puttin' you in 'pop' now, huh? And your new look, it's very... interesting for you."

Jesse's grin was looking more and more forced by the minute, the air around them more awkward. Custer quickly changed the subject. "I quite enjoyed your new single. Very clean. Have you been using those new pedals, the little ones?"

"Nope," He crossed his arms proudly, "Just the big unwieldy stuff for me. I'm old-fashioned, I guess."

"And yet you haven't aged a day," Custer remarked before pointing at his full golden curls, "Let me guess, you're still using baking soda?"

"Of course! You don't fix what ain't broke."

He shook his head with amazement, muttering "You madman..." under his breath. Jesse had always head the best hair out of any of them even when Custer went through great lengths to take care of his. The secret, he always claimed, was baking soda and Custer almost tried it once in the '70s.

Just as their conversation seemed to be getting a little more cheery, however, Jesse gave him a squint, his voice taking on a serious tone. "If I'm bein' honest, though... You don't really seem all that well. You smell like alcohol or something."

At the mention of that word, Custer's eyes widened. "Really? I do?" He asked, his heart starting to race. The last time he drank anything was... what? Three or four nights ago? Not that he'd tell Jesse he was drinking at all. He quickly lifted up part of his jacket, giving it a sniff, and sure enough...

"Gee, how'd that get there?" He chuckled, trying to play it off, "They must've been, uh... working hard at the factory, I suppose."

"Well, you look a bit tired, too..." Jesse frowned, moving his gaze up and down the older man before putting a hand on his upper arm. "Look, uh— why don't we both sit down? I'm sure you had a long drive over here. I've had a busy day myself."

He waved towards the couch with his other hand. Custer had to admit it looked rather comfortable, especially when he remembered his aching back from being at the wheel all day.

"Uh, thanks. I wouldn't mind at all. Quite."

Silently cursing that nervous tick, he took the nearest seat at the edge of the couch. Almost immediately, he realized how exhausted he was. He felt like he could fall asleep right then and there if he didn't stop himself as he leaned back, his eyelids drooping. Jesse, he assumed, had already sat down somewhere. Probably the recliner nearby. That was, until he felt his stare digging into him from above. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jesse merely standing next to the couch and watching him with concern. Even... pity.

"Custer, have you considered retiring?"

He jolted up in the couch, his wrinkles tightening with a mixture of shock and annoyance as he turned towards his friend. It was a question he'd heard a critic or two put in writing. But he would've never expected to hear it from Jesse, not least in person, blunt as he was.

"Oh, come now. I'm not that old."

For a moment, though, he actually considered the idea and wondered if he'd be happier that way only to remember the multitude of times he'd been reminded of his age already. It was critic speak. Something to be dismissed.

"Besides," He added, cooling down, "What would I do besides music?" In a way, he was trying to convince himself. The longer his own words lingered in his mind, though, the more sad he realized they were. The last thing he wanted was for Jesse to feel bad for him.

"You can still do music if you're retired," His younger friend responded, interrupting his thoughts, "I guess you just wouldn't be public and I know how much you love the audience and all that."

"Well... doesn't everyone? I mean, the crowds have always loved you."

Jesse shrugged, unable to hide a slight smirk as he finally moved to sit down in the recliner. "You could say I have my people- mostly Fire Magnolia fans that have stuck around. The mainstream listeners have changed so much, though. So many new trends and styles that you don't know which one to choose."

Custer let out a small huff, putting his elbow against the armrest and his cheek against his palm. "Tell me about it..." He muttered, staring off at his lap as he thought of all the crazy groups that were getting big these days with everything from new wave to metal and weird sounds in-between. But then again, he'd only seen so much of them because he'd been searching for things to imitate. Things like the synth, the lyrics, the outfits, the hair. His fingers grazed the synthetic hairs and he quickly perked up.

"I guess you noticed the wig, huh?" He chuckled ruefully, reaching up both hands to adjust it, "I've tried everything, man. Juices, pills... I think my hair's just a lost cause. And all these new singers, they're so young; they can get their hair in all crazy shapes and things. Anyway, it gets people's attention, doesn't it?"

"Maybe..." The least that Custer was hoping for as he pointed at the wild thing was that Jesse would be amused. But he looked uncharacteristically serious as ever, even wincing. "You sure it wouldn't be better if you just ditched the wig, though?"

Custer dropped his hands to his knees, feeling frustration spread up his body again. "Hm, and look like this?" He asked before pulling the wig off. Of course, his hair had been receding a little bit since the '70s. He managed to keep it at bay for a while. But his recent hiatus, as if it wasn't bad enough, took most of his hair in short time. Now it was mainly contained to the back of his head, patchy and unkept from being underneath the wig for so long. He gave the image a moment to sink in, almost mocking Jesse's serious face, before putting the wig back on. "Then I'll really look retired..." He muttered and Jesse shook his head, although it seemed less like disagreement and more like an attempt to shake Custer's scalp from his mind.

"That's not what I meant. Don't you, like, got a hat you could use instead? Why are we even talkin' about this? Look." Jesse scooted to the edge of the recliner, leaning closer towards Custer. "Forget about the wig. You seem tired and you smell like alcohol. Can you tell me what's actually goin' on? If I invited you over to be happy-go-lucky the whole time, I would've told you on the phone."

Custer's hand lingered on the wig while he spoke, slowly sliding down the back of his neck. He felt his heart drop to the floor, imagined the calm and normal chat he had prepared for growing wings and flying away, and couldn't meet Jesse's gaze anymore. As he stared at the tiny patterns in the seat instead, he listed in his head all the things that Jesse already had on his plate: his own career, his wife, his kid. Did he need the problems of some old man on top of that? Custer didn't think so. But as he felt Jesse's eyes stay fixed on him and the silence stretched taut, he knew there was no more pretending.

"Jesse..." He sighed, drooping his shoulders as he glanced back up, "To tell you the truth, I- uh... My music isn't doing too hot right now. Not really."

He let out an unsurprised hum. "I guess I figured as much, the way you've been avoidin' the topic n' all. What's the deal, then? Not coming out like how you wanted? I can't imagine the alcohol helps."

Custer let out a long sigh as he listened to Jesse prod him. So young, he thought. So innocent. "Well, I was clean for years..." He muttered, staring down at his fingers, "The music itself is only part of it."

This time, Jesse fell silent waited for him to continue. There was no point in hiding it anymore. After a long pause, he finally said the matter out loud.

"People hate me now. Critics, audiences, everybody. They think I've... aged poorly."

As the words left his lips, he saw his own hands tighten into fists. In the corner of his vision, Jesse leaned away a little, glancing around the room in search of a response.

"I'm sure not everybody thinks that. We all have critics."

"But you should see what mine say," He shot back, imitating in a high-pitch voice, "Oh, that Custer Buckley. He's just an old, washed-up failure that hasn't had it since the '50s. What's he going to make this time? Another bomb, no doubt! That's all he can make these days, that Goddamn lousy CRONE!"

The longer he went, the louder he began to shout the words until Jesse had to rise to his feet. A hand tightly gripped his shoulder.

"Custer! CUSTER! I get it!" He yelled back before falling to a clenched-teeth whisper, "Keep it down, though, will you? You're gonna wake my kid up like that."

They both glanced towards the stairwell, half-listening for a cry, half-shocked to silence. Custer's rant seemed to linger in the room, though, adding to his embarrassment. For a moment, he felt the sour tang of liquor on his tongue- always the first sign of his urge to run to somewhere private and crack open a drink. But there were no drinks here and he owed it to Jesse to stay. Trying to push the thought out of his mind, he lowered his head, running his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry, Jesse..." He mumbled, "I-I don't know what came over me there."

Jesse took a deep breath and pulled away, putting his hands in his pockets. "You ain't gotta apologize. Music is a hard business these days. But you shouldn't let them get you down like that, y'know? You've had a better career than half of them ever will have anyways."

Custer rested his chin on his knuckles, staring ahead as he considered his friend's words. Meanwhile, memories spun around of the previous decade, all the sold-out shows, the raving crowds, the passionate reviews. It only made it all the more painful to be on the other side of that. But... he'd been there before in the '60s, utterly hopeless until Ray and Fire Magnolia dropped themselves at his feet. Maybe it could turn around again. Maybe...

"You're right," He stated and, at the same time, tried to convince himself, "I just need to keep trying..." Keep testing the trends, more specifically. Keep trying new things. Keep doing anything to make people happy.

"Yeah, keep trying, but don't sell out or anything," Jesse was stating, but he only half heard him, "Make what you feel drawn to, y'know? That was always the Fire Magnolia way and we weren't always chart-toppin'." Suddenly Jesse clapped his hands together, his voice becoming excited, "Hey, Custer. Come 'ere, I wanna show you somethin'."

He began to walk across the room and Custer got up, biting back a grunt so that his friend wouldn't notice his effort. Jesse was already by the bar when he started to follow, an amused smirk on his face and palm on top of a small stack of colorful papers. He gave one of them to Custer.

"Check it out."

The drawing was crude and done with crayon, depicting a green field, a house in the distance, and three exaggerated figures. The smallest of them had a large, black-haired head resembling a mushroom. The second tallest wore a red dress and was shaped like a circle. And then finally, the third figure was practically a twig with a mess of yellow on top. Seeing Jesse's smile in the corner of his eye, Custer joked, "I didn't know you were an artist, Jess."

His younger friend snorted, "Those are Mason's. I've got more." He handed Custer multiple drawings of not-so-flattering depictions of the family. "They're somethin' else, aren't they? My son is goin' places, I tell ya."

Flipping to an abstract portrait of Jesse himself, Custer couldn't help but chuckle, momentarily distracted from the awkwardness of their previous conversation. "I'm sure it's great having Maggie and him around," He remarked, intending to be playful and not sure what else to say. Only after the words left his mouth did he realize what he was feeling deep inside. Envy. Despite the improbability of Jesse showing his son a photo, he wanted to see himself in the drawings, to know that a child thought of him. But every page had the same three characters.

Jesse must've not noticed this change in him, for his next words only put more salt on the wound. "Maggie's as perfect as ever. In fact, we have another kid on the way but it's not public yet."

Custer looked up from the drawings, blinking in surprise. "Oh, uh- congratulations," he stumbled at first before clearing his throat and forcing a smile, "Really, I hope that goes well for the both of you."

This time, Jesse seemed to notice something was off and his grin fell, his eyes searching Custer's face. Meanwhile, the older man tried to remedy the situation by putting the drawings in one hand and reaching the other to rest on Jesse's back. But the movement was too intimate for either of them. His fingers barely grazed Jesse, his arm falling back to his side. Jesse continued to give him a confused look while Custer avoided his gaze. At last, he remembered the old trick and glanced at his watch with a whistle.

"Oh, won't you look at the time," He gasped, turning back to Jesse and handing him the remaining drawings, "I guess I better, uh, get going."

"Already?" Jesse frowned as he stacked the papers back onto the counter, "I guess you must have a long drive ahead. Need me to walk you to your car or anything?"

Custer waved a hand as he began heading towards the front door. "That's alright. And- oh, darn. I almost forgot." He picked up speed, rushing for the gift bag still standing by the entrance, and swung back around towards Jesse. "I got you a little something," He said, holding it out towards the curious man, "It's a... late birthday present."

Custer clutched his wrist as Jesse dug through the tissue paper, lifting the heavy object out and letting the bag fall to the floor. A whistle escaped his lips as he held the gift up: a brown leather jacket with cream-colored areas in a cow print pattern. There were small strips of fringe down the arms and at the shoulders. The buttons were antique gold and shaped like stars. Custer couldn't help but smile as he watched Jesse excitedly look it over, feeling the material before hugging it to his chest.

"Wow! Thanks a bunch, man. This is real nice. It reminds me a lot of this vest I have... I haven't worn that in ages. I mean, talk about nostalgic."

"Well, actually, I did get it some years ago for myself..." He pointed out humbly, then let out a gentle, more genuine laugh, "I must've bought it without looking at the size. It's way too big on me, so I'm giving it to you. Why don't you try it on?"

That wasn't the only reason he was giving it away, however. Nostalgia for Jesse, he assumed, was all fine and good. But Custer had no use for such things. At his age, people would think he was holding onto the past. As such, his flashy country suits and jackets had been gathering dust for a while now. He tried not to picture the closet he dug the article from as Jesse pulled it over his polo, the fringe swaying as he spun around. Just in time, he proceeded to lean down and give Custer a big hug. It felt surprisingly natural and, for just a moment, distracted from his sadder thoughts.

When Jesse pulled away again, he stared at Custer with a reassuring smile. "I should really thank you for stoppin' by, too," he said warmly, "I'm sure you're probably busy. Maybe next time you're here you can meet the new baby, eh?"

He then swung an arm and punched Custer in the shoulder. Not expecting the maneuver, Custer let out a gasp of pain, grabbing the spot where Jesse hit him. It was just a playful tease, he quickly realized, and Jesse's face paled, his arms tensing up.

"Woah, I'm sorry. Did I hit you that hard?" He asked as Custer backed up to the door, shaking his head.

"No, just startled is all. Quite." The muscle under his leather jacket stung a little as if he pulled it, but he didn't mention it to his friend. Instead, he smiled one last time as he reached for the door knob.

"I'll write you sometime, okay? Tell me when the baby comes."

"Of course," Jesse replied cheerily as he followed Custer onto the porch, "Keep up the fight out there!"

"I will!" He shouted back, crossing the sidewalk. It was a moment before he heard the front door close behind him. By then, his gaze fell to the ground again as he zipped his jacket up against the sudden chill. Flashes of the more negative parts of the visit ran through his mind- Mason crying, Jesse's blunt remarks about his age, his own rant, the drawings, the guilt of wasting Jesse's time- soon he couldn't even remember his buddy's reaction to his gift as well as he remembered the expression on his son's face. At times such as these, he was tired of keeping up the fight. It was true that he didn't know what else he wanted to do aside from music. The audience meant everything to him.

But would things have changed if he had a family? A wife like Maggie? A son like Mason? He would still have something to turn to when everyone else turned their backs on him, when he became too old to sing or play guitar anymore- which lots of people argued had already happened. Now, instead of just guilt and envy, he felt an overwhelming pang of regret that clouded over his sore shoulder. Too late, the words rang in his head. At fifty-one, the door had long closed on such pursuits. If only he hadn't been so damn tunnel-visioned on his doomed-to-fail career...

Almost automatically, he got into his pristine vintage pickup and turned the key. The radio remained off as he drove away from Jesse's neighborhood in silence. A few minutes in, a drop landed from the gray skies above. And sure enough, it began to rain.