Kinder for him.
You could give him a chance. Your heart may not feel it, but it will catch up.
He’s screwed up everything. My graduation. My girlfriend. My music. My life.
Blade, you cannot build a house for last year’s summer.
. . . .
Perhaps you should look to the future. Start over with him.
Your father might surprise you. Is that not worth it?
. . . .
Plus, I could go too. You will need my protection from the mountain lions.
I’m not falling for that again.
We are friends, aren’t we?
Yes.
Then trust me. It will be fine. You and he will be better for it.
. . . .
So you say yes?
I say I hope all this chaos is worth it.
All that is good and accomplished in this world takes work and a little chaos.
Sia’s not going to take it too well that we’re leaving.
She’s in no condition to travel with us.
Is she getting better?
They will take her to the doctor in town while we are gone.
She’ll be okay though, right?
She will be in good care.
She lets go of my arm
and walks ahead like
she owns the road
and all the moxie
the world’s created.
The next morning
we try
to convince
a fragile Sia to eat
her porridge, but she just cries, begs to come
with us, does not understand that she needs
to stay
and rest
so we can play more pranks,
more card games, when we return.
We try
to convince her that this is only a trip
for old rockers trying to be better, that she’s our shining princess, and when that doesn’t work, one of the women caring for her scoops her up, takes her
off the bus
kicking
and screaming.
Will she be okay? Rutherford asks.
She is being a child. You have spoiled her, Joy replies, but there is some worry in her eyes.
She deserves to be spoiled, he answers. And there’ll be more of it when we return. But right now, onwards. Let’s go shout our names atop a mountain.
Yes. Elvis waits for us, Joy says. Onwards!
9:15 am
Rutherford loads the Mercedes van he’s rented for the trip He holds up his guitar like he’s offering it to the sun.
May the force be with us!
On the way, Elvis listens to talk radio that features nonstop
belligerent banter
that only he and Joy understand, for the most part, except every few minutes when an expletive English word is sprinkled in, followed by garish laughter.
So, the rest of us try to sleep.
Anxiety
The van flies, rattles across heavily potholed roads bringing me closer to my mother, but it can’t catch up to my brain, which is speeding past me.
Running
running fast running past shadows and blurred trees and before
and now
and if I could catch up to my thoughts, wrestle them to the ground, tame them inside the cage
of my head, I could breathe.
I could breathe I COULD
Breathe, Blade. Breathe, Rutherford says, rubbing my head, and looking at me with eyes that care. It’s gonna be okay. Just breathe.
11:09 am
A few hours into the bumpy drive we arrive at a parking lot where hundreds of cars and vans are in a standstill traffic jam.
Thousands of women, boys, and girls peddle
toys, bags of water, and bracelets like the one Joy made for my birthday.
I glance over at her, and notice that she even smiles when she sleeps.
Not polite to stare, she says, her ebony and ivory eyes still closed.
How did you know? She continues to smile.
How could I not, she answers. Are you okay? How do you feel, Blade?
Right now,
I feel scared yet full
of Joy,
is what I want to whisper in her ear.
Yep, I’m okay.
Track 12: Right Now
ROCKERS: VAN HALEN / ALBUM: BEST OF VAN HALEN, VOL. 1 / LABEL: WARNER BROS. / RECORDING DATE: MARCH 1990–APRIL 1991 / STUDIO: 5150 STUDIOS, HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA Live
the mystery of the moment right now.
Make a change take a chance.
Dance today.
Grab those beats let the rhythm pulse through your veins.
Do what moves you grooves you.
Right now
is what matters.
12:31 pm
When we get to the point where vehicles can no longer pass,
Elvis explains that we will walk a trail
then hike
a mountain, cross three canopies, above
the rainforest and arrive at the village.
He tells us to leave behind our failures, broken promises, lost love
and disappointments.
Kind of a corny script, I think, but, when I look at Rutherford and Joy, I couldn’t agree more.
1:30 pm
At the mountain gap we are
a moving portrait, carrying dirt and stones
in our shoes, our voices
in the echoes, the music
in our skin, the sounds
of our
feet thumping, and Rutherford’s shrieks and screeches as he starts dancing around like a mad man with ants
in his pants.
HELP ME, he screams. THERE’S SOMETHING IN
MY PANTS!
1:37 pm
There is nothing
more humbling
and probably sobering
than your father
stripping
bare naked
on a mountain
and his son
helping him brush—
with his hands—
the army
of ants crawling
all over
his unmentionables.
Conversation
These critters are buggin’, Rutherford says. Let’s take a break.
Only like three hours to go, let’s keep moving, I say.
Your father’s right. Let’s catch our breath, Joy says, knowing I can’t refuse her.
Fine.
Blade, give your old man some of that bug spray.
Told you this wasn’t a good idea.
Of course it was. This is a big day for you. A big moment. I had to be here.
Yeah, okay.
At least we’re spending time together.
. . . .
I thought we were cool again.
Again?
Look, I may not have been the best— Save the “woe is me, Hollywood movie drama,”
Rutherford. I get it. You got dealt a bad hand, and you folded.
The drinking let me deal, but it owned me too. It was the first thing I thought about in the morning, last thing at bedtime.
Blame it on the alcohol.
It helped me deal with the worst. I’m not making excuses, it’s just the game.
It was never a game for me and Storm.
That’s not what I meant. I just want us to be cool, Blade.
I’d give anything for that.
I hear ya. Just stay clean, and get your life together.
1:59 pm
When we resume, Rutherford and Joy tackle the mountain like it’s a race to the top.
It’s not a steep climb but the heat taxes, keeps me drenched and even more anxious to complete
this journey.
The trees are old, thin giants standing in formation staring down
daring us to mount, which is exactly what Uncle Stevie attempts before tumbling to his feet.
Camera guy
tries his hardest to capture all these real moments, but he runs
out of breath every hundred yards, so now Birdie films.
Travis
is his name.
He tells me that his real passion is making clay animations.
I do this filming thing to take care of my three kids and my wife. She’s in school.
That’s cool, man.
Sorry for intruding and for the names I called you behind your back.