Might As Well

by Dean Budnick

  “Bob acknowledges you beseechment and appreciates your shelter from the storm.”

  (Fine, I have to give you that one, which miraculously gets us back to my original point. Do you have a problem with people knocking on the door of your camper when you’re holed up in there?)

  “Bob does not.”

  (And why is that?)

  “Bob’s door remains closed to anyone who cannot provide the proper salutation. Bob does not wish to present himself unawares to the representatives of certain authoritarian organizations.”

  (FBI? CIA? IMF?)

  “ABC. One of their vice presidents went to school with Bob, spied him outside Madison Square Garden last fall and wishes to turn his life into a television docudrama.”

  (No shit, a docudrama, I can’t believe it.)

  “Well there would be some humorous elements as well.”

  (Arrgh. Again! WHO IS IT?)

  (Coins or cash for a sister who was shut out?)

  (COME ON NOW, I—)

  (Just kidding. Hey now, Mike. Good evening, Bagel Bob.)

  “Fair to middling evening Gershona.”

  (Tell me about it.)

  “Perhaps Bob will.”

  (Perhaps you should but not now, I’m on a mission. That’s why I’m here.)

  (Another dog, Gershona?)

  (We need you.)

  (I’m sorry but I have to stop doing this. I can’t keep on breaking into cars and liberating canines with you.)

  (But they need us.)

  (I know they do. And I would lock up all the assholes who leave them in there if I could but things got more than a little hairy last night. Those yellow jackets didn’t share our outrage. Plus, I’m in the heat of the battle with Bob and I already signed on for the book protest. I assumed that you’d be in on that.)

  (I will be. But we still have time for two covert missions.)

  “Your literary demonstration will be far from covert. It will be as overt as it gets.”

  (Hear hear.)

  (Let’s hope.)

  “Bob will keep his optimism in check while he aims to do the same to Michael.”

  (Finally, a move! Thank you, Gershona, at least you’ve liberated something.)

  STEVEN

  This is what I need, this is exactly what I need.

  Shannon and Emily had the primo idea when they decided to come out here, it’s like everything’s right or something. I wonder where they are. I mean no big deal if I see them but if I do that would be sweet.

  Set break is time to mellow out, walk around, get your head back together and prepare for the spacey second set. It’s pretty crowded out here but it’s not a bad sort of crowded. It’s not like a real traffic jam because no one’s trying to get anywhere, really. Except over there people are in line to get munchies and crap.

  That’s sort of weird, all those guys wearing tie-dyes in line buying hot dogs and candy bars. It’s something you wouldn’t expect. You’d expect them to boycott that sort of stuff because they don’t eat meat or the package isn’t recyclable or whatever. Like that guy with the long braids in his hair getting a cheeseburger and—

  “Excuse me.”

  (That’s okay. Buzzing past by the snack bar I see.)

  “Sort of.”

  (Dig. I could rage all over an ice cream if I had the bread.)

  “Yeah, me too.”

  (Well, have a good second set.)

  “Nice bumping into you.”

  That was cool. Kind. No, kind doesn’t cut it. Deadheads are peaceful, like there’s this inner thing to them and that thing is mellow or whatever.

  Not many people are going for the thirty buck T-Shirts. That makes sense. They’re kind of cool but thirty is way too much. I could have bought a much cooler T for ten.

  Wow, look at all the Heads over by the pay phones. I bet they’re calling their friends and telling them what songs the Dead played. That way people don’t have to call the 1-900 number where the guy reads the setlists.

  There’s a lot of grungy people too. People I wouldn’t figure have enough money to afford a ticket. Of course maybe they got free tickets or something but some of them sort of look like the people you see muttering to themselves on the streets of New York. Like that guy over there behind the people in that circle who keeps saying “beautiful toys, beautiful toys” over and over again. That is kind of intriguing, though. I wonder what the toys are. Or who the toys are.

  And over there on the floor, all those little groups of Heads are sort of huddling together and talking. And over there, they’re sitting Indian style in a circle like they’re going to play duck duck goose. They’re totally sweaty, they must have been dancing like crazy.

  It’s wild out here. It’s filled with all sorts of cool people, all sorts of Heads. It’s like a giant Deadhead convention.

  STELLA BLUE

  “What did you say, Mommy?”

  (I said, ‘What, Stella?’)

  “I know you said that. What did you say before that?”

  (I don’t know, honey, I was talking to Aunt Jenny and her new friend.)

  “I remember him. He thought I was asleep.”

  (Well I’ll forgive him if you will.)

  “Okay. What happened to the lights, Mommy? Why are they on?”

  (Because the Grateful Dead stopped playing and now everyone wants to be able to see.)

  “Oh.”

  (Any more questions?)

  “Hmmm… Is there anything real that’s nowhere?”

  (Good question. Jenny, Stella wants to know if there’s anything real that’s nowhere.)

  (This girl is Deadhead through and through. I don’t care if she’s three years old—)

  “Threeandalmostfour.”

  (I don’t care if she’s threeandalmostfour, Stella Blue is asking all the right questions.)

  (And are there any other questions you have for me, big girl?)

  “Why are we here?”

  (Why are we here… Wow, that is a really short question that calls for a really long answer. Where should we start? You know, this one is sort of connected to the last question, which also was an excellent one. Okay, Stell Belle, let’s try to think back a long, long, long time ago—)

  “Why are we here if the Grateful Dead are gone?”

  (Ahh, ahhhhh…because they’ll be back. They’re taking a break. Jerry’s taking a nap just like you do.)

  “Mommy, Jerry’s not taking a nap.”

  (I don’t know, Stell, your mother may be right with that one.)

  (Maybe he’s not taking a nap but he is taking a break and then the Dead will come and play some more. Do you want to see them play some more?)

  “Nuh-uh.”

  (No?)

  (Fickle Head. Everybody’s a critic. The kid gets a little upset with the first set so she stages a protest by sleeping through the ‘Let It Grow,’ then—)

  (Jenny, extinguish it.)

  (Right.)

  (Stella, you don’t want to stay to see Jerry and Bobby play some more songs?)

  “I’m hungry.”

  (Hungry? Are you sure you’re not sleepy? You don’t want to go home and go to bed, do you?)

  “No Mommmeee, I don’t want to.”

  (Okay then, what do you say we get up and go for a walk and find you a snack? How does that sound?)

  “Okay, Mommy, let’s go.”

  (Hey I thought the two of you said Stella’s been to eight shows. How come she can’t remember the set break?)

  (Take my hand, hon. Well, she was a Deadhead in utero and went to four or five shows prenatally. Then when she was an infant she went to a few, which was a treat because kids are free until they turn two. But we stopped coming for a while. This is the first show we’ve been to in a couple years.)

 
(Actually twenty-two months. I’ll tell you because Alison wants to spare me. I did a little time for holding a few plants for a friend. A few dozen plants. So the local prosecutor decided it would be fun to hold me. A lot of holding went on but none of it was too tender. What was tender though was that during those twenty-two months, my touring buddy did some sort of vigil thing and stayed away from the Dead.)

  (Heck, it was nothing.)

  (Damn straight it was. She didn’t have a baby sitter.)

  “Aunt Jenneeee!”

  (Sorry, Stell, but you were a baby back then.)

  “No, you said a bad word.”

  (So I did. One should never say prosecutor in mixed company or there will be hell to pay.)

  “Aunt Jenneee!”

  (I know, Stell, I know.)

  ZEB

  G…F…E…D…Here we go…

  Four rows off the floor, one section back from the stage, Phil side.

  We are gonna be DEEP in the PHIL ZONE.

  There’s the dude who sold me the ticket—Craig, I think he said.

  “Hey now, brother.”

  (Hey. Sweet seats, did I tell you?)

  “You told me.”

  (You’re gonna dig it here. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you or not. So what’d you think of the set?)

  “Missed about half of it. How about you?”

  (I made it just before Bobby’s first lunge during ‘Bucket.’)

  “How’d you do that?”

  (I have my ways. I zagged. I zigged. I zagged some more and then I Ziggy Marleyed my way to victory.)

  “You cut the line?”

  (I wouldn’t call it cutting. Nobody out there got cut. I have my techniques and none of them involve laceration. Listen, it mattered more to me to be in here on time than most of those people, so I made it work. Plus I was serious when I said that I Ziggy Marleyed. I pulled out a bomber and made some new friends. That’s a lesson for you kids today, perfect your craft. With all those pipes out in the lot, people have forgotten the simple art of rolling the perfect joint. Assuming you stick with me for the second set and go don’t off seat surfing, you’ll see what I can do. I have some dyno doojie.)

  “Kind.”

  (The right kind. After ‘Bucket,’ it was ‘Bertha,’ ‘Little Red Rooster,’ ‘Ramble On Rose’—)

  “I was in for the ‘Rooster.’”

  (Then ‘Memphis Blues’ in Bobby’s Dylan slot. I prefer ‘Masterpiece’ there or ‘Desolation Row’ but to each to his own.)

  “I’m a ‘Queen Jane’ guy.”

  (Your secret’s safe with me. Just, kidding. Tough to quibble with any song from Highway 61 Revisited. ‘Queen Jane Approximately,’ I’m a fan of any song with the word approximately in the title, although I can’t think of any others right now. Back to our show, then we had ‘Tennessee Jed’ in your honor. That’s your name right?)

  “No, it’s Zeb.”

  (Zeb? If you’re going to make something up why not go right on point with Jed. Unless you were aiming for more of that Sci-fi, Star Wars kind of feel.)

  “No, that’s my name. Zebulon. I’m named after an explorer.”

  (I’m gonna my kids after explorers one day. I’ll call ’em Jerry, Bobby, Phil, Mickey, Bill and sometimes Brent.)

  “Come on now, Craig, don’t be harshing on Brent.”

  (You’re a Touchhead, aren’t you?)

  “Come on now, Craig, don’t be harshing on Zeb.”

  ROBIN

  Sit Robin sit find spot

  So many people smiling skipping smiling sipping smiling sweating.

  In the corner.

  (OooopsSorrrrry!)

  Pizzaaaa.

  “YesssHaaiiirzzzclean!”

  Sitsitisit.

  Against wall away.

  (Hi.)

  Theresss aperson.

  No two personnssss lying together.

  Nice.

  “Nice.”

  Setlist.

  In bag.

  Okay.

  After “Rooster” after “Rooster” after “Rooster.” Jerry.

  “After ‘Rooster’ Jerry?”

  (‘Ramble on Rose.’)

  “Thankyooo.”

  “Ramble on Rose.”

  Next Bobby Bobby Bobbybobbybobby.

  “Bobby?”

  (‘Memphis Blues.’)

  “Thankyoooo.”

  (Show her your setlist, Annie?)

  (Let her try, she can do it. She can do it. You can do it.)

  “Memphis Blues.” Next Jerry Jerry Jerry Jerry Jerry Jerry

  Jer-ry Jer-ry Jer Je-Je-Je-Jed-Ten Jed!

  “‘Ten Jed!’”

  (You got it!)

  “Ten Jed.”

  Then Bobby Bobby Bobby.

  Bob-by Bob-Bobobobob-Bobby-bobby.

  Bobbybobby.

  “LetItGrowwwwww!”

  (She did it!)

  (She did it!)

  (Our little girl’s all grown up! She can figure out the setlist all by herself!)

  “Haaaaa!”

  RANDY

  “Alright, gentlemen, so the name of the game is Diplomacy.”

  (Is that the actual name or are you giving us a strategy tip?)

  “Schultzie, can you read what’s directly in front of you on the game board? The actual name is Diplomacy. Although I suppose that is something of a strategy tip.”

  (Okay, now I see. It’s in cursive.)

  (Do you even attend class? We’ve been talking about this for two weeks.)

  (What kind of a wack job political history class requires to you to play a game for 20 percent of your grade?)

  (What kind? A wack job political history class filled with football players. Are you seriously complaining about this? That’s part of the reason we’re all taking this, it’s a gut. It’s no Geology 100, God bless Rocks for Jocks, but it’s a pretty sweet deal.)

  (But why does the game part take place on a Saturday? Who wants to play on a Saturday?)

  (You did this past fall, when you were collecting splinters on the bench. Ouch!)

  (Piss off!)

  “Sorry, Schultzie, you might have played on Saturday, if I hadn’t been ahead of you on the depth chart.”

  (Wow, you’re so deep.)

  “And you are the antithesis of that.”

  (I’m impressed with your big words.)

  “I’m impressed with your big gut which is why you didn’t play on Saturdays.”

  (Oh boo hoo.)

  “Boo hoo, does that even make sense?”

  (It makes as much sense as you starting over me when we both know I could take you in a fight. And I could take your woman if I wanted.)

  “Take her where, to ladies night at the beauty parlor?”

  (Well at least you’re admitting that Angela and I are both beauties. Which is more than can be said about you. Which is also why we were made for each other.)

  (Schultize, you and Randy were made for each other?)

  (Robbins, you’re quite the Charles Nelson Reilly. But you know, as a favor to Angela, I’d let him in on a three-way if he never made eye contact with me and she worked him from behind.)

  “Alright, alright just simmer down. I knew that was what this was about. Stop talking about my girl. My girl. Simmer down and let me teach you how to play.”

  (Well you simmer down and one day I’ll teach you how to be a player.)

  “One day.”

  (Although some secrets I’ll have to keep from you. Angela was telling me you’re too dainty for her tastes.)

  (Dainty?)

  “Really, do I need this shit? I’d rather listen to the shitass high school ref try to defend his high school ref shitassery.”

  (Careful, Randy, y
ou’re going to knock over the board.)

  “Listen, I already know how to play. Trust me, I’m going to crush you all tomorrow. But I offered to help. I said we could do it earlier in the week or even tonight after we finished up. You were the ones who said you wanted to do it here, not me. I was just trying to be a good teammate. But seriously, fuck it.”

  (Come on, Rand…)

  “The board doesn’t even really fit on this milk carton, we don’t have everyone here, our demented supervisor is going to come looking for us any minute now, I’m starving, I’m covered in blood…”

  (But other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?)

  TAPER TED

  (Ted, this is Hillary and her friend Beth.)

  (And I’m Tommy, just visiting the tapers’ section from a warm and welcoming place I call reality.)

  (Feel free to ignore him. In fact, he’s leaving.)

  (I am?)

  (You am. I’m buying you a beer. Let’s go. Ted, why don’t you give Hillary and Beth the full tour. I’ll be back in a little while to pick them up.)

  “Right. Hillary and Beth. So how old are you? No, wait, I always hated it when people asked me that. How about, what grade are you in?”

  (Ninth.)

  “Both of you?”

  (Yup.)

  (Yup.)

  “Okay then. Well, like Rez said, I’m here to give you the tour.”

  (Who?)

  “Me.”

  (No, who’s Rez?)

  “Ohh, Rez, Kathy. She’s my wife. Kathy. The one who brought you down here.”

  (Why do you call her Rez?)

  “It’s her nickname.”

  (What does it mean?)

  ‘”It’s short for…something.”

  (What?)

  “What?”

  (What?)

  “Kathy. It’s short for Kathy.”

  (Whatever.)

  “Come on, let’s start the tour though.”

  (Will we get to meet Bob Weir?)

  (Come on, Hil, I told you. He’s eating or something. He doesn’t want to be bothered. Does he?)

  “You’re asking me?… Oh, you’re asking me. Well actually I don’t know.”