Tennessee Sunburn (part 2)

(continued from part 1)

         The unending queue of automobiles inched slowly forward and into the rising morning sun. The Topaz had been locked in the line throughout the night. But what had appeared a basilisk from afar had turned out to be more of a  centipede, many parts moving to slowly inch the whole forward. Lacking the doubt fueled tension of the ride up, the jam of traffic would have seemed almost peaceful, soothing.

         Were it not for the prodigious, smothering heat.

         The Topaz had no air conditioning, and with the prostration of movement, had no real circulation or breeze of any kind. The exhaust saturated air sat perfectly still, yet somehow managed to squeeze them, to constrict the cars interior. Glaring, blazing sun through the windshield. Rumblings of stop and go frustrated engines. Squeaking of brakes wondering when the gas pedal was going to carry its weight. It would have been like being in a coffin gliding sporadically down the conveyor toward the incendiary jaws of the incinerator.

         Were it not for the contagious, invigorating spirit.

         It seemed everyone in this line was determined to make the  best of  it. Open and friendly, capable of an amalgamation that required no compromise or concession. There was an acceptance of being in the air, an openness of the mind, perhaps even thicker than the exhaust.

         One thing was clear: There was something monumental at the end of this line.

         The merging of several lanes of traffic had separated the two travelers from the girls they had met previously. But they had made other friends. A man named Bill with a dog in his car had given them some watermelon that had been filled with vodka a week ago. Someone that looked like they had slept in their clothes had been walking down the line of cars passing out Krispy Cream donuts to whoever would take them. The confection was completely deformed from the heat, but to Rand and Tall Man it was yet more affirmation that they had made the right decision to brave this hellish trip and find whatever wonders it might conceal.

*



         Just another tent amongst the carnival of joyous freaks in bohemian paradise, that is what the two strived over in the intense Tennessee sun. It was a simple structure. There were several flexible poles to be extended, and then were fed into tracks sown into the tarp of the tent. As each pole bent around the curves of the tarp, a structure began to form and could be staked down.

         During its erection, several passersby offered the travelers the sale of one illicit substance or another. It hurt them to decline.

         The whole process took a matter of minutes, but by it conclusion the blistering, relentless, throbbing Tennessee sun had blazed its brand all over the two. They had begun setting up the tent as humans and had ended as some kind of giant crustaceans. Lobster men. No longer was Rand concerned for his sun wrecked left arm for now his whole body had caught up and surpassed. Tall Man, too. They were ablaze.

         The Tennessee sun sapped their life. Weakened were the two by so prolonged an exposure to its fiery wiles, such a passionate embrace as it had given them the moment they exited the smoldering Topaz.

         Swarms of joyous, if roasted, concert goers surrounded them. They shouted in greeting and celebration and euphoria. They mingled and mixed and met and mated. They shared and sang and sweated.

         But it was stumbling blind hot. Oppressive hot. The two entered their tent, sought shelter from this fiery beast that pounded on their backs as they had worked. They each collapsed into a sleeping corner, off shooting from the central tent.

         Rand landed on his bag as though it were a pillow, he felt like he was struggling for breath. The tent was as muggy as a jungle, sticky as a swamp. Frustrated, the two unzipped the many windows before flopping back down. Tall Man stirred, but Rand found exhaustion taking him. As he drifted toward sleep, his mind quite randomly decided to compose a poem about the heat, which was like nothing he had ever felt before. It went like this:



                          Tennessee sunburn is more than a sunburn

                                          It’s down to the bone

                    Tennessee sunburn comes from that Tennessee sun

                                  destroyer of everything known



*



         Tall Man was waking him up, but exhaustion would not let him go so easy. There was a moment when one had each arm and Rand was suspended between them. He wasn’t sure which way he should lean, they both seemed so insistent. In the end Tall Man won out and Rand eyes pried open like caskets. He managed a grunt.

         Tall Man said, “I’m gonna go out and see if I can find anyone we know.”

         Rand managed another grunt. Then he slept.

*



         When Rand’s eyes opened it felt like a head-on collision with a train. Or maybe a dinosaur. His mind whirled and the harsh beams of light through the windows caused his retinas to scream in horror. The stifling heat persisted, piled on him in blankets.

         He came out of the tent. Outside, where the sun beat raw anyone who dared challenge it. Where the heat strangled and suffocated. Where the standby ambulance picked up the occasional concert patron for heat exhaustion. Where the people stood in an hour long line for the goods store not for the goods, but for the air conditioned tent around them.

         This was not a place to come unprepared.

         But here they were.

         And despite it all, the joyous atmosphere was infectious. Rand smiled. On the air, he could hear drifting music of legendary proportions, lilting notes that could come from only one source. There was no question who was making this magical sound. Bob Dylan was playing the main stage right then. Rand drifted toward the sound, temporarily immune to the menacing sun.

         Groups of heat strained travelers, cavorting deliriously, crossed and intersected before him in an amorphous mass. The crowd shifted and parted and writhed and moved, filled with laughter and hoots and hollers. Rand felt a little like he was stumbling through it, wavering with the heat.

         Tall Man appeared from the crowd and came over to him. He looked dejected, “I couldn’t find anyone.”

         Rand was barely listening, “How long was I out?”

         Tall Man shrugged, “Dunno. Maybe an hour. Where are you going?”

         “Dylan’s playing. Hear it?”

         “I wouldn’t know it if I did.”

         “You will in a minute.”

         Tall Man looked away, “What about finding people we know?”

         “Gonna have to wait. I’m not missing Dylan.”

         Tall Man begrudgingly followed.

*



         Bob Dylan had been performing live music for live audiences for about five decades by the time Rand got around to seeing him. Dylan had been at the forefront of popular music for just about as long. He had been a figurehead in both civil rights and anti war movements. And he was in the midst of his Never Ending Tour, which had been going on steadily since Rand was a toddler. So, it was a safe assumption that the man was plenty warmed up. Good and limber.

         What was so innocuously presented as an average everyday rock concert was made something much more. True, the stage had all the standard generic features that every stage possessed. Twirling lights and hanging curtains. Piles and piles of amps, mountainous and reverberating with sound. Large screens on which the stage activity and special effects danced.

         It was the sheer quality, the confidence and experience, exuded by the music and the musicians that set it apart. It was breathtaking. There was no more campsite, no more smoldering Topaz, no more sunburn, no more concerns. There was only a phenomenally professional presentation of some of the greatest lyrics ever written.

         But while he watched Dylan perform, Rand couldn’t help but feel that maybe this was as close to any kind of counterculture his generation would get. There were men and women in other countries, our armed forces, fighting and dieing. A recession. Unemployment levels that were second only to the Great Depression. These people didn’t even seem to be aware of that, seemed more than happy not to talk or even think about it. It seemed as though this was more about euthanasia. Carefree fun. Apathy.

         But was there anything wrong with that?

         It was, though, the death of any hope that remained in him that his generation would cry out, would stand against, anything. We complain under our breath, we don’t cry out load. We act irreverent, we don’t act out.

         We don’t protest.

         We pop a Valium.

*

         

         With both the joy and despair of his Bob Dylan experience behind him, Rand found himself quite numb, stupefied. While Tall Man had grown more and more impatient as the show went on, had appealed Rand’s deaf ears. Desperation was sinking its cold ivory fangs into Tall Man’s balls, sapping his gumption. Now, Rand could see the doubt taking hold, squeezing Tall Man like a great coiled serpent, but could not react to it.

         Tall Man wanted to find Courtney.

         It was a strange fact that Rand had always been able to find Courtney, like some kind of homing missile. No distance or crowd could stop him from finding her if he was really insistent on it. Courtney had a habit of disappearing, be it during a fight between them or just needing some time alone. Rand had referred to it as “falling in a Courtney hole.” But sometimes he had decided to find her, he just followed his instincts and there she would be. It had only usually made matters worse when he had found Courtney and she hadn’t wanted to be found. Courtney never told him, but she thought it was spooky. He never told her, but he thought it was spooky too.

         But it always worked.

         And Tall Man wanted him to do it now.

         Within that moment he had no idea why, but he said, “Okay.”

*



         One-hundred-thousand sweating hippies stumbled about, amorphous and undulating with energies so strong they put off heat. Or that may have been the blazing Tennessee sun. The concert goers were all merry despite the overwhelming desire for hydration, water, the ocean. Instead, a sea of sun-dried gypsies stretched as far as the eyes could see, beyond that. Occasional groups of tents or stand alone structures broke up the landscape, and in the distance were several stages; but primarily, there was nothing around but people.

         Tall Man was asking him to find just one.

         And it was precisely this person, out of everyone, that Rand did not want to see.

         But, post Dylan, it finally started to dawn on Rand just how dire their situation was. No money plus no food equals death. No money plus dwindling gas equals no escape. It was no help that Tall Man now wore panic like a rickshaw. Things were starting to come apart and the high, both literal and figurative, was wearing thin. Was dissipating.

         Rand needed to make a sacrifice, “Okay.”

         “Good.”

         “You sure?”

         “Yup.”

         “Sure?”

         Tall Man huffed, “Just come on, man.” He crossed his arms.

         “Alright,” Rand sighed, “Here we go.”

         It was a subconscious process, near as Rand could tell, that he used to locate Courtney. Or maybe supernatural. There were moments that he considered he may be insane for believing such a thing. But when others made mention of it, it became something undeniable. If unexplainable. Rand made no exertion, no conscious effort. He didn’t focus or open or expand his mind, or anything weird like that. He just relaxed and thought about her. Her gleaming panoramic smile, blindingly infectious. Her childlike giggle that accompanied her wicked sense of humor. He thought about laughs so hard his stomach hurt. And tender caresses. And sex.

         And he wandered.

         Tall Man stood back, trailing behind his entranced (or whatever) companion. Rand wandered this way and that just a little, but mostly it was straight ahead. As the crow flies, Tall Man was hoping. Rand weaved in and out, never focusing on any one individual, his mind awhirl with bittersweet imagery and his feet pushed along by sheer instinct. Rand paused for a moment to consider the irony of his success given the new nature of the former couple’s relationship. It was at that moment that he said, “There she is.”

         And sure enough, across a small clearing in the crowd, at the gravel corner of two walkways, stood Courtney with her friend Megan. The two of them clad in floral print skirts that flowed in the unlikely event of a breeze, sunglasses perched on their heads and sandals flopping on their feet. The two couldn’t look any less alike, but always dressed so similarly. Megan was a short and busty redhead, doe eyed, freckled but in the cute way (not like those other freaks.) Courtney was practically Amazonian in stature, slender and bouncy with eclectic and invigorating energy. She wore black framed, oval glasses and a pink bandana. And they were both staring right at Rand.

         Their faces, while not contorted by scorn, absolutely were not filled with, or even slightly tinged by, any semblance of geniality.

         Courtney and Rand had split up on bad terms. Several times. Once upon a time they had been high school sweethearts and had thought the sun set on each others ass crack. But they would eventually brake up, emotionally and messily and angrily, take a hiatus from each other, then repeat. There couplings were always intense, the good times wonderfully passionate and the bad was equally, if horrifically, passionate. This cyclical  process had been raging for quite a while. Several people had been hurt by their involvement with one or the other because of this fluxing attraction and repulsion. Left behind when the cycle completed. But one guy, his name was Art, just would not go away. Rand knew early on that this guy spelt trouble. It became a tugging match, of sorts, between he and Art for who would win Courtney’s affection (assuming anyone could hold on to it permanently.) It looked as though Art had won.

         Now, Courtney and Megan were camping with Art instead of Rand. All Rand got were these unreadable transfixed stares.

         Megan’s face was only eclipsed by shock. It quickly faded and was replaced with a welcoming smile. “Hey, guys,” she waved.

         Courtney’s face remained inert. Stalled.

         Tall Man said, “Oh my God, hi!”

         Rand gave a gruff, “Hey.”

         Courtney still said nothing. Rand hadn’t even seen her blink, when he realized he  was staring. And in the dazzling Tennessee sun it probably looked more like glaring. And then he wasn’t sure if she was glaring back or squinting either. He felt crackle of postulating and hypothesizing and other types of ex-lover speculation exploding in his brain. And he felt fear. Quickly, he excused himself, “Um, listen. Tall Man wanted me to find you and I did and here you are, because he wants to talk to you even though I asked him not to, uh. So I’m going to, like, go over there now.” And he fled.

         He watched on, ashamed of his own lack of poise, as Tall Man gestured about frantically while he explained the many circumstances that had arrived them at this moment. Courtney and Megan said very little, but it looked as though Tall Man wasn’t giving them much of a chance. He was making a gesture that looked like an explosion. Rand didn’t remember an explosion. Courtney glanced over at him, he wasn’t sure if it was the evil eye because his gaze quickly averted to the gravel. His stomach sank.

         It was then that he knew it: Courtney would never come back again.

         Moments later, Tall Man was standing next to him. His lanky friend looked ghostly pale and dejected. His expression was blank. And Courtney and Megan had vanished into the crowds.

         “Well?”

         Tall Man muttered, “She’s not gonna help us.”

         Rand crossed his arms, “Didn’t figure she would.”

         “Then why did we find her?”

         “You asked me to,” Rand said. “What did she say?”

         “She said ‘That sucks. I’m gonna go buy mushrooms now.’”

*



         Reality, the cold and rational, the dispatcher of dreams, had come calling on the traveling two, intent on joining their growing guild. Two sunburned stoners, two empty wallets (and stomachs,) a half dead car that roared like a palsied lion, one overbearing gas giant, and now stodgy reality. Together at last. Any dream, no matter how firmly rooted or blindly adhered to, stood no chance again this cadre.

         Rand had gone as far as he could go. Maybe he had found what he came for. And it was neither grandiose nor spectacular, not astonishing or afflicting, hardly anything at all. But he knew, in this aftermath, he no longer had the energy to fight for survival in this place.

         Tall Man was staring at him, exhausted but expectant. No doubt waiting to hear what they would do next.

         Rand muttered, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

         “What?”

         “Let’s go.”

         Tall Man sighed, “Finally.”

         And within six hours of becoming a structure, the tent was empty and collapsing back into its original baglike form. While they were breaking it down, several different campers walked past and offered to sell them one illicit substance or another. It hurt them to decline. With the prolonged journey the two went through to get to this spot, it seemed a remarkably short and simple process to pack it all in. But that was only because they hadn’t yet experienced the ride home.

*



         Tall Man had said, on their way out of the campsite, he thought that they should take a different route home. He had rattled off some rationale that Rand had been too tired to follow, too tired to care which route they took home. Tall Man had said it wasn’t a problem, he had picked up maps at gas stations along their way and could use them to plot their course home. He had been pointing at the map trailing lines and talking very quickly. To Rand, they weren’t even words. More like white noise. Rand agreed without even considering it.

         “Just tell me where to go,” Rand had said.

         Tall Man had said, “Not to worry, man. I got this.”

         This course had taken them deep into the woods, along weaving narrow mountain roads with very few buildings. The scant architecture that dotted the sides of the road were mostly dank, sagging old wooden homes with green moss growing in the cracks. They had been driving hours and still hadn’t seen another car or a road sign, and it was getting dark.

         Somewhere beyond the dense canopy, the prodigious Tennessee sun was settling into the horizon.

         The speed limit was 35mph, and the Topaz slowly drifted around the curving mountain roads, pissing and moaning all the while. They hadn’t gone much faster than their current speed in hours. Maybe days, they weren’t sure. Neither of them said it aloud but they weren’t entirely sure the Topaz still could go any faster. And the gas gauge moved ever closer to the giant mocking E.

         Only exhaustion kept the two weary travelers from giving in to the crushing pressure. But exhaustion, it seemed, was no help in staving off boredom. No cars. No lights. Just curving road and the occasional dilapidated home.

         The two had little to say on the ride home. Rand supposed they were both trying to process all they had just been through. That, and it took too way much effort to speak for anything but the most pertinent of information to be aired. Even Modest Mouse, the car’s only audible occupant, vibrating out of the car stereo, sounded like they were tired and dragging.

         Rand watched the road, leaning toward the steering wheel. Turned.

         His eyelids felt numb, limp. He turned.

         He did a rough calculation and figured it had been about 36 hours since he had slept, other than his brief nap before Dylon. He turned.

         Despite all of it, the exhaustion and hunger and sunburns and joy and disappointment, he felt pretty alert. Pretty good. He turned.

         His eyes closed. And just like that, he was asleep. He dreamt he was riding an angry beast down a twisting road, suspended in a black void. He turned.

         His eyes shot open like the bursts of two small supernovas. His hands were on a steering wheel. He was in a car. It was moving. He turned.

         Rand’s heart was now in his throat, trying to crawl out his mouth. His eyes were like two dinner plates stuck in his face. His pulse was moving faster than the speed limit, than the Topaz, would allow. He turned.

         He glanced over at Tall Man, sleeping. His lanky friend was curled into the fetal position, nestled against the door.

         Rand said, “Dude, I can’t drive anymore.”

         Tall Man stirred a little, “It’s cool, man. I got this.”

         “That’s what you said about navigating.”

         “And I did it.”

         “So,” Rand said, “where are we?”

         “How the hell should I know?”

         “Exactly.”

         “Whatever,” said Tall Man, “I’m driving. Pull over when you can.”

         Rand turned the car.

*



         With Tall Man behind the wheel, Rand now curled against the passenger door. But now that sleep was permitted him without a fiery car wreck, he found himself having trouble achieving it. He closed his eyes and laid his head against the window. He felt his skull vibrating against the glass. And felt the car turn, and turn. He listened to the car’s rumbling engine, enraged that it should be making this journey again.

         He felt the car jerk left.

         Rand opened his eyes and looked over at Tall Man. Tall Man was hunched over the wheel, staring intently through the windshield. As Rand watched, Tall Man’s eyelids began to drift slowly downward, like a feather let fall. Before Rand could say anything, Tall Man’s eyes sprang open and he jerked the car around a curve to the right. Immediately after, his eyelids pulled back toward each other.

         “Alright,” said Rand, “We have to find some place to pull over. Looks like we’re sleeping in the Topaz tonight.”

         “Yeah,” said Tall Man, “We’re almost out of gas anyway.”

*



         As the morning sun shone, Rand awoke folded up in the Topaz’s driver seat. Next to him, Tall Man had contorted his lanky form all the more in the unaccommodating space. The rays the sun casts on Rand were warm, playful. Welcoming, even. He took the gas giant’s attitude as a sign that they had gotten back into Virginia, a sufficient distance from Tennessee. These rays were not at all like the bolts of radiation it cast onto that entire state.

         Rand looked about the Topaz to see they were parked in the gravel parking lot of a run down gas station. It was, of coarse, shaped like a barn. It had old gas pumps, with the rotating numbers to track price. Nothing digital. He scoped around for any security cameras or personnel scoping out their car. He saw nothing.

         “Wake up,” Rand said.

         Tall Man stirred.

         “Wake up, man. I need you to help me steal gas.”

         Tall Man shot up, “What?”

         “Well, how else are we going to get home?”

         Tall Man looked apprehensive, “Couldn’t we just ask really nice?”

         “And if he says no, we’re fucked. We can’t chance it.”

         “Shit,” Tall Man said, “You’re right. Okay. I’ve never done this before.”

         “It should be easy,” Rand said as he started the car and pulled it toward the gas pump, “Get out and pump but leave your door open, as soon as your done I’m starting her up. Hang up that pump and dive in, I’ll take off.”

         “Are we sure your car is gonna be able to ‘take off?’”

         “Let’s not go there right now,” Rand said. “Oh, and whatever you do, don’t stare around looking all suspicious. Just act natural.”

         As Tall Man pumped, his neck craned like a periscope, his head swiveled. He kept looking into the store. Rand swallowed hard while he watched his conspicuous friend. But the gas station didn’t look like it was open, he couldn’t even tell if the lights were on. Still, Tall Man’s manic tension was palpable.

         Finally, the pumped stopped itself. They were filled up.

         Tall Man fumbled to hang the nozzle back on the pump while Rand cranked the engine. Tall Man fell into the car and slammed the door, he was practically upside down in his seat. Rand took off anyway. Or at least, the best approximation of a “take off” that the Topaz could muster.

         The travelers cheered and hooted with exhilaration as they sped down the road. But neither took their eyes off the rearview for quite a few miles.

*



         Finally, after what felt like a blanketing eternity, Rand and Tall Man were on familiar ground. The Topaz containing them was crossing a bridge into Newport News, their home sweet home. The two would never have believed that they would be so eager to see this place, so happy to be back.

         They quickly made their way across town and to the parking space out in front of their apartment. They dove from the car and went careening toward their home, which was filled with air conditioning and food. Slamming their way into the door, they each collapsed on a couch, soaking up the cool air and comfort. Simultaneously, their sighs were released like steam valves.

         The world was still.

         Then Tall Man said, “Let’s eat.”

         “Hell yeah.”

         After Rand and Tall Man had consumed almost everything in their kitchen, including a couple of the boxes that had contained food, they went to their rooms and slept for almost 24 hours.

         Later, they reconvened in the living room. The two sat on the couch, in their pajamas, staring blankly around the apartment. They weren’t sure what time it was because they had hung sheets and comforters over all the windows before they slept.

         When Rand got around to seeing his sister, to tell her the story of his trip, his sunburn would be peeling in huge sheets. An entire shoulder worth of dead skin came off in one solid sheet. Rand felt as though he were shedding old baggage, metamorphosing, becoming anew. His sister felt sick. But before that, staring blankly in his apartment, Rand said “You know, I don’t know why, but I had a great fucking time.”

         “I know, man,” said Tall Man. “Me, too.”