“Good.” The guy nods and smiles. Before long, he’s taking another photo with his phone. Then he’s walking off again.
Lauren’s eyes stay on mine for a moment, then she shrugs. “Is this statue amazing or what?”
~~~
A few hours later, we’re finishing the stir fry Tohru and Shakeesha made for dinner. I’ve been waiting all day to hear what they found out about Purge’s bass player but I guess Tohru meant it when she said we needed some time to chill. Even while we ate, we talked mostly about the things we did that day.
It isn’t until she and Shakeesha finish clearing the dishes that Tohru finally says, “Okay, now back to business. But don’t you totally feel better now? You know what they say about all work and no play. We just figured you guys needed to have a little fun.”
And she’s right. We had a great day.
Tohru takes her seat at the table again. “Like I said this morning, we checked into Downes and Carter. Total waste of time. For the heck of it, we looked into Jessica Malcom too but there’s nothing new on her. Of course, there’s like a million other Jessica Malcoms out there too but not the Jessica Malcom. But then we looked into our buddy, T. We found plenty of them too. So, Purge trivia question. Do you know where Trevor Harrison the Third was from originally?”
Tohru waits for me to answer.
I shake my head. “No idea.”
Tohru rolls her eyes and sighs. “And you call yourself a fan.”
“How could I possib—”
“Just screwing with you, P.B.” Tohru grins now that she’s gotten under my skin. “Originally, he was from Kansas City. Do you know where that is?”
“Maybe Kansas?”
Shakeesha bursts out laughing. “You’re right, Toe.” She turns to me. “She totally said you’d say that.”
“Everybody says that,” Tohru says. “Kansas City is also in Missouri. And guess where we found a Trevor Harrison—yes, with Roman numerals—living? Drumroll please.”
Shakeesha taps out the drumroll on the table with her forefingers.
“Kansas City, Missouri!” Tohru announces even though, of course, we know.
I can feel Lauren looking at me and I’m guessing that smile is already tugging at the corner of her mouth. She knows me well enough by now. And she’s right. “How far is that from here?”
“Like eight hours. No biggie,” Tohru says.
I try not to think about my parents and how deep I keep digging my own grave. But, either way, I’m going there so what’s a few more feet of dirt?
“How did you find him?” Lauren asks.
“Facebook, of course!” Tohru gets up from the table and grabs her laptop from the counter. She comes back and flips it open. “Here, check it out.”
Tohru has bookmarked the page and a few seconds later we’re grouped together staring at a Facebook profile. There’s nothing about the page that gives any indication this guy ever had anything to do with music. On top of that, there’s no photo. This Trevor Harrison uses a Halo gamer icon.
“He could be anybody,” I say.
“It’s totally him,” Tohru says. “I can just feel it.”
“Good enough for me,” Lauren says.
“Then it’s settled,” Tohru says. “How do you guys feel about checking out the Nashville Ghost Tour tonight?”
“Ooh, I always wanted to do that too!” Shakeesha says. “We need more tourists coming by to visit.”
12
Streetlights Like Fireworks
Here’s the thing about bands: Most of the time, if they’re good enough to be remembered, they were more than just a bunch of musicians who decided to make some noise together. They were a tribe. They dreamt the same dreams, lived the same hope, imagined the same future. At one point in their history, they were an organism sharing the same emotional blood. And even in the worst case blowouts, after the smoke has cleared and all the anger is put into perspective, they get back in touch with each other. Family is family, after all. Sure, they might say they have no idea what happened to the lead singer they recorded and toured with once upon a time, but come on. At least one of them had to know. That said, if any of the old members of Purge know the whereabouts of Jessica Malcom, they haven’t given away her location for all these years. So, why would they now? It doesn’t seem likely. Unless, somehow, we can convince them we have something Jessica Malcom really wants. Maybe that’s possible?
We hope so, since that’s all we have to go on as we exchange hugs and goodbyes with Tohru and Shakeesha in the parking lot next to their apartment building. They start crying and Lauren does too as they say how great it’s been to have us there. I feel kind of like crying too since they’re totally cool and I guess I’ll never see them again. But we tell ourselves we’ll see each other again someday, because that’s what people do in these situations to either stop crying or not start. And you never know, right? Maybe we will.
~~~
Four hours later, we’re crossing through Saint Louis and as the Gateway Arch comes into view it’s like Lauren is thinking the same thing. “We have to see that,” she says. “Jessica Malcom’s guitar will just have to stop being so demanding.”
I laugh since it seems so true, like this piece of wood has been bossing us around since I first spotted it. “Yeah, I’m totally in,” I say.
We pull off the highway and make our way through the downtown streets of Saint Louis. Soon, we ride the tram up alongside other tourists and stare down through angled windows from six-hundred feet in the air. Below, there’s the Mississippi River on one side and the city on the other.
“Is that a river boat down there?” Lauren says.
I see it too now and she’s right. It’s an old river boat. Or maybe it’s a new river boat made to look like an old one but it still seems like it just floated out of a Mark Twain story. “Very cool,” I say. “I wonder if we can take one of those tours.”
Lauren laughs. There are plenty of people around us and maybe that’s why she stands so close to me, her shoulder pressed to mine. I hope that’s not the reason.
“I’m glad we did this,” she says.
I don’t know if she means coming up in the arch or all of it. “Me too,” I say, since either way it’s true.
~~~
By seven that night we’re crossing another bridge, this time over the Missouri River, approaching yet another place I’d never imagined seeing. And while I’ve never had any reason to think one way or the other about visiting Kansas City, it still amazes me to see yet another skyline come into view. There’s just something about all those tall, shiny buildings clustered together, all those lives going on, that gives me a feeling of hope and possibility. The world just keeps getting bigger and offering more for the two of us to experience.
Still, the fact is, so far we don’t really have much of a plan. All we managed to gather about Trevor Harrison from his Facebook profile is that he was born in 1970, he lives somewhere in this city and he works at someplace called Gentech Biosciences. God only knows what they do at Gentech Biosciences but it’s difficult to imagine it being the kind of place where you’d be likely to find a lean, tattooed bass player with a mohawk. I realize many years have passed but, as far as the internet is concerned, the only images for T still show him in his Purge days. It’s hard to picture how he might look now. Either way, why would a bass player end up working at someplace called Gentech Biosciences? More than likely, it’s an entirely different guy with the same name.
But Lauren’s response to that probability has remained consistent so far. “Tohru had a feeling about it,” she keeps saying. “Besides, I have a feeling about it too.”
So, I don’t bring it up again now. Instead, I ask, “So, what’s our plan?”
“I’m thinking Riverfest,” she says.
“What’s Riverfest?”
Lauren glances at me and points out the window. “Really?”
When I look out my window pretty much all I see are signs for Riverfest lining the
streets. “Oh, hey, look at that,” I say, “I guess there’s a Fourth of July thing going on.”
“You know, you really should be more observant,” Lauren says.
“I totally knew you were going to say that.”
“For the record, that doesn’t make you psychic. At best, it makes you marginally aware.”
“That’s all I was striving for to begin with,” I say. And while I’m not sure if I should ask, I’m curious. “Thought you didn’t like the Fourth of July.”
Lauren considers for a moment. “Definitely not my favorite. But Riverfest seems like the thing to do when in Kansas City on July Fourth.”
She doesn’t add more, so I let it go.
It’s not hard figuring out where the festival is since all we have to do is find the riverfront. Still, parking is all but impossible and we spend the better part of an hour circling unfamiliar streets trying to find a spot. Eventually, a family piles into an SUV and pulls away. We grab their space at the side of the road.
“Riverfest better be good,” Lauren says.
“Totally your idea,” I say. “I didn’t even notice it was going on.”
Admission is only five dollars so that part is good. They also take credit cards, which is how we find out my father decided to try a little tough love. The woman at the gate runs my card three times before telling me it’s definitely a no-go. I’m not surprised. Worried? Yes. Basically, we’re screwed. And when I figure Lauren will agree that we shouldn’t part with any of our remaining cash to get in, she hands over ten dollars.
“Tohru and Shakeesha slipped me some money,” she says, once we’re inside the gates. “But it’s not much. They had about seventy dollars on hand. Things are going to get lean.”
I try to calculate where we stand. We filled the van with gas that morning and must have used half of that getting here. Other than the dollar I gave to the street musician, I haven’t touched my actual cash since I started using the credit card. So, that gives us another sixty or so. Considering we’re now two-thirds of the way across the country, we could easily end up stranded soon. There’s no way we have enough to get back. Of course, my father can’t know that. He sure as hell doesn’t think I’m in Kansas City. As bad as things look, I have to laugh.
“What’s funny?” Lauren says.
“I know my father wouldn’t be proud of me. He never is. But he’d definitely be freaked to learn how far I got before he cut off the cash flow.”
Lauren laughs too, then surprises me by linking her arm with mine. She pulls me closer. “We’ve had an impressive run so far, wouldn’t you say?”
In that moment, nothing else really matters. “Amazing, if you ask me.”
“And to think we’re not even done yet. Right now, we’re here at Riverfest. Who would have thought?”
Even though Riverfest offers only the usual carnival rides, food booths, face painting and bad music you’d find at any fair, in that moment it seems an amazingly unique event, worth driving across the country for. Kids laugh. Parents talk. Couples flirt. The air smells like cotton candy, barbecue and funnel cakes. Rides swirl and lights flash. My skin tingles where Lauren’s arm nests with mine, her skin against my skin. Magical stuff.
We aren’t there long before the sun calls it a day and people get ready to watch fireworks over the river. We find a place to sit on the grass and it feels like I’ve never seen fireworks before—the sky showering light while explosions of color burst above us. I look over at Lauren at one point and it seems the same for her. Her eyes are on the sky, her mouth half open. Way more magical stuff. If I could keep staring, I would. But I look up at the fireworks again. They’re beautiful but they really don’t compare.
Soon we’re following the crowd out of the park again and wandering those unfamiliar streets back to where we parked at least a mile away. Nothing there is threatening or strange. Just new. In the distance, firecrackers pop. Every so often, a bottle rocket shoots into the sky. Voices around us fade as the crowd thins and it’s just the two of us walking along under the streetlights. A misting rain starts just as we get back to the VW bus.
“Should we look for a motel?” I say.
Lauren unlocks the door. “I think we’re home for tonight,” she says. “After all, it nearly killed us getting this parking space. I think we should keep it for a while.”
We climb in I follow her to the back. Lauren slides a blanket from beneath the seats and we push our bags out of the way. She spreads the blanket across the floor and we lie next to each other while the streetlights shine through the windows, light trickling down with the rain. To me, that light looks like fireworks. Better, though, quiet and peaceful with just the two of us alone now. That magic is all ours.
“This doesn’t mean anything other than I like you, Pajama Boy.”
Still, I hear the smile in her voice.
“Got it,” I say, letting my hands rest at my side. But I can’t help smile too. And I think I understand. It’s been a long road for her finding someone to trust. I’m fine with this for now. Couldn’t ask for more.
Lauren rests her head against my shoulder. When she doesn’t say anything for a while, I think she might have fallen asleep. But then she whispers, “That was my best July Fourth.”
“Me too,” I say.
A few more moments pass before she says, “I know you heard me the other night when you were falling asleep. About me not really having a boyfriend.”
“Why did you say you did?”
Again, she waits to speak. When she does, her voice grows even more soft. “I wanted to be sure I wasn’t just using you.”
“What do you mean?”
Lauren breathes in slowly, then out. “Can we just go back to the part about me liking you, Pajama Boy?”
I know that smile is tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I liked that part,” I say.
“Me too,” she whispers. “Let’s talk about the rest later.”
Then she’s out, breathing deeply as she sleeps after a long day. But she’s next to me, which means I’m not really alone as I watch light mix with rain and imagine fireworks still shooting into the sky overhead.
~~~
Somehow, I sleep through Lauren getting up and driving across town. When she calls out, “Get your act together, we’re here!” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
I prop myself up on my elbows and blink against sunlight. “Where’s here?”
“Gentech Biosciences, of course.” Lauren glances at me over her shoulder. “I figured we better get here before eight, just to head off the early risers. Get your pants on and come up here.”
My pants? The last thing I remember was staring up at—
“Totally kidding, P.B. Last night was just about you snoring.”
“Nice,” I say.
Lauren laughs. “Like you would have forgotten. Now get up here.”
I go up front and sit next to her, eyes still blurry while she remains focused on the parking lot, evidently wide awake. “What’s the plan?”
“Sit here and wait for T to show up.”
So far, just a view cars sit parked in the black expanse of asphalt. “That’s kind of a huge parking lot,” I say. “Once that thing starts filling up, we might have a hard time spotting someone.”
Lauren nods. “That occurred to me. So, this would be a good time to start practicing those observational skills we keep discussing. By the way, I got you a coffee.” She passes me a Starbucks cup.
She stopped at Starbucks? How the hell did I sleep through that?
“Wasn’t sure if you wanted one of those iced decaf mocha things. I hope actual coffee’s okay. People are starting to show up so remember what I said about being observant.”
As the minutes tick by, cars keep flowing into the parking lot. At first, it’s easy since it’s still early. A car pulls in, someone gets out and we assess.
“Over there,” Lauren says. “Middle-aged guy getting out of the blue Volvo.”
“Not
likely.”
“Why not?”
“T’s not Asian.”
“Good observation. Okay, how about the skinny chick, red Toyota?”
“Um…”
“What? He might have had some work done. Don’t judge.”
“But she seems kind of young,” I say.
“Fair enough. What about that guy, silver Acura?”
“Pretty sure he’s at least sixty.”
“True, but maybe T didn’t age well. Stress and all that.”
I turn and stare at her.
Lauren laughs. “Just making sure you’re not slacking.”
Another half hour passes as cars keep coming and people keep getting out of them. All kinds of people. None of them look anything like T.
“I think we’re screwed,” I say.
“Maybe not just yet.” Lauren peers through the windshield. “What about him?”
I scan the parking lot, this time seeing a woman in a green business suit, a bald man in tan pants and a white shirt and tie, then a guy who looks to be seriously overweight trudging along wearing faded jeans and a wrinkled blue golf shirt. All of them are white, so they have that much in common with T, but that seems about it. I check again to be sure but Lauren’s watching the guy wearing jeans.
“The big guy?” I say. “Not likely.”
“You feel sure about that?”
I’m totally ready to blow her off for just giving me a hard time. After all, I’ve been staring at people for the better part of an hour. But then, yes, I observe a little more closely and notice the tattoo on the arm of the chubby guy. A Halo gamer icon.
“Okay, I see it.” Still, the guy is huge and looks almost as old as my father. “There’s no way that’s T,” I say.
“Keep looking.”
When she says it, he looks our way like he knows he’s being watched. As he tries to see us through the windshield, my mind shoots back to all those photos I’ve seen of T online. Those are the same eyes. It isn’t the color of his eyes. After all, lots of people in the world have brown eyes. Somehow, though, the intensity has remained. That fierce quality he showed as a young, furious bass player shines back at me. Different body, same soul.
Streetlights Like Fireworks Page 11