My throat was dry, and I cleared it. “No,” I said hoarsely. “We’re actually going to England right now. We’re at the airport.”
“When are you coming home?” Melissa asked.
My eyes filled with tears, and I closed them, leaning my forehead against the phone. “In a few days.”
“Congratulations on everything that’s happening for you,” Mom said. “We miss you.”
“We love you,” Dad added.
“I love you too,” I said, tears rolling down my face in hot, wet tracks. Yes — premeditated murder is a really positive experience.
xXx
“Is that chick on crack?” Toad grumbled as we filed onto the plane. Fern was talking brightly to the attendants, to other passengers, just animated and sunny. I had a seat alone, thankfully — well, not alone, but not with Toad or any of the guys. I had an aisle seat, and to my right was an old couple who immediately put sleep masks on and would likely remain silent and stiff the whole ride. I pulled up my hood, put the scratchy airline blanket over me, and tried to fall asleep as well.
Once we were airborne, I unlatched my food tray and tried to rest my head on it. The white noise of the engine was nice, the gentle normal chatter I could barely hear around me was actually sort of soothing as well. I had the blanket over my head like a cheap ghost costume, minus the eyeholes. I saw leaves, orange and yellow and red — bright autumn leaves, spinning slowly and coasting along gently. I rose from the ground to take in more, and I saw that the leaves were moving along a gutter, a white cement curb, clear and cold-looking rainwater moving along the gutter, carrying the coloured leaves in it, slowly spinning and coasting. And my stomach sank as I saw the sewer coming up, ready to swallow the leaves. I tasted panic in my mouth as I reached forward to save them, to pluck them from the stream before they were lost forever, swallowed into that black cavernous abyss, but I had no hands, I reached out but saw nothing, I couldn’t see anything except those leaves, helpless and doomed, spinning and coasting to be lost forever, until the harsh, sharp shriek of someone’s baby jarred me awake, the blanket falling away from my face.
FIFTY-THREE
We took off from JFK feeling like shit and landed at Heathrow far worse. Socks, Toad, and Edgar looked grim as we all climbed into a taxi outside the terminal. Even Fern’s jittery grin was gone. It didn’t help that rain was pissing down, hammering on the roof of the taxi as we joined the stream of traffic. I was next to Fern in the backseat, and she put her head on my shoulder. Her big woollen cap was soaking wet from the downpour. It made my cheek itchy, but I didn’t push her away.
I stared out the window, first at the narrow buildings and the bright umbrellas, blurry through the glass, and then out at green soaking wet countryside. Here we were in England again and, once again, I didn’t feel too much like enjoying it.
After a long, silent ride, we arrived at the hotel. Toad explained that all the bands playing the festival were staying here and we had one room reserved for us that we’d all share. Toad went to check us in, and we stood in the front lobby in our damp jackets, swaying with exhaustion. Next to the lobby was the hotel bar. Music and laughter drifted out, and I noticed a bunch of musician-types hanging out in there. A few of them were also in the lobby, sprawled in the big stuffed chairs. Cigarette smoke lent a haze to everything. Or maybe I was just really tired.