Road Rash

by Mark Huntley Parsons

  Then she kissed me. For reals.

  Sarah and Ginger sat with Kimber during the next set. When we broke, I grabbed a coke and joined them.

  Sarah smiled. “Hi, Zach. Nice to see you.”

  “Good to see you, too.” I turned to Ginger and grinned. “Hey, thanks for being the responsible adult and escorting these two children all the way out here.”

  “No problem,” she said with a straight face. “That’s why their parents paid me to come.”

  “What?” Kimber and Sarah both said.

  She just laughed. Kinda reminded me of a junior Amber. “You guys sound great,” she added.

  “Thanks.”

  Ginger and Sarah left to get something to drink. Kimber turned to me and smiled. “I think my sister kind of likes your guitar player.”

  “That’s only fair … I think his drummer kind of likes Sarah’s sister.” She laughed, and I said, “Speaking of music, how’re the Sock Monkeys doing? Last I heard, they were in some pro studio making a record.”

  “Kyle didn’t tell you?”

  Oops. He might have tried, but I hadn’t exactly been taking his calls. “Uh, he and I really aren’t speaking too much these days.”

  “I know he bailed on you when you left the band, and I don’t blame you for being upset about it. But”—she kinda sighed—“he feels really bad about it. You two guys are best buds, and—”

  “Used to be,” I corrected.

  “Okay, but I think he’s starting to realize what a butthead he’s been.”

  “You know, I don’t really want to talk about him right now—I’d much rather talk about you.”

  She reached over and shoved me. “You brought it up.”

  I held my hands up. “Guilty as charged.”

  She got serious. “The truth is, I don’t know how they’re doing, because Kyle’s out.”

  “Of the band?”

  She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  Now that was news. “They fired him, too? God, those guys are bigger idiots than I thought.” No matter what, Kyle was a rock-solid player.

  “Actually, he quit.”

  “Quit? Those guys have a steady gig all summer and access to a studio and a producer who’s helping them make a pro recording …”

  “I guess none of that matters if you’re miserable, right? Personally, I think he finally woke up. Let’s see …” She looked up, like she was trying to remember something. “He said, ‘Toby’s a butthead, Justin’s a pawn, and Josh is a spoiled brat who couldn’t keep it in the pocket if there was a button, a zipper, and a frickin’ Velcro flap holding that pocket closed.’ At least, I think that’s an accurate quote.”

  I had to smile. “Yeah, that sounds like Kyle. But I got news for you—Toby was always a butthead.”

  “No kidding.” She paused. “Look … Kyle should have walked when they kicked you out. He’s a little slow, but he’s catching on. I think a lot of the reason that he left the Sock Monkeys was that it wasn’t fun anymore without you.”

  I almost shot back a sarcastic reply, but I didn’t feel it. I mean, I was still pretty resentful, but I just couldn’t seem to work up a good case of the hates for Kyle after hearing all that.

  Besides, having Kimber here made it hard to be unhappy about anything.…

  34

  “Good Times Bad Times”

  Hey, guys …

  So guess where I am right now? (Well, I suppose the pic of the geyser on the other side kind of gives it away, huh?) Kimber, Ginger, Sarah, and I are in Yellowstone Park and it’s totally awesome. (Thanks for the help, Alicia—I owe you, big-time!) ☺

  Zach

  Saturday was a blur.

  A wonderful blur, but a blur just the same. Bits and pieces stick out in my mind.… Having a picnic lunch in the middle of a steaming lunar landscape; eating blueberry-cheesecake ice cream inside a giant log-cabin lodge with the roof seven stories above our heads; walking around the Upper Geyser Basin with Kimber’s hand in mine; watching a wayward herd of elk wander across the road next to Yellowstone Lake; and the four of us just cruising around the park in their rental car with the windows down—music blasting away—being amazed by everything we saw. But as hokey as it sounds, probably the best part was seeing Old Faithful.…

  The four of us were sitting on the viewing benches with a few hundred of our closest friends, waiting for the eruption. Kimber was in the middle of telling me about the thrills of summer school when there was a noise from the crowd, like a chorus of oohs and aahs. I looked over at the geyser cone. Okay, there was some steam drifting from it now, and water was splashing up and out intermittently. Was that it? I didn’t get what the big deal was. I mean, I guess it was kind of interesting, but I didn’t really see why everyone was so—

  And then it blew. Holy freakin’ smoke. That thing went off like a freight train, pushing God knows how many thousands of gallons of steaming water two hundred feet straight up into the sky. And it wasn’t just one burst, either. It went on and on.…

  I turned to Kimber and said the most brilliant thing I could think of. “Wow …”

  She smiled back at me. “Yeah. Wow.” And then we kissed. It felt so natural I didn’t even think about anybody else being there. But when we were done, both Sarah and Ginger were looking at us. It was semi-weird until Kimber announced, “You know, I really like this scruffy-drummer-dude-type guy. Plus, he smells faintly of Starbucks. So get used to it, you guys.”

  They both laughed, and that was that. Funny how quickly the weird can become the norm, huh?

  All of that was absolutely wonderful.

  What absolutely sucked, however, was saying goodbye.

  They had to drive back to Bozeman that evening in order to catch their flight, so they couldn’t go to the gig. We were just hanging out on the street back in West Yellowstone after dinner, and before you knew it, it was after eight. It’s funny, but it seems like all of a sudden you cross that line from This is so much fun it’s never going to end to Oh crap, it’s almost over. And from the moment you first think that, it’s not fun anymore. There was no getting around it—I had to get back to the club and they had to hit the road.

  What I really wanted to do instead was hole up in an out-of-the-way coffeehouse with Kimber for the next several hours and just hang. And maybe have a listening party, where you take turns choosing and playing favorite songs for each other. (Okay, maybe with occasional breaks for something “less cerebral,” as Kimber would say.) We’d known each other for a couple of years, but now there was this whole other … thing. It was like we’d just met, and we were absolutely dying to get to know each other better.

  I stalled as long as I could, but it finally got to the point where if I left right now, I could just make preflight. “Thanks again for coming up here with them,” I said to Sarah. “I think that was totally cool of you.”

  She smiled and nodded. “No problem—we had a great time.”

  I looked at Ginger. “You too—thanks for making the trip with Kimber. You’re a good friend.”

  She grinned. “So are you, Zach. Enjoy the rest of your summer.”

  Then I turned to Kimber. She tried to smile, but there were tears forming in her eyes. “Hey, it’s okay, birthday girl,” I said. “We’re halfway done—I’ll be home in four or five weeks. And you can talk to me anytime you want. Because I leave my phone on … unlike a certain little brat that I could name.”

  She hugged me. “Five weeks is a long time,” she said quietly. “And I’m going to miss you like hell.”

  “Even more than you missed me when you thought I wasn’t me anymore?” I was just kidding with her, trying to lighten her load a little, but it didn’t work.

  “Worse. Because you are you, after all.” She finally grinned a little. “And then some.”

  “Thanks. I think. And I’m going to miss you like hell, too.” I thought of a hundred different things to say, but none of them really seemed to fit, so I just picked her up and held her. Finally, I set her d
own. “I have to go now.”

  She couldn’t really talk. She just nodded.

  I turned away and headed up the street. Pretty soon I was running.

  I was late. Not for the gig itself, thank God, but I’d missed preflight.

  “Sorry,” I said as I ran up onstage. “Uh, my friends are flying back and I was saying goodbye and …” Suddenly I felt like I was back in the Sock Monkeys, making excuses for myself all over again. God, I hated that. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I’m just sorry.”

  Glenn and Danny were totally cool with it, and Brad acted like, Drummer? What drummer? But Jamie came over and talked to me as I was getting my stuff together to play. “Hey, how’re you doing?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  She just looked at me for a second. “You’re a terrible liar.…”

  Q: HOW MANY LEAD SINGERS DOES IT TAKE TO CHANGE A LIGHTBULB?

  A: DUDE … REALLY?

  The gig sucked. Not because I played poorly. To be honest, I was on autopilot, but I played fine and I doubt anyone could tell I was less than a hundred percent engaged. I saw Billy Ward at a local drum clinic once and he basically said that the mark of a professional is that even on their worst night they’re still at least acceptable.

  No, for the most part the band sounded fairly good. But Brad was doing his patented pissed-at-the-world thing, acting like he didn’t really give a damn about anyone or anything. Even though he’s the supposed leader of the band, I’d say he was the one who most often let his mood affect his performance.

  But tonight something was definitely up with Glenn, too. His playing was technically fine, like always, but he hardly said a word the whole night. He just did his job onstage without any interaction with the rest of us, and he sat off by himself during breaks. I tried joining him between sets, but he sent the message loud and clear that he didn’t want company. And all I got from Jamie was a shake of the head.

  Even Danny seemed a little subdued, which was pretty unusual. I don’t think I heard a single joke out of him all night, and during breaks he just hung at a table with Amber.

  Something had clearly happened during the day, but I didn’t have a clue what it was. So I basically spent the evening with my head down and my arms up.

  Near the end of the gig things finally heated up, but not in a good way. We’d just finished “Long Walk Home,” by Neverland, when Brad walked over to Glenn’s side of the stage.

  “Hey, man,” he said. Only he said it more like, Hey, maaaaannnn! “I know you’re a frustrated lead singer, but that’s no reason to noodle your guitar all over my vocals.”

  Glenn looked honestly surprised. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t give me that. You were just wailing away right through all my verses, way too frickin’ loud. You got a problem with something, keep it off the stage … at least when I’m up here singing.”

  I thought it was funny the way he phrased it: all my verses. Like when he’s singing, nothing else exists. But the weird part was, Glenn wasn’t doing anything wrong. I mean, yeah, sometimes lead guitarists get all ego’d up and do that look-at-me thing. But Glenn was just laying down a solid foundation behind the vocals and then stepping out when he was supposed to.

  But I guess Brad didn’t see it that way. In fact, he was still going off on Glenn, who wasn’t saying anything back. I couldn’t help myself …

  “Dude!” I finally said. “He’s playing it just like he always does, and it sounds fine with your vocals.”

  Brad looked over at me like I was a fly he’d found in his beer. “Oh. So now little miss I-don’t-need-no-metronome is telling me about singing, too. Hey, you wanna give Danny some bass lessons while you’re at it?”

  “Knock it off!” Glenn said. “They’re not paying us to stand up here and bitch. Play now, talk later.” He looked at me. “Zach, count off the next song.”

  So I did. And those were the last words spoken onstage.

  Q: WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A DRUM MACHINE AND A DRUMMER?

  A: YOU ONLY HAVE TO PUNCH THE INFORMATION INTO THE DRUM MACHINE ONCE!

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  “Yeah, and we’ve got to stop having gigs like this,” I replied.

  Jamie just shook her head and blew out some air.

  “This really sucks,” I said. “Big-time.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “I think you do—you’re a lot smarter than you let on.”

  “Yeah? Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  What could I say to that—that the guy she was hooking up with had turned into a flaming jerk? Because he’s insecure about whatever? Good luck trying to get that across in one piece …

  “Well, first I’m supposed to believe that suddenly I forgot how to play drums and need tutoring on how to keep time. And now Glenn Taylor, of all people, needs to be told how to control his dynamics onstage? Gimme a break.”

  “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

  I snorted. “That’s like pissing into the wind. Somehow it always ends up all over you instead of him.” I paused. “You should know that better than anyone.”

  She let it go and changed the subject. Or maybe not. “You’re missing your friends, aren’t you?”

  I just nodded.

  “You’re serious about that girl—Kimberly—aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I think I am.”

  “Good for you. She seems real sweet.”

  “She is.” I paused for a second. This was one of those 2:30 a.m. things and I didn’t want it to be misunderstood. “She actually reminds me of you. Quite a bit. She’s smart as a whip.” I grinned. “She just doesn’t hide it as well.”

  “Um, thanks? Then you guys should be a good match. So do me a favor …”

  “What’s that?”

  “Pay attention to her.”

  That’s it? I nodded and started to say Sure, when she cut me off.

  “I know it sounds easy, and you’re going to say Yeah, yeah, of course. But it’s not that easy. She’s not a guitar or a microphone or whatever that you can just play with for a while and then put down. She wants to be a part of your life, and I’m sure you’re cool with that. But she also wants you to be a part of her life. And that’s a little different.”

  I nodded again, slower, and this time I didn’t try to say anything.

  She came around and gave me a hug, then surprised me with a kiss on the cheek. “I want you to be happy, Zach. Really.”

  35

  “High on a Mountain Top”

  Jackson Hole, Wyoming, is one big room with a view. I mean, you step outside the door anywhere in town and turn north and you’re looking at the Grand Teton. (Yeah, the name is worth a grin the first time—I can imagine the report home from the explorer who originally discovered them: Your Highness, today in this new land we have discovered a range of beautiful mountains, pointed and firm and well proportioned as no other. We have decided to call these majestic peaks … the Big Titties. Uh, the men and I have been on the trail a very long time …)

  And beyond the view, the town of Jackson itself is also very cool. There’s this amazing square right in the middle, with giant arches on each corner made of elk antlers that you walk under to enter. At first the girls were freaked out, thinking that thousands of animals had been shot to make the arches. But after they found out that those antlers were actually shed by elk in the nearby preserve, they were good with going to the square. And shopping …

  The place was a serious tourist resort—there were tons of good restaurants, and the club we were playing in was a great venue called the Wild Frontier, with a huge western-style bar that must have been eighty feet long and a big balcony that would hold a bunch of additional people on a busy night. So all in all, it was a first-rate club in a cool town in an absolutely amazing location.

  But all of that doesn’t mean squat if everything around you is falling apart.

&n
bsp; It only took us three hours to drive down, but it was the longest trip of the summer. Talk about the silence just hanging there … I probably said ten words the whole way, which was nine more than Jamie. And Glenn may as well have been a rock—he just sat there, staring out the window. Even Danny and Amber were subdued. But for some weird reason—even though he didn’t really talk, either—Brad actually seemed kind of cheerful.

  The club was part of this big complex that was a ski destination in the winter and a golf and tennis resort in the summer. When we got there, I helped unload the gear. Then I took my duffel to my room and got the hell out of there. I ended up at this great little place near the center of town that had a bookcase running the length of one wall, a chessboard at every table, and interesting indie music coming from the speakers. They specialized in coffee and chocolate. I swear, Kimber would have set up residence and never left.

  So I ordered a mocha in her honor, took a quick flick of the place, and gave in to a sudden urge to write her.…

  From: Zach Ryan [ZR99@westnet.net]

  Sent: Sunday, July 25 5:40 PM

  To: Kimberly Milhouse [kimmilhouse@cencast.net]

  Subject: Hanging in the Hole

  Hey, Kimberina—

  Check out this video clip. Yeah that’s a huge bookcase along that wall, yeah those are chess pieces in the little bags hanging off each table, yeah that’s Los Campesinos you hear in the background, and yeah on the table right in front of me is a big hot mocha featuring the house specialty … dark chocolate they make right here. So, ya wanna join me or what …?

  Seriously, I could use the mental-health break. You’ve been gone less than a day and already things are 180 from where they were. Every group has its issues, but the weirdness here is at an all-time high. There’s some subtle triangulation thing going on, but instead of two guys fighting over one girl, it’s more like one girl fighting over two guys. And I’m also getting the feeling that my joining this band wasn’t exactly by unanimous consent. But I’m trying not to let it affect me (too much). My musical insecurities are getting better, thanks to you and a few other things. (Hey—I never told you about my late-night run-in with a burned-out old hippie dude who turned out to be anything but. Remind me sometime, k?)