Chapter 7
Two of the groupies and three crew that had gone into the fast food joint came out while I stood there, watching her get on my bus. The girls started to linger, wanting to engage me, so I slowly walked away, cutting them off. I took my time ambling back to my bus, finished my cigarette. Gave the niece time to pass out the food as I talked to the other driver also out smoking.
I scratched my chin and talked about how much longer, what town was next, where we were now, how were Stephanie and the twins.
White t-shirt and blue cut offs hit the corner of my eye, so I snaked around the other side of the bus and climbed up the steps, claiming my chicken and telling Yorkie to fuck off and get out of my seat.
Only five seconds passed between when she got off and I got on, and Carlisle didn't even raise an eyebrow in suspicion.
He had no idea that so much just happened.
How her dismissing me had just upped my interest.
"Portland! How the fuck are ya?" Roaring. Screaming. The most beautiful, deafening sound. The best sound in the world besides my own guitar. There was nothing I thought of while on stage except my music. My singing, my chords, my words. Nothing else could follow me here.
Jake pounded the drums while Jasper and Yorkie jumped around, sweaty and spent and hitting the mic when necessary. White and blue lights flashed, cell phones lit up the venue.
I threw my head back, sweat flinging from my hair and running down my forehead. Walking back and forth across the stage, I played a solo, Jasper falling in line and landing next to me when I stopped. We stood in front of Jake's kit, and he pounded while we wailed together, smiling, living high on the feel of it all.
There were never issues on the stage. We were family up here. Brothers.
I talked to the crowd when done, making sure to look down at the white tape on the floor telling me where I was and giving me key points. Reminisced about the last time we'd been there. How much we loved them and what a great goddamned city it was.
They screamed loud when I mentioned the venue by name, roared when I recalled drinking at Low Brow Lounge. That was one thing I remembered if not for the redhead alone.
Jake began the slow beat of our next song, and I talked slow, getting into the groove. Talked about the place the song was about, a faraway moment. That was the only stuff I never had to make up.
Slow, Sunday mornings. A dog named Jessie. Riding in a pickup with my arm around a girl.
All true.
The only truth, maybe. What I wrote about.
Dark, drunk moments in a hotel. Nameless faces. A father who took out his anger on a son.
Slow groove grew into soft licks, petering out of notes, waiting… waiting… until Jake crashed through, Jasper jumped and I played my guitar and closed my eyes like I'd never love anything more.
That, was also true.