I Feel Fine

Perhaps the 5 years since they’d last done the whole warped thing had skewed his memory a little, but Garrett didn’t remember it being this goddamn hot. His bangs are slicked to his forehead, and there are definite beads of moisture gathering at the back of his neck. He puffs out a breath and tries to shake some air under his t-shirt, but to no avail. All he gets is more humidity. Hot is something he’s used to of course, Arizona sunshine being practically infamous, but in Arizona he has the full use of a regular shower to stop him from smelling like wet dog. At warped – no such luck.

He’s sitting on the tour bus steps, watching John, Eric and Nick kick a deflated ball around the empty parking lot. A part of him wants to join in, but he can’t really summon the effort, so he stays sitting, fishes his phone out of his jeans pocket and checks for any text messages. There’s one from his Mom reminding him to wear sunscreen (as if he isn’t 24 years old or anything) and one from his flat-mate back in Gilbert, Alex. Something about the tap dripping. Garrett tries not to think of various Ryan Adams songs that start something like that, and shoots a text back, telling him to call in a freaking plumber if he’s so concerned. By the time he’s done, the boys have finished with their little run around and Nick comes over. He sits down next to Garrett and wrinkles his nose.

“You need a shower, my friend.”

Garrett raises an eyebrow. “Believe it or not Santino, but you’re not smelling too fresh yourself.”

“Not as bad as you. I get a nice little gazebo to perform in – shade all day. Whereas you bust a gut onstage in the heat.”

“The sacrifices I make for my art…”

Nick elbows him in the stomach and then sighs, looking out at the parking lot again. John’s headed off to find some alcohol, Garrett presumes, probably dragging Eric with him. It’s getting to that part of the night. The sun is just beginning to burn in the sky, oranges and purples and pinks filtering through the thin clouds. Garrett admits it’s one hell of a sunset. It makes him want to get up and run through the empty lot and keep on going just to see where he can get to before the sun dips below the horizon completely. He’s not going to do that obviously, but still; the idea is appealing.

“Every feel like you’re getting too old for this rock and roll shit?” he asks. Sort of to Nick, and sort of to no one. He’s not really serious, and Nick can tell - he snorts.

“What’s up with you, Grandpa?”

“I saw a kid today – he was obviously in one of the bands performing, he had the pass and everything. He looked about fifteen. Like Jesus, how’d that happen?”

Nick gives him a small smile. “Like how’d the kid get successful, or how’d you get old? Garrett, you’re only twenty-four. Plus you were him once. You were what, nineteen when you first did warped?”

Garrett nods. Nineteen. God, it feels like he knew nothing back then. Still feels like he knows nothing now, to be honest.

“I don’t know. I feel so out of place, somehow. I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this sort of thing anymore,” he jokes weakly.

“Sure you are! Garrett, we’ve only just started, you’ll get into the swing of things in a week or so.”

Garrett almost groans. “Three months is a helluva long time, Nick.”

“And you didn’t think of that before you came?”

“Sure I did, but then I wasn’t tired, hot and I didn’t have a headache coming on.”

Garrett rubs his temples, because sure enough they’re beginning to itch, and that’s a sure fire sign of a migraine – which he really wants to avoid.

“Dude, did you drink enough water today?”

Garrett shrugs. Probably not. Things get hectic when you’re promoting and performing and then being stopped every couple of minutes for photos and such. The water probably took a backseat. He closes his eyes and hears Nick get up. A minute later and he’s thrusting a cool bottle of water into Garrett’s hands.

“You have got to look after yourself, dude. Number one survival tip for Warped Tour: drink plenty of water.”

Garrett takes the bottle gratefully and takes a few sips, before realising how thirsty he is and downing the whole thing completely, crumpling the plastic between his fingers. When he’s done Nick looks at him and Garrett can tell he’s worried.

“You’re not going to get one of your bitch headaches are you?”

“Probably,” Garrett mutters darkly.

At this point John comes careering back into the parking lot – bizarrely on the front of a bike that Eric is pedalling, complete with balanced red cups in their hands, sloshing drink over the side. There’s a group of guys following them, laughing and snapping pictures. From his seat on the bus Garrett can pick out Derek Sanders of Mayday Parade, some dudes from The Summer Set, Kennedy, Pete and Jared, too. Garrett has no idea where they’ve procured the bike from, but it seems in doing so they’ve started a little party. There’s even some rustling from behind him and Pat pokes his head out (from where he’s been sheltering in the bus.) He says hi to Garrett and Nick and climbs over them to join the gathering and is met with a welcoming beer. The thought of alcohol makes Garrett feel a little ill.

“No way buddy, you’re not drinking if you’re dehydrated,” Nick says when he catches him looking.

‘Yeah, I know,” Garrett sighs. There’s sudden loud raucous laughter from the group that makes him flinch, but Nick’s head snaps round to try and find the person that’s cracked the joke. (It’s Eric; he pitched John off the handlebars.)

“I’m going to go lie down or something, bro. Maybe I’ll come out later.”

“Okay. I’ll tell them what’s up,” Nick nods, before he gives Garrett a grateful smile and slopes off to where the group is huddled around John lying on the concrete. Garrett could tell Nick would’ve stayed if he asked, but he didn’t want to deprive him of a good time.

He climbs the bus steps and drags himself to his bunk, pulling out his suitcase from underneath and rummaging in it to find some painkillers. He swallows them dry, feeling the rough texture and the bitterness on his tongue and grimacing. His bunk feels way too cramped, however, and far too much effort to crawl into, so he makes his way to the sofa at the back of the bus and collapses on top of it. His headache is really starting to make itself known now; sharp shooting stabs across his forehead, mixed with a dull ache that seems to encircle his whole head. He closes his eyes and listens to the shouts and yells drifting in from everybody outside; waiting for the pain medication to kick in, or for sleep – whichever comes first.