Boring Girls(118)

Edgar was concerned about that, but Socks assured him that after the festival gig, we’d be going right home.

“What other bands are playing?” I asked.

“A bunch of U.K. bands, a few Euro bands. A few from here,” Socks said. “The headliner is DED.”

xXx

Fern seemed thrilled by the news. Everyone in the band was stoked. I tried my best to be enthusiastic as well, but I needed to talk to her. We didn’t have a chance to be alone until after the show that night, when I essentially dragged her off the bus to have a cigarette with me.

“I can’t do it,” I whispered. “I don’t think I can be around them. I’ll be sick.”

She puffed on her cigarette, her eyes wide and white. “You can do it. We’ll be close to them. We can get them, Rachel. Don’t you see, it’s what we’ve been waiting for!”

I kept shaking my head, feeling myself trembling, my stomach in a vice of knots that hadn’t dissipated since I had heard that f*cking song before dinner. “How? We can’t get them, Fern. How are we going to get them? There’ll be so many people around.”

Fern didn’t reply. She stared at me, studying my face. “I don’t care about jail,” she finally said. “I don’t care about prison. I don’t give a shit.” She blew smoke out of her mouth. “It’s worth it to me. And after everything we’ve already done — we’ve already done it, Rachel. We can’t go back. There’s only one place this is going to go.”

She was right. But this was different than a dopehead in an alley. I couldn’t imagine how we would do it. Fern seemed determined — even excited. I figured she’d find a way. She had twice before. I would leave it to her to figure it out.

xXx

Finally, the tour ended. All three bands had that weird, mostly bullshit camaraderie with one another on the last day that always exists when you’re saying goodbye to a bunch of people you could’ve been close with, could’ve made friends with, but didn’t. Marie-Lise had the same put-on, polite smile she’d had when we said hello as we said goodbye. Everyone was nice on that last night and had a drink together out by the buses, talking about the tour and the shows as merrily as if we had all hung out the whole time and shared something really special. Shit, maybe some of them had. I guess I had, in some ways. I glanced at Chris, who was glancing at me. Everyone congratulated us on getting onto the Donner Blitzkrieg Festival bill. They were all heading home — Ripsawdomy was going back into the studio before a European tour, and Gurgol was just going home to relax for the next few months.

Then the bus drivers arrived, and it was time for everyone to say goodbye. Chris and I hugged, and that annoying lump in my throat came back and he stared at me, frowning, perplexed, in the parking lot, and I could tell he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. So we just left it at goodbye. I watched the Ripsawdomy bus pull out of the lot and drive away, as Gurgol and my band said their goodbyes. I watched it drive into the darkness. I could have cried.





FIFTY-TWO


We drove right to the airport, we said goodbye to Roger and Timmy, and the bus sped off, leaving us outside the terminal at 2 a.m. with a pile of guitar cases and stinking knapsacks, stiff with the sweat of unwashed clothes. It was hideous. Our show clothes actually had salt stains on them from the amount of perspiration soaked into them, which was totally gross. I didn’t know that could happen.

We checked in for our flight, Toad leading the way. I was somewhat irritated that he was coming with us, but it was better having him lead the way and taking care of things than to just literally fly blindly into some unknown situation. Having a tour manager was pretty awesome. Once our bags were checked, we went to our gate to rest. The flight was the next morning, so we hunkered down to get some sleep despite the fluorescent lighting. Socks pulled his hat down over his eyes and slumped in a plastic chair. Edgar full-on lay down on the floor, using his backpack as a pillow. Toad busied himself with his laptop, and I slouched my own ass down, ready to try to sleep.

Fern was buzzing with energy. Her knee bounced up and down, her eyes darting around. I could tell there was no way she would be sleeping. I don’t know why I was so tired. I was afraid of what was going to happen in England. I closed my eyes and tried to rest, eventually falling into a terrible sleep — the kind where you wake up with a throbbing headache and your back is killing you.

xXx

We were like zombies at the gate the next morning. I felt like pure shit. It didn’t look like anyone else felt much better. Socks and Edgar went miserably to find any semblance of reasonably priced coffee and food. Toad sat with his arms folded, his hood pulled up. Only Fern appeared unfazed, the same look of jittery anticipation still on her face.