“It went all right,” I said. I didn’t want to admit to them I’d never been to a beach.
“So you gonna see her again?” the keyboardist asked, his mouth full of sandwich. “Is that why you blew off the actress?”
“I don’t even know who she is,” I said.
“No number exchange? Nothing?” Jazz asked.
“Nope,” I said.
“Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am,” Jazz said. “Just the way I like it.”
The bass guitarist spoke up from where he was wedged between boxes near the back door. “Like that shit ever happens to you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jazz said. “I don’t see you getting any either.”
“Face it, friends,” Paul said. “Tennessee here is the sum total of our action. We have to live vicariously through him.”
“We’ll write songs about your * quest,” Jazz said. “Like the knights of old.”
The keyboardist reached back and thumped Jazz on the head. “We haven’t written an original song since you insisted they all sucked,” he said.
Jazz nudged my leg. “You write your own shit?” he asked. “If so, you can tell your own damn tales.”
I brushed crumbs off my hands. “I’ve done a few.”
Jazz let out a whoop. “He’s got a huge talent!” he laughed. “No wonder he gets all the ladies.”
We pulled up to a red light, and Paul swung his head around. “So let’s hear something, Tennessee. Show us what you’ve got.”
I wasn’t in much of a mood for it, but the boys were eager, and they’d given me a killer night. So I reached over for my guitar case and flipped it open.
“You’ve got a lot of shit in there,” Jazz said, peering through the gloom.
“Carrying my life around,” I said, pulling out the pale cherry Seagull, surrounded by tightly packed clothes. This guitar was new, but still from Tennessee, one of the few things I had from my life before this journey. I’d bought it when I knew I was going to walk away from everything and everybody I’d ever known.
“You got a song that tells your story?” Jazz asked. “Because a dude like you on the road has got to have a story.”
“Nah,” I said. “My life isn’t worthy of a song.”
“Awww,” Jazz said. “Well, give us something good.”
I strummed a few chords and adjusted the tuning. “I don’t know that this one is about anything in particular, but it tends to turn a few heads when I sing it.”
I picked out a tricky little introduction that I’d put together over a couple weeks shortly after I graduated high school, some six years ago now. I still felt pretty good about the world back then. Sometimes when I played it, a little bit of that happiness and optimism would stick. It never lasted long, but it was all right to feel it for a while.
I came back around to the C chord, and sang the opening lines.
I’ve been staring out this window all night long
Hoping maybe I will see the light
This world’s no place for an honest man
Simple but uncouth
Some people will never understand
As always, I forgot where I was once I got started, the crowded van and the rumbling floor beneath me disappearing as I went into song-space.
Just strangers to the truth
And she done left me
She done left me
Right on the center line
Then it went back around to the tricky progression and a couple more verses.
When I strummed the last chord, Jazz let out a whoop. “I knew you were country! That was seriously country.”
I flattened my hand on the strings to kill the sound. “Well, I guess I’m from the country.”
“But you sure could sing the blues too,” the keyboardist said.
I looked out the front window at the unfamiliar city whizzing by. I thought of Jenny then, and how she must be getting close to home by now, in a whole other place. I’d never even know where.
Yeah, I could definitely sing the blues.
Chapter 15: Jenny
I woke up in my rainbow explosion feeling like I’d been on a bender.
My head was heavy from the dreadlocks. Maybe I’d cut them all off. What had I been thinking adding all these extensions?
My green dress lay draped over the back of a chair, sand scattered beneath it.
Last night I’d dragged myself into the shower even though I wanted to feel nostalgic about the night with Chance. But I was just too gritty. So I washed it all away, down the drain.
I would never even know who he was. I had nothing but his first name.
I stretched, knocking a plush pink unicorn off the bed to the floor. A third grader could probably live happily in this room.
Uggh. My hair. My room. My life.
Shut up, I told myself. The world is full of haters, don’t start hating on yourself.
I kicked off the comforter and stumbled out to the hallway. No way was I up for making my own coffee. I did that all day at work.
Not that I’d been going in that much. I might be fired for all I knew. God. I had relied too much on Frankie. He’d taken over everything, paying my rent, buying me gas and clothes and grocery delivery.