God’s Rockstar

The Peacock Press

The grounds were still wet, and there was a power line down in the middle of Stillman Avenue in Bergenfield, NJ. The train passes by every half hour or so, making everyone talk just a little louder than usual. I’m greeted at the door by a young man, his mother and their cotton puffed dog, Kiwi.

“Melissa! It is so good to see you,” says Dylon Haviland, the son of George Haviland.

“It’s good to see you, too,” I said as we reached in for a long hug. In that instant I know I have arrived at a place where I’m welcomed and comfortable.

I walk in and Marianne Haviland greets me, as well.

“It’s good to see you, Melissa. Go downstairs. George is practicing,” she told me.

Even before walking through the door, I am already feeling warm because of the music that’s being played on an electric guitar…

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