Fern pulled her sweater around herself and closed her eyes. I wasn’t sure if she had fallen asleep.
We had two hours before the bus home. That was enough time to head back to the club. I was struck with the urge. I could go back. They would probably be on their tour bus, all of them. I could find some way to block the door, prevent it from opening, and set the bus on fire. Fern had a cigarette lighter, I could take that with me. Block the door, somehow set the bus on fire, and they’d roast inside it like hot dogs in a tin can. The bus would get so hot that their skin would stick to it, the tires would melt, the smoke would smell like burning rubber and bacon. Especially that fat fucker Jerry, his skin would split open and all that fat would come drooling out of him like melted butter, and it would smell exactly like bacon. And it would make the bus floor slippery, so while they were running around, all on fire, trying to escape, they would slip in puddles of bloody fat. They’d all be on fire and their long hair would be on fire too. They’d get all charred, their skin black and flaky and their teeth would be so white.
The next thing I knew they were announcing the bus over the loudspeaker and Fern was shaking me awake. “You fell asleep,” she said. “Come on.”
It was jarring to go from the brightly lit bus station into the cramped dark of the coach bus, but there were only a few other passengers so Fern and I got a quiet spot together at the back. She sat next to the window, pulled her sweater hood over her head, and promptly fell asleep. As the bus pulled away from the curb, I stared out into the dark street and lamented that I hadn’t actually gone back to light the bus on fire.
xXx
When we got back to Keeleford the sun was starting to rise, and as Fern and I walked on the street leading uptown, everything had a sort of misty surreal quality to it. Not dark but not light, no cars in the streets, just a few faraway birds beginning to chirp, the sky hovering between dark blue and pale orange.
We’d slept the whole bus ride home, but sitting unconscious in a lousy bus seat doesn’t count as sleep and I felt bone tired. My makeup had smeared into my eyes and they burned dryly. The air felt damp, and as we walked both of us folded our arms close to ourselves to keep out the chill. Fern looked rumpled, stained, and exhausted. I knew I looked the same. “How do you feel?” I said.
“Tired,” she said. “I want to go home and sleep.”
We walked through the familiar neighbourhoods as the sun rose and cars started appearing on the streets. We went our separate ways at the usual corner, and I walked the rest of the way home alone, feeling strangely calm. The image of those guys burning to death with their hair alight like birthday candles gave me a strange sense of amused hope, and I tried to hold on to that feeling as I walked up the driveway in the early morning light and realized my parents would probably be waiting up for me.
xXx
I think they were prepared for something very different. I was not defensive, I was not defiant. I quietly agreed that I should have been home earlier. I agreed that I should have called. I agreed that I was definitely not going to any more concerts; not while I lived under this roof. They asked me what Fern’s mother would think of this. I told them she was probably angry as well, and justifiably so.