by SJ Cavaletti
Jason took a one-way trip down a whiskey bottle every day of the week.. He had entire weeks where he’d been on speed or gotten a hold of some opiates and couldn’t perform or practice. I knew that wasn’t the future I wanted. Looking after a drug addict was a ball and chain that I wasn’t sure I could drag forever.
He wasn’t good for me, but we had history. We went all the way back to high school. We were both on the football team and his Dad had been the coach. His Dad had looked out for me, tried to give me some of those manly lessons I missed from my absentee father. I went to family dinners at his when my Mom worked night shifts and Jason’s big sister was my first crush. We were practically brothers.
Stepping back out onto the Plain, my boots kicked up dust. I saw the Hawaiians already standing outside their motorhome under a tarp they had now put up, attached to the vehicle like an awning. They had set out a long table with chairs around for chilling. Pika saw us first.
“Eeeeeeh! Wassup, wassup?! Ma boys!”
He ran up to us and gave us half hugs, a bottle of champagne, hugged in his fist. He lifted it. “It isn’t much to get a party started, but first night’s special? Right?”
He gestured us under the tarp where Joey set out plastic champagne flutes. It was just the Hawaiians. The Cougars were already out. They often went out without us.
Pika and Joey got the champagne flowing, and we all grabbed a glass.
“Damn,” El said, picking up his glass, “You went all out. Pink?”
Pika wrapped his arm around El, “Only the best for my family.”
He unwrapped the foil, popped the cork and poured it out evenly into six glasses.
Joey put his in the air, “Come on now. Glasses up for a toast. To my family. Mind, body and soul we’re about to tear this place up. Leave it all on the Plain. This is the only place on Earth where we’re totally free to be our fucking selves, so let’s not miss a minute. Thanks for being my family, my people… Ka kaaaaa.”
He let out a cry like a wild bird.
In unison, we put our glasses together, “Ka kaaaa.”
Pika put his arm around me, “Nice, right? Or you rock stars just like the hard shit?”
“Ha. Yeah, I could use some refining. You force that sophistication.”
“So what’s up with you and Jason? He fucked off with your songs?”
I choked on the champagne, and it stung in my nose. Tears came to my eyes, and the irony annoyed the hell out of me. I wasn’t crying, but I should be.
“Who told you that?”
I tried not to sound angry, but was. Was this the topic of conversation now? And who would have told Pika? Not El? He was usually so discreet. Being a doctor and all confidentiality was his thing.
I blinked my eyes. The sting subsided. “Who told you that?”
“Ah. Jay texted me yesterday, asked if you were coming.”
That motherfucker. I couldn’t believe Jason had the balls to text MY people and see if I wasn’t coming so he could sneak in with my tribe? I had introduced Jay to these guys multiple times, in Seattle when they visited, here at Uyu last year they had all gotten to know each other. Sneaky. It was goddamn sneaky.
My jaw ticked, holding back a barrage of expletives.
“Yeah, he said that you two had a fight over like, who owned what songs or something and he didn’t want to run into you but wanted one last Uyu before he moved to New York.”
My teeth sanded together. Gritty. Angry. I still couldn’t speak, my jaw locked together.
“Don’t worry, man,” Pika said, “I know better. There’s only one genius in that duo.”
Finally, I popped. “For the record. We never had any fight. We never even spoke. He texted me to say he sold ‘his’ songs to some producer in New York and that he was moving. He said it was time for him to move on and had the balls to say I was holding him back.”
“What? Like he went behind your back and was shopping your stuff around?”
“Guess so.”
“And he was pretending it was just his or somethin’?”
“Sounds like it. It’s not like we had some big talk about it. He stole my shit and broke up with me on text. What do I fucking know? All I DO know is I wrote all our songs, all the lyrics for sure and ninety percent of the music. His fucking dick ain’t getting wet without me so good fucking luck.”
I wished I didn’t sound so bitter. It wasn’t my style. I wore leather so water rolled off my back. But this time, I was soaking wet. The storm got to me.
“Still sucks dude. You put years into that.”
I downed the rest of my glass. I didn’t want to start the night out on this vibe. At least I knew that if Jason had the nut to come to Uyu this year, he was trying to steer clear. My flask was full, my people had my back, and I’d figure it out when I got back to Seattle.
Still, I had a bad feeling I was going to get pretty wasted tonight.
We parked up our bikes at Magpie and thanked the universe that the band played Blues. Even though I liked many kinds of music (except Pop, I couldn’t get over the scathing feeling that top forty artists were sell outs), I preferred some styles.
Rock was my number one, but the Blues? Wasn’t far behind.
El loved Blues, too.
“Aw yeah,” he said, approving with a head nodding out of rhythm as he walked under the marquee. At one end was a platform, big enough for five cramped musicians. Glowing with blue light and with one disco ball, the place was relaxing but still exuded the vibe of the Plain. There was enough room in front of the stage to dance or watch while standing. There were three couches on either side of the marquee, creating a perimeter.
There weren’t many people there, Magpie was a bit chill for a lot of Gypsies, especially on the first night when everyone had loads of energy and arrived mostly sober. But with our crew, we brought the party anywhere we went.
We walked straight to the front of the stage, and I took out my flask to hit it. I really needed to relax. My mind raced like Jekyll and Hyde when the calming formula wore off. I couldn’t get my mind off Jason, but also was so happy to be right where I was. A total mind fuck.
A tambourine rescued me with its tinny tingle. I popped my flask into my backpack and rubbed my hands together in anticipation. A harmonica joined the tambourine.
I had always wanted to play harmonica. I used to put together blades of grass as a kid and try to blow out that same earthy, natural, woody sound. Rooted and old-fashioned, and it made me feel like I was in Huckleberry Finn floating down the Mississippi. Harmonica man wiggled his hand in front of his instrument, and a vibrato woke up every nerve in my body.
Next, the guitar. Electric. Moody. A quick note shot out to the crowd. I loved when Blues guitarists tuned and warmed up in front of the crowd. Too cool to care.
Rock guitarists did all their work backstage. We had to be pretty boys. Perfect. The blues? They were raw. Ugly. And so honest it hurt like only humans do. Blues was empathetic.
Another singular note from the guitar. The harmonica and tambourine got the downbeat going stronger, building the room slowly. Crescendo. Making sure we all knew how to move with one universal downbeat. They told us where to put our feet at what time. So we could all move together.
Another short groan of musical electricity from the guitar. Like a striptease, it only gave us one powerful note at a time while letting the others play in between. Spellbound by the beat, I almost jumped when Joey tapped my shoulder.
“Yo. You have a hit of that whiskey for me?” He asked.
I shook my head, felt around in the darkness of my bag and pulled it out. Handing it to him, I noticed behind him, a figure, a tiny, almost elfish like woman, come in behind a couch along the sides of the marquee.
She looked magical in an outfit that was like a goth’s version of Tinkerbell. But like Tim Burton. Or a Neil Gaiman or Dungeons and Dragons cosplay character. I couldn’t even put my finger on it, but she was, in a sea of uniqueness, still somehow different. And sexy.
A fairy.
A dark fairy.
Joey took a slug from my flask and his eyes set on my face.
“What’s got into you?”
“Don’t turn around and make it obvious. Just a woman. Caught my eye.”
I took the flask from his hand and took a sip, then passed it back to Joey again.
“I was thinking,” I said.
“‘Bout what?”
“You know how the Cougars are always heading off on their own, and Jasmine, I mean, she’s always picking up straggler girls every year? You know, I think she likes having another chick around.”
“True. Never thought of it that way.”
“She loves us and all, but she just needs female company sometimes. You know?”
“Mmm. And?”
“Maybe this year, we get in there before she does and pick up someone WE want in the Tribe. If you feel me?
Joey shook his head, devilish eyes slitting suspiciously. “Sounds like you’re just making an excuse to go get what you want.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve always been too cool to pick up girls? Now you’re doing it, but for Jasmine? Yeah, right.”
I scratched my eyebrow. “Maybe.”
Joey began turning to have a look.
“Don’t!” I stopped him with an aggressive whisper. “Wait til I look away.”
“She alone?”
“Seems like it.”
“What’s she like?” He asked, his head stiffened in a position decidedly away from the woman. His posture so petrified it was comical.
“She’s kinda… Christina Ricci?”
“That means nothing. Monster? Sleepy Hollow? Adams Family?”
“Hot. Just have a look. The one with black short hair.”
Joey turned around, I saw only the back of his head for a few seconds and silently begged for it to come back so he wouldn’t make eye contact with her and scare her off.
He turned around.
“Dang boy. If you don’t want her, I’ll try.”
He nudged my arm with his like some pre-pubescent juvenile. He seemed like a boy, but truth was, I was hardly feeling like a man myself. Already buzzed from whiskey and champagne, I hoped I still had game.
Suddenly, the guitar’s tease was over, and it ripped through the crowd. The guitarist sang.
“Letting go… letting go… letting go…”
I saw the dark fairy out of the corner of my eye. She moved into the tent more and took a seat on the couch. Maybe she was waiting for someone.
I forced my eyes to stay on the stage. I didn’t come here to pick up birds. I came to Uyu to be with my family. My people. To shed the stink of Seattle.
But Jas would be happy to have another woman around. Yeah. I was being kind really. And, I mean, that woman might as well be a hot one. My intentions were altruistic. Really, they were.
The deep, throaty sound of the singer hit me again.
“Cheatin’ hearts is all I ever know…”
Maybe this Blues band would not be the place to forget about the shit going on back home. The lyrics reminded me of Jason.
I let my eyes wander back to the dark fairy. She had a glossy, jet black bob. Even Uma Thurman didn’t pull off that look as well as this little pixie. I couldn’t tell how old she was. At almost thirty, I wasn’t into picking up girls too much younger than me anymore, and she looked young.
She was tiny, She couldn’t have been much over five feet tall. She had a pert, sweet nose and eyes like an anime girl. But there wasn’t much innocence in them. They were sultry, concentrated. Serious. Intelligent even.
And now, almost five minutes later, nobody had joined her. Her eyes fixated on the stage, she stared with such intensity; I felt confident she wouldn’t notice me. Her mouth set in stone, her jaw muscles clenched. A stunner for sure, but she didn’t look happy.
Who wouldn’t be happy at Uyu? Even I would find joy this week after my catastrophe…
“Why you gotta go and leave me feelin’ so low…”
As the man sang, the dark fairy’s face moved. Her brows crunched together and her tiny nose twitched like a rabbit. Suddenly, she brought her hand up to the side of her eye and wiped it. As if swiping away a tear. Then, for no reason other than Murphy’s law, she looked my way. Caught me red-handed staring.
An instant anger filled her face, and she glared at me. Damn. Nobody had ever glared at me at Uyu. Who does that? This wasn’t that kind of place. People were here to connect. If I wanted to deal with strangers giving me dirty looks, I’d go back to busking.
I looked away, back to the stage where the band had come alive. My friends had eyes closed, swaying, taking in the feels that the singer brought for us to experience, to identify with, to allow ourselves to let go and ride the wave with him.
Normally, at a gig, I would be so into the music. The crowd disappeared. I closed my eyes, but inside the lids, all I saw was the dark fairy glaring at me. I opened them and looked back over.
She wasn’t looking at me anymore. She watched the singer like everyone else, but her face still held on to the hardened intensity of that glare she had given me. She couldn’t let go of something. Maybe it was me. Maybe it wasn’t. But I wasn’t one to shy away. The glare only made me want to say hello all the more.
I walked toward the couch, without saying a word to my crew, who didn’t notice anyway as they were all vibing and we didn’t keep tabs on each other.
Dark fairy looked up from the couch at me approaching. I gave her my best chocolate fountain stare. She shifted on the cushion.
Not so confident now, are we little lady?
She averted her eyes, back toward the stage, pretending that she didn’t know I was heading straight for her, but all it took was that one glance, she knew I was coming. I reached the couch and sat down next to her. Very, very close.
She wanted to glare at me? I might just make her squirm in return.
My weight pushed the cushion down and half of her collapsed into my side. We almost touched. I had on leather pants but my skin could sense her and I knew her bare thigh could feel the heat of mine.
Her milky white leg looked like a child’s next to mine. She pretended not to notice me and stared at the stage. Her spine was rock hard, unmoving, uncomfortably stretching away from me but not daring to show me her cards by actually shifting her butt on the cushion.
Damn, I loved a woman that could hold her ground.
I kept my eyes on her face, her porcelain skin occasionally lit up by the travelling blue light in the tent, momentarily turning her into a beautiful corpse.
Let’s see if her heart matched.
Finally, when her core weakened from the gravitational pull of me next to her, she broke.
“Are you staring at me?” She asked, her eyes still on the stage.
I smiled. “Are you pretending to ignore me?”
Finally, her eyes met mine. “I wasn’t pretending.”
Oh shit. She threw shade. Her eyes were brutal and angry. Not angry like I’m going to kill you angry. But angry like a wounded animal you needed to be careful with.
She wanted me to leave. But three things kept me there. One, she was the most attractive woman I’d seen in a decade. Maybe ever. Two, I liked solving people’s problems. And I’d seen her tear. She had one. Three, she glared at me and I wasn’t the type to back down from that kind of thing.
“I’m not hitting on you,” I said, “Just that not many people at Uyu glare at their fellow Gypsies. Got me thinking you might need a pick me up.”
“No thanks.”
She still tried to stab me, but my caring words dulled her knife. She looked back to the stage and her brows reached for comfort from each other. Furrowing. This girl was not happy. No two ways about it. It wasn’t in my nature to let this kinda thing ride.
She probably wasn’t going to be Jasmine’s girl for the week, or mine, but people with issues were my kryptonite.
“You li
ke this kind of music?” I asked her.
“It’s all right. At least it’s real instruments,” she said, still watching the band.
Oooh. I loved that answer.
“I know what you mean. Actual talent.”
She shook her head in agreement and the nostrils of her pixie nose flared, trying to resist conversation.
“You here alone?”
5
For the second time at Uyu, my heart pierced and gushed out grief. It felt like it rained upside down in my body and the droplets of sadness could only stream out of my face. I held back tears.
Was I here alone he asked?
The question was a painful reminder.
Thing is, a person holding back tears is one of the most recognizable expressions. It wasn’t like I was fanning my eyes or anything, but the corners of my eyes contracted and squeezed to hold back the river. Even not looking at this random next to me in the face, this guy could tell something was wrong.
Admittedly, this, this… Rock Guy was drop dead gorgeous. In any other world, I wouldn’t mind him sharing this couch with me. But now? Why the hell he wouldn’t just step off was beyond me. Oh, that’s right. It was Uyu. People talked here.
“Are you ok?” He asked.
He smiled. His teeth were white and pretty, square and shined a light on me, trying to cheer me up. But if I cheered up, opened up, it might just all come out. And I wasn’t ready. I just wasn’t ready to talk about any of it. So why talk at all?
“Why are you still here?” I asked. “Can’t you take a hint?”
I turned my back toward to him. Immature. It was totally immature. But I couldn’t allow myself to be serious, and idle conversation would have been almost as painful.
Uyu wasn’t a small talk kind of place. You were either dancing with the sugarplum fairies, standing in awed silence around an emotive sculpture, or connecting with someone’s soul. That’s why the place was so attractive to so many people. That’s why it sold out to seventy thousand people every year, willing to pay hundreds for one ticket. Because it was the only place on Earth where people were totally genuine.
Thinking about sincerity only got me back on the subject of Dad again. He had been genuine. Honest. Open. Every day of the week. He hadn’t needed Uyu to do that.