Prom Night in Purgatory

 

The truck full of drums, speakers, lights, and equipment rumbled to a stop at the blinking red light. Johnny shifted his weight, trying to keep the cymbal from dinging him in the head. He had a bad feeling and wished he’d never agreed to leave Maggie behind, even for ten minutes. And he’d left her at that God-forsaken school. Just looking at the burnt out remains made him break out in a cold sweat.

 

Johnny felt sick and head-achy, and if he didn’t get out of the bouncing truck soon he was going to be sick all over the equipment. This was not the way he had envisioned the night ending. He needed to get back to Maggie.

 

Jody Evans called out to him through her open window, verifying the directions to Jillian’s. She was perched on her boyfriend’s lap, her head almost touching the roof of the overcrowded cab. The light turned green, and Johnny tried to answer, but his throat was suddenly so tight he couldn’t breathe.

 

“Johnny?” Jody peered through the back window, craning her head this way and that.

 

“Who are you talking to, Jody?” Her boyfriend laughed.

 

“Yeah, Jod. Most guys don’t like it when their girls call them by the wrong name,” the lead singer drawled.

 

“What did I call you?” Jody laughed, addressing her boyfriend.

 

“You called him Johnny,” the drummer teased. “His name is Jeremie. And mine’s Craig....in case you’re thinking about replacing Jeremie.”

 

“Shut it, Craig,” Jeremie threatened cheerfully.

 

“I wasn’t talking to you, Jer. I was just thinking we needed to....to...” Jody’s voice broke off, and a puzzled look marked her pretty features. “Weird. I just totally forgot what I was going to say. And I feel like it was important. It’s almost like Deja vu...or something.”

 

Something crashed in the bed of the truck, Craig swore, and then Trey, the lead singer, threatened randomly, “Whoever didn’t tie down that cymbal is going to buy it if it’s busted.” He slowed to a stop at the side of the road, and he and Craig spilled out of the driver’s side door.

 

“Shit!” they heard Craig shriek. “The speaker tipped over, and the cymbal is shoved through the snare drum!”

 

Jody and Jeremie joined the melee and commenced rearranging the equipment so they could make it home without further incident.

 

No one seemed to remember that there had been someone in the back of the truck...someone they had agreed to help, someone who had been holding the cymbal that had skewered the drum. Reduced to a vague and fleeting sense of something forgotten, it was as if he had never been there at all.

 

 

 

 

 

~23~

 

A Time to Die

 

 

 

 

 

1958

 

 

Johnny slowed and then swung into the spot left open just for him. He opened the heavy door of the Bel Air and stepped out of his pride and joy. The sound of his black boot hitting the ground met with silence. He lit a cigarette like he had all the time in the world and no one was watching.

 

He was dressed like some of the other guys – jeans, boots, white tee and black leather jacket, but he seemed suited to his choice where the others looked posed. His dark blond hair swooped high off his forehead, and his blue eyes swept over the kids standing by, or sitting atop, somebody’s Studebaker or someone else’s Lincoln or any one of the various cars and trucks arranged in two lines. Johnny noticed that Irene Honeycutt's pink Cadillac took up two spaces. It was a miracle she hadn't dented a tailfin yet. That baby was so long it could drive in two counties at once. Irene was the only girl in Honeyville who had her very own spankin' new wheels. He wouldn't mind taking that car for a ride, although he’d lost a lot of respect for the girl. She glanced away uncomfortably, and thoughts of Maggie slid into his mind. Damn it all. He was too old for this schoolyard shit.

 

Donnie had put new wheels on his truck, and it looked like Carter’s dad had come through on the new carburetor for his old Ford. The last he had seen, it was up on blocks. He would have helped him put it in if he’d known. Johnny let the cars distract him; the cataloging of parts and paint jobs calmed him down and made him forget for just a moment that he was here to bloody a few noses, break a few tail lights, and generally raise Cain.

 

But someone had alerted the ladies. Who the hell brought chicks to a rumble? Johnny sighed and tossed his cigarette. Eyeing the school, he thanked his stars that he had graduated, and he would never have to attend the shiny new edifice the whole town was talking about. He would be more than happy if he never had to set foot inside the new Honeyville High.

 

The passenger door on his black hot rod opened, and Billy stepped out. He didn't try to imitate Johnny. It would have been laughable if he had. Johnny didn’t want Billy to be like him. Billy wasn’t cool, but he was nice. He didn’t have an attitude, but he had a brain. He might not have girls hanging on him, but he would be able to hang on to a classy lady someday. Johnny was sure of it. Billy was worth two of Johnny, and Johnny was proud of it.

 

Amy Harmon's books