It's All Coming Back to Me Now

I remember waking up the morning after. Thick plumes of white expelled from my mouth. Shudders vibrated from head, to shoulders, knees, and then toes. I remember sitting up and then watching the light dusting of snow on my head blow onto my rosy cheeks. My clothes were damp. My hair lay in many, heavy, soggy, tendrils. And I remember –through the pain of numb- I rejoiced, because it felt like Christmas had come three weeks early.

The solitary warmth of a smile sparkled like the glistening powder beneath my feet. Everything would be alright, I concurred. I had reached the twenty-four hour mark and he had not found me. Who he was I would not –could not- disclose. Not right now at least.

Standing stiffly, midnight’s frigid blanket of snow was pushed aside. Without hesitation I shook my body to limber up and regain blood flow to the areas that had begun to turn blue. I slicked back my hair. A sigh escaped in a silent prayer for the death of my forty hour perm. That’s thirty dollars my father will never get back, I thought guiltily before my brain countered, He deserves it. He was the reason I chose to be here.

Rubbing my hands together, I walked away from the bench that served as last night’s bed. My eyes scoured the ground, for any signs of my presence. Shoe imprints, paced back and forth; barely visible under the snow. Various elongated sneaker marks sparked a flash of myself slipping on a patch of ice. In that flash, many more memories of that frenzied night leapt from my mind, seeping into my veins. They ignited a fire of emotion. Anger, depression, denial, and pain were prevalent, but one surpassed the rest: regret.

It hadn’t been easy to leave home. I had always thought about it, but never truly gotten the guts to go through with it. I remember wondering what the hell I was thinking that night as the snow fell. Surly my father would find me. He worked on the docks, nearly nine blocks from where I stood right now. When he did, I would be dragged back to my suburban prison, with more than a few questions to answer. There would be consequences to pay. And I wouldn’t be able to get far enough away to stop the unraveling of fate (all my money had been spent on a taxi to get to the city).

Looking up from the frosty ground, I noticed a wrapper strapped against my ankle. I closed my eyes and longed for it to absorb into my bloodstream to ease the oncoming hunger. My stomach grumbled in agreement, but I pushed forward. I heard change jingle and chime in my pocket -music to my ears. I fished around until I collected $2.35. It was enough to buy a doughnut. It’s better than a kick in the ass, I thought as I began my search for an open coffee shop.

Thirteen minutes after trudging through the cold, I was huddled over a cup of coffee in a questionable diner; the doughnut was on its way.

I inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet caffeine and the few moments of pleasure, that remained. Steam curled up in long fingers, caressing my glacial skin. But beneath the hard surface was a lost little girl struggling to find her way. And as things began to melt with each sip of the brew, I forced the blockade to remain intact. I would be reduced to tears if it failed me.

Laughter and boisterous voices concentrated my focus on the door. A group of men walked in. Tight jeans, scarves, and fringe were the staples of the crew –I could also smell the cloud of hairspray. I rolled my eyes at the sight; Typical glam scene.

“Babe we need some menus here!” one of the brunettes called to the waitress.

“You can wait just like everyone else,” she responded, placing a doughnut on my table.

“Feisty,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. The rest of them laughed. Until he nudged the blonde, “Hey Jonny, where’s the next gig?”

“Los Angeles,” ‘Jonny’ informed the group.

“But that’s a three day drive,” the Hispanic complained.

“You go to where the shows are,” Jonny shrugged.

“Even you can hold out for three days Tico,” the brunette commented.

“Yeah man, your drums need a break. You’ve been banging ‘em for five days straight,” the other blonde snickered, earning a slap upside the head from Tico.

“Guys, cut it out,” Jonny said, and then raised his glass in toast. “Here’s to many more road trips across the country to do what we love more than chicks and booze.”

A rally of “Aye’s” (and a few whistles) chorused amongst the men. I heard the clanking of glasses as I slumped down in my chair. Through the window a bus -three cars length- was parked in front of the door. I noticed a cargo unit lining the lower half. I sighed, contemplating my next move.

What I would do next still surprises me to this day. It may have been the lethal combination of caffeine and fear or it could have been the instinct to protect myself. Either way, the plan was devious.

The men spoke of leaving the city…and they had shelter. It did not occur to me at the time to ask (I don’t think I would have been able to handle rejection at the time). So, I just…did.

I embraced the idea, acting upon it before thoughts could catch up with actions. My heart throbbed as I rounded the bus to the opposite side. The beatings lurched to my throat when my hand grazed the metal door. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. I opened the door and climbed in.

. . . . . . . . . . .

“Didn’t they find you?” Stephanie gasped.

Jean chuckled. She was completely enveloped in the tale. “Eventually,” she replied a satisfied smile lighting her face.

Stephanie took a bite of her breakfast wrap, contemplating what to ask next. “How?” she managed the word with a mouthful.

Jean handed her a napkin. “There was an accident…” she left the answer open-ended.

Stephanie stopped shoveling food into her mouth. She looked up from her plate, eyes wide. “Do you mean that the bus…?” She inquired, forehead scrunching.

“Crashed? Oh no, nothing like that,” Jean shook her head and then laughed, “I guess I shouldn’t have sounded melodramatic. It happens naturally.”

“You’ve told this story before?”

“Hun, I’m nearly forty years old. I’ve had a lot of time to tell numerous tales,” Jean responded.

Stephanie giggled, “How were you discovered then?”

“Well, a piece of luggage toppled over and crushed my leg.”

“That’s not funny Jean. You can pull my leg once, but twice? I’m not buying it,” Stephanie glared playfully at her.

Jean placed her hands on her hips, “Excuse me? Have you driven along the Interstate to California?” Stephanie shook her head. “Through dips and curves as well as hills to climb, any vehicle would have trouble along the road; especially a bus. Vibrations turned everything into jelly.”

“Okay, okay, I believe you!” Stephanie chortled, grabbing a crumb of Jean’s cinnamon bun.

Jean tapped her hand away, “Apology accepted.”

“Stop being smug and continue your story,” Stephanie rolled her eyes.

“ I screamed whenever this fifty pound piece of luggage fell on me (that’s what alerted the group inside). Outside, a pothole in the pavement lurched the bus upwards and I hit my head on the roof.”

“And this pothole conveniently occurred at the exact time the luggage fell…” Stephanie crossed her arms.

“A skeptic I see. I’ll make you a believer yet,” Jean winked.

“Who found you?” Stephanie fired away.

“The guitarist did. I was unconscious but, he got the band to carry me aboard the bus.”

“Were they mad?” She asked.

“They might’ve been, but I never saw it when I woke up,” Jean responded.

. . . . . . . . . .

The low humming of an engine soothed me from my slumber, like the soft rubbing of a back in stress. Outstretched arms pushed past a wool blanket. A reluctant groan broke away. It wasn’t time to wake up. I nuzzled back into the pillow, awaiting another wave of sleep to drown me. It was not granted.

“Good morning,” came a voice from the kitchenette.

Slowly eyelids creaked open, allowing the sunlight to trickle in. A changed setting of white washed walls and windows were drastically altered from the tarnished metal below decks. The rumble of the bus seemed less substantial inside as well. Inside, yes, inside was where I lay, but it was too soon to explain myself. I rolled over. Ignorance would fool him.

“I know you’re awake,” he taunted.

I sat up. Reality drenched me. I was aboard a bus full of eighteen year-old guys, because I had runaway from home. I didn’t even ask to be in here, I stole a ride essentially (and illegally). A predicament is what I was in and these guys had every right to be pissed with me. Over about a yard, one of the band mates looked at me. Instead of stern eyes and a strong jaw, sparkling blue eyes and a cheery smile radiated my way.

“Want some coffee? It’s bitter, but it does the job,” he spoke, extending a mug.

I wrapped my fingers around the base and took a long sip. “Thanks,” I breathed.

Through a curtain, the brunette from inside the diner burst into the living room. “I thought I heard voices out here,” he stated, taking the mug from my hands.

“Sorry about Richie here, he didn’t pass the first grade because he didn’t learn his manners,” the blonde joked, thick curls framing his face. “I’m Dave by the way,” he introduced himself.

“And you are…?” Richie asked motioning my way.

I inhaled shakily. “My name’s Jean,” I trembled, wringing my hands.

At this time, another man walked out. It was the Hispanic. What was his name again? Oh yeah, Tico. “How’s our stowaway doing?” he grumbled taking a sit across from me.

“She looks a little shaken up to me, but otherwise alright,” Dave answered for me.

Richie was off in another world mumbling, “Jean; where have I heard that name before?”

It was hard to keep track of the various conversations going on in the room. My head turned in every direction catching clips of each sound bit. I could even hear the snoring off in the back room. Dave and Tico whispered amongst each other and then we fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Richie chose this moment to yell out, “I know! I used to bully a guy in high school named Jean!” He looked at me, “Babe, I won’t be able to call you Jean in case that one second of guilt I felt before pulling his underpants will resurface. If you’re going to stay with us, I’m going to call you Gina.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘if I stick around’?” I asked, my eyes widening.

All three looked at me, “We’ll let Jon tell you,” they chimed.

“Why can’t you?”

Dave sighed, “Because he’s the ringmaster.”

I stood up, unsteady on my feet. Walking over to the coffee pot, I grabbed a mug and headed back.

“What’s she doing?” Tico asked his tone strained.

“Maybe it’s a peace offering,” Richie concluded.

I pushed past the curtain quarantining the bunks. Mug in hand, my face flushed. Jon was already up. And shirtless. “Sorry,” I mumbled. He grabbed the coffee regardless and pointed back out to the sitting area.

As I walked back in, I noticed all eyes were on me. “I can’t believe you did that,” Richie spoke in awe.

Behind me, I felt the heat of Jon’s body. I turned around. At least he had a shirt on. “Ok, listen up…”

“Gina,” Richie interrupted.

“Gina, while you were sleeping the band and I came up with a solution to this…issue,” he waved it off like my life was a bug. “We agreed to let you stay. We’ll feed you, cloth you, give you a warm place to stay, under one condition. You work for us,” he informed me.

You work for us…I grabbed onto my head to control the pulsing from the possibilities and outcomes that pooled in my brain. This –all this- would be a better alterative to the starving, cold life that welcomed me outside. I looked up at Jon, “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“I want you-,” Dave’s cough interrupted him. Jon rolled his eyes, “We want you to take care of our instruments. Meaning, you set them up, put them away, and make sure they’re in working order. We’re short on money and can’t afford roadies, so this compromise benefits both parties. Are you in?” he asked crossing his arms over his chest.

I looked over my shoulder at the friendly bunch and then back at the angry mountain before my eyes. It wouldn’t be easy. I had no experience with drums, guitars, basses, or amps. You could always learn dummy, I thought. I closed my eyes. Here goes nothing.

“I’m in.”