Boring Girls(108)

“Okay,” I said.

“What the f*ck is that shit on your shirt?” he asked, eyes flicking down.

I looked down and saw dark splatter on the black fabric. It was so obviously blood. I looked up at Socks, met his wide blue eyes, and didn’t know what to say.

He sighed, clutching at his own shirt. “I totally puked on this shirt three days ago and tried to wash it out at the venue with that pink fluorescent pump soap,” he confided. “It still smells. All our shit’s so dirty. You want to hit a Laundromat tomorrow?”

“After I wash my hair,” I grinned, holding up a matted, blood-crusted handful off my head.

“I hear you. I puked in my hair too,” he said, “and it’s still stiff.”

We smiled at each other and he retreated back to his seat beside Toad. I finished rinsing all visible areas of my arms and face, then brushed my teeth with bottled water. Fern then appeared in the doorway. She’d changed into a black shirt and cut off sweatpants.

“My clothes are in a plastic bag in the back lounge. I had to get changed in the bunk area cause the others are back there, but they didn’t ask any questions.” She talked in a quiet voice, but with a casual lilt to it. I stepped out of the bathroom so she could get in, and I watched her hold some paper towels under the tap.

“You okay?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I nodded. “You?”

“I’m great,” she said and smiled at me. “I think it’s going to be okay.”

I left her in the bathroom and went into the long, dark corridor of the bunk area. The door to the back lounge was closed. I went to my bunk and in the darkness, quickly took off my soiled T-shirt and jeans. I wadded them up in a ball and put them at the foot of my bunk. Then, just in my underwear, I pulled the covers over me.

After the sticky heat, the rush of air conditioning made my skin erupt into goosebumps, crawling over me unpleasantly. I pulled the blanket up to my nose, loving the soft feel of the pillow, relieved we would have a day off tomorrow, that I would step under the clean spray of a shower. My eyes drifted closed, and my thoughts turned to Chris. It seemed I hadn’t thought of him for so long, as if days had passed. I wondered where he was going to be spending his day off tomorrow.





FORTY-SIX


We stopped halfway to the next show at a Florida hotel. Socks, Fern, and I stepped off our frigid bus into that humid soup. The sky was blue, the sun blazing. Fern was chatty, and that dank alley felt the hundreds of miles away that it was. I hadn’t had time to process last night. Part of me felt like it hadn’t actually happened, but then I would catch Fern’s eye and she’d smile, and I knew it was real. Her smile was bigger than it had been for a long time, and her positive mood was infectious. As the three of us made our way towards the hotel, she linked arms with Socks and joked around — I hadn’t seen her like this in forever.

The three of us carried backpacks full of dirty clothes to the laundry room, and there was Edgar, grinning smugly at us as he pulled his clean clothes out of a dryer. He was always up before the rest of us.

“Anyone want to hit the beach?” Fern said brightly. Edgar immediately looked at Socks and me for an explanation for her good mood. I shrugged.

“I’ll join you,” Edgar said, smiling at Fern. It felt good. When the band was first forming, Edgar and Fern had spent so much time working out parts together. Her withdrawal had caused a lot of confusion for Edgar, and he’d become quieter and less outgoing as well. He was a quiet guy to begin with — and Fern had brought him out of his shell.

“Awesome! I want to get some cheeseburgers. I feel like I haven’t eaten in f*cking forever.”

While Edgar, Socks, and Fern talked about how to spend the day off, I crammed wadded handfuls of my wretched laundry into a washing machine. The clothes smelled sweaty, wet, and musty. I quickly shoved in last night’s clothes.

Once the laundry was set, Edgar and Fern took off to check out the restaurant next door while Socks and I headed up to the room. Toad, who’d left us card keys and a note with the room number, was lying on the bed in a clean shirt and shorts, his long hair wrapped in a white towel.

“Timmy should be out soon — once he’s done jacking off,” Toad said, flicking channels; I could hear the shower running through the closed bathroom door. He looked at us. “You guys look like shit. Rachel, your hair looks like a wig made out of dog shit.” I glared. He laughed.