I've Got These Woes and I Just Can't Solve Them

I had the dream last night again. Everything was the same from the last dream. Almost everything, that is. The one element that differentiated this dream from the first had to do with my hearing. My ears couldn’t pick up a sound in the last dream. It was like watching a TV show on mute; my eyes scanned every corner and space thoroughly before doing it once over again.

They say that when you lose one sense, the others become stronger. That first dream demonstrated that by the way I could look at every little thing and notice each detail. However, this second dream still did not give me the luxury to hear everything going on. There were still no voices. There weren’t even words, nor was there even some lame TV commercial theme song for ‘new, awesome, abrasive’ Brillo pads or something. Nothing. Nothing, except for the clicking. I use the word ‘clicking’ rather loosely, because when I think of a ‘clicking’ noise, I think of a clock, or a metronome, or something else that distributes swift, even, consistent clicks. These noises weren’t like that. Not even close.

The sounds came at random times, just when I started second-guessing myself on whether or not there really was any clicking. I would hear a ‘click,’ freeze, and then try my hardest to listen closely, as to find the source. I would stay like this for God knows how long before I would relax and—Oh! That’s when the clicking sounds came again. They would come faster, as if they were yelling out, ”I’m here! I’m here! I’m here!” But it’s not like I could go search for it—my feet were practically glued to the floor beneath me, keeping me from moving an inch forward, backward, left, or right.

Anyway, that is what is different between Dream #1 and Dream #2. At this rate, I decided as I pulled my boots on over my dark leggings, I wouldn’t be able to figure out what was going on in the dreams until I was about 30. Frankly, I wasn’t willing to wait that long. I don’t think anyone in his or her right mind would. Then again, perhaps anyone that was in their right mind would never have dreams like these ones of mine.

“You ready to go, Cara?” Pat asked me as he stuck his head into the hotel room. His straight, messy hair was even more tousled about, probably from the Northern winter winds outside. Pat got up about the same time I did, which was sometimes quite earlier than the rest of the boys, because I took advantage of every glorious opportunity where I could get myself into a real shower and then blow-dry my hair. I might lose an hour of sleep or so, but I had the long car rides to sleep, right?

I nodded my head quickly, actually quite eager to start the day. “Yeah,” I further replied as I finished buttoning up my brand new, red pea coat.

“Okay,” he smiled a little, trying to de-frazzle himself. You see, Pat can get himself stressed on tours, not to mention right before one starts also. Though there were many others around him that cared about the big picture as well as the details of a tour, Pat still acted as if he had full responsibility of the well-being of every tour. His mother, Lisa, was very proud of the fact that her son cared so much, and I had to agree; Pat was certainly a hard worker. There was no doubt about that. He was dedicated, passionate, thoughtful, and he cared.
***
An hour into the ride we pulled off the nearly empty highway to a simple, ordinary rest stop. Some of the guys wanted coffee to help wake themselves, and a few bought small things to eat for breakfast; however, most of us didn’t eat anything. Though this may surprise people, and even me a little, the band still got a small case of nerves just starting a tour. The feeling would creep up on them at the last moment it could—the day of the first show for a new tour.

Once when Garrett was tired enough to actually have a civilized conversation with me, he told me the way it felt for him during the first day kicking off a new tour. My brother described the feeling as something familiar, yet not something he ever got used to. He always expected it to come, especially during the morning of, but he never knew how to get rid of it. So, he concluded, the first-day jitters were a more positive thing rather than a bad one. To Garrett, the anxiety is a reminder that it does not matter how many tours they go on, how many shows they play, how many other bands they meet, how much popularity they gain, how much money they make, et cetera. The concept of never growing out of those nerves because inside, they all know that they’re the same guys that first started out as a few aimless boys, is what’s really important. They may someday reach the level of officially being called ‘rockstars’ but they all will always stay true to who they know they really are.
***
We drove for a few more hours before we reached a plain-looking building that was neither very big, nor was it very small. The dark gray parking lot held other cars and trucks, but it was mainly filled with vans like ours, and trailers like the one we were pulling. However, there were also a few buses.

When John parked, a couple of the guys got right out to start the day and meet new people. Nevertheless, a few of us remained seated, gathering the things inside the van that we would or might need, and then hid some stuff remaining that could possibly be stolen. This included expensive items such as stray cables, a GPS, iPod’s, et cetera. However, anything in this van is vulnerable if the thief is a fan. You could never be too careful.

I finally climbed out of the van, fixing the coat that fought to keep the cold out and my body heat in. No matter how much I tugged the red coat and adjusted it this way and that, from direction to direction, I still felt the cold. I shivered as I felt the realization.

I suddenly jolted a little with surprise when I felt something other than the cold or the coat hugging my body. I realized it was a person—Pat—when the warmth of him finally seeped through my jacket. My muscles relaxed, feeling warm after tensing from the original, instinctive fright. I leaned back a little in Pat’s chest, which rumbled slightly with amusement.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” The smile in his voice masked the thin layer of genuine concern.

“Just a little,” I answered honestly.

I felt Pat’s muscles move, his face coming closer to the side of mine. “Well, sorry.” He firmly touched his mouth to my temple, kissing me, and there were a few bothersome hairs that insisted on attempting to separate us. Pat’s lips still pressed through as I felt the warmth on my skin.

Pat and I broke apart just as we heard a shuffle of feet in the slightly gravel-like texture of the pavement. It was John, coming over to manually lock the van with the keys that always seemed to dangle from his fingers or belt loop. Something flickered in his eyes just as the sharp, gray keys he held flickered from the light, demanding my attention.

That didn’t stop me from pretending that I never looked over at him.

I started towards the trailer, my back now facing John almost straight on, and my boots shuffling against the concrete. I pulled out a spare key I was given and successfully pressed it into the lock, popping the lock open with a twist of the metallic key. Just as I grasped the lock with my palm and fingers, however, a hand was placed on top of mine. Like the lock and my own hand, it was cold.

“Don’t,” John started as he took his hand away from mine, neither quickly nor hesitatingly. “Don’t start unloading yet.”

Not knowing what else to say, I asked slowly, “What?” I stared at him, confused, and the awkwardness from the abruptness of this bizarre moment started to sink in. Was I the only one feeling it?

I realized that I needed to get over it and act more mature. We all may be a team, but it was the band that told me what to do. The boys were somewhat like my bosses. John, standing in front of me, was playing his part as my boss. At least that’s what I was expecting and hoping.

John rubbed a hand down his face and then through his hair. I knew that if this action was taking place a couple weeks from now, dates and dates into the tour, John’s gray eyes wouldn’t be as sparkly, but instead glassy and bloodshot. He ran like a machine.

“I have no idea how you manage to drive so much and then perform.” I didn’t really notice at first that it was me that just said that. However, my statement couldn’t be taken the wrong way. Right? It was innocent. “If I could, uh, drive a huge van attached to a bulky trailer and all, I’d give you a break, but… I obviously don’t have that skill…” This was the most I had spoken to John in quite awhile.

A half smile crossed his face just as I felt myself leaning more on the trailer than any other moment yet. He blinked, his eyelids closing for a millisecond longer than normal. “Well I guess we should probably teach you how.” Whom did he mean by ‘we?’ “But not today,” he added, standing up straight. He gave the impression that he was about to walk away. “Today we need to meet some people, and then get some things setup, and then… you know, everything else.”

I smiled the tiniest, genuine smile. “Okay,” I replied softly. My weight shifted evenly, shoulder-width apart now, as I stood up away from the trailer.

I followed John as we walked across the large parking lot, noticing people everywhere, all of them either working on something or talking with another. John named a few of them as he pointed at them. We solely spoke of the tour.

Finally we came to a stop near someone else’s trailer. We stood in front of its one white side. I made a point not to lean on their trailer, for there was more dirt and road dust tainting the sides than our trailer. It was The Cab’s.

Besides John and myself, there was also Jared and a guy standing next to him. He was of average height, I suppose. I mean, he certainly wasn’t as tall as John was, but he wasn’t short for a guy. Besides his height, he was neither stick-skinny nor was he chubby. His brown hair was perfect. Really perfect. Because his straight hair fell so perfectly, I couldn’t help but to self-consciously reach up and touch my own; my hair wasn’t as flat as it would be if I had used a straightener, but it was straight as it was pulled into a low, side-ponytail, the very ends of my hair in natural loose curls. My hair was about the same shade of brown that swam around the stranger’s eyes; it was a brown a little darker than his hair.

“And I was like, ‘Really, man? What the hell?’” I tuned in just to hear the very end of John’s story.

“Yeah,” replied the boy I didn’t know in response to John’s story. “Wow.” He took a breath as there was a mutual pause in everyone. His eyes swept the ground in front of him, and then they crawled over everyone’s shoes. When his brown eyes landed on my feet his expression turned from bored, to quizzical, and then finally slight surprise. “Oh, hey. I didn’t know you guys had a girl tour with you?”

I clearly heard Jared let out a small laugh. “Yeah, dude, that’s Cara.”

The stranger let out a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound like you were a mutant here or something.”

“It’s okay,” I smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

“She handles our merch,” John pointed out.

“Oh, okay,” the guy acknowledged as he took a step to lean forward, extending his hand. “I’m Alex Marshall, but it’d be best to just call me Marshall.”

I took Alex Marshall’s hand, which was rather soft despite its calloused appearance, and restated my name while shaking his hand gently. The few of us continued to talk for a few minutes about the upcoming tour and such. While I was silent, I could note the temperature getting chillier, though it should have been the warmest part of the day. Then again, the sun was currently lost, and in its place was a large gray cloud. The sun’s absence left me cold as I wrapped my arms around myself.

As the guys continued to talk about their favorite places to eat, I started to hear more and more noises within the trailer. I suspected that I could hear them best out the group because I was standing closest to its entryway. As the sounds continued and the trailer bobbed up and down in its place a little, I turned my body towards the dark entrance. The noises stopped for a moment, so I finally turned back toward the conversation, my arms still wrapped around my frame to keep warm. My legs were practically pasted together and my knees were bent somewhat. My spine felt like it was hunched over a little. I wasn’t shivering, thankfully, but I was definitely still cold.

Since I was leaning forward a bit, I resorted in staring down at my feet, which were covered by a pair of gray knit boots. Three large gray buttons were lined up vertically on the outsides of the boots. They kept my feet warm, but the rest of my legs, only clad in black leggings, were cold. Though I knew it would be useless, I slid my hand up between my coat and shirt and pulled the fabric of the shirt down. It was a longer plaid shirt that fell to the middle of my thighs. My mom called it a dress. I didn’t know if it was because it tied at the waist, or if she was originally a little unnerved when I picked it up off the hanger and asked, “What about this shirt, Mom?” I didn’t think she realized that I’d be wearing leggings underneath.

“Cold?” I heard a chuckle behind me. I jumped a little and turned toward the opening of the trailer. Standing in the doorway was a guy with brown hair that fell in loose curls at his shoulders. There was a dark mole on his cheek and his eyes were a very interesting hazel.

“What?” I blinked. It’s funny how a person’s natural response to a question is “what?” most of the time, though he or she suddenly realizes what was asked, and then they answer. “Oh. Yeah…”

His mouth stretched into a smile, displaying a set of shiny, white, beautiful teeth. “Well perhaps pants next time? After all, it’s winter and we’re in Vermont at the moment.”

I smiled a little and pulled a strand of my hair away from my eyelashes. “I know it seems really dumb, but… Okay, it is kind of dumb,” I chuckled in the middle of my feeble sentence, as did he, “but it gets hot in the venues and I knew that I’d be running back and forth for things, so…”

“So,” he began, matching my tone of voice from the end of my sentence, “you figured you’d just… not wear pants?” He grinned again and stepped down from the trailer.

“It’s not like my legs are completely bare!” I defended myself. I quickly licked my lips. “I’m wearing leggings, and I—”

“Oh, you’re wearing Uggs too! Oh, okay. So your feet are extra warm,” he stated, motioning down at my feet.

“Well actually,” I laughed, “they’re a rip-off of Uggs. But my feet are warm!”

“Yeah, alright,” he replied, smiling and nodding as if he already knew he won the argument for real, though I would never admit it. “Anyway, I’m Alex.”

I nodded but then furrowed my brow. Did he say his name was Alex? I looked over my shoulder quickly to see the group of boys, a reaction to the fact that the guy from probably twelve minutes before also said his name was Alex.

This new Alex started to laugh, which is what brought my attention back to him. “Yeah, we’re both in The Cab. There’s another Alex also. So it’s Alex Marshall, Alex Johnson, and me, Alex DeLeon. Just call me Singer though.”

I had to replay his whole explanation in my head a few times, my face probably resembling one in deep concentration. If not that, then I most likely appeared blank. “Uh… Okay.”

Alex DeLeon laughed. “Alright, if you’re that bad with names, just point at one of us and say, ‘Hey! You! With the face! Yeah, you! Come here!’”

I smiled. “Okay, but it’s not that I’m bad with names or anything. It’s just the whole 3 Alex’s in one band thing.” He and I both laughed. “I’m just going to say this now: If there’s another Alex in any of the other bands, I’m done.”

“There probably is,” Singer claimed. “Alex’s a popular name.”

“Then I’m done,” I joked.

Alex DeLeon, or Singer, nodded eagerly in agreement. “Me too!”