Read Dustland Requiem (A Bard's Folktale) Page 22


  Chapter 19. Mad World

  “In a land without contractions, it is do or do not. There is no ‘don’t.’”

  – Glenn’s Chronicles

  Ypsilanti, Michigan

  In the middle of the dingy apartment lay a considerable pile of dirty clothes. Glenn stood near the door, listening to somber candidness of Third Eye Blind’s “Slow Motion” on Geroge’s sound system and doing his best to avoid any lingering odors while waiting on Geroge to pack a bag. To his interest, Glenn couldn’t help but notice most of the clothing strewn about the place was female. Geroge came out of the bedroom without a shirt, still pulling up his pants and trying to fix his belt.

  “It’s only one b-bag, what could p-possibly be keeping you?”

  “Not a lot of space, man. And looking at what happened last time you guys went all Fear and Loathing across country, thinkin’ I might wanna plan this one out.”

  “It happened one t-time. The likelihood of a s-similar series of events—”

  “Save the old fogey philosophy, man. Did my time and failed that class proper. Not lookin’ for extra credit after the fact.”

  Geroge took a seat at his improvised laptop desk, uploading new music onto his mp3 player. Glancing over at Glenn, he changed the song on the attached stereo system to Blue October’s optimistically hopeful “Inner Glow.”

  “Heh, sorry ‘bout that. This better? Should only take a minute.”

  Glenn shifted his eyes, intentionally disregarding Geroge’s comment. Glenn paced around the apartment, taking a seat on the futon and considering what preparation he himself might’ve forgotten. His mind wandered only for a moment back to so many days spent alone in his own ill-lit abode. It wasn’t that long ago he and Kody sat together in a dingy apartment, waiting to seek out something greater. It was impossible to tell whether those were better times.

  Geroge finished with his mp3 player, dropping it in his pocket, and pulled a shirt out of the pile. Slipping into the shirt of questionable cleanliness, he tossed a few more clothes into his bag and zipped it up, heading for the door.

  “All right, ready to go, man?”

  “A-always.”

  Glenn rose to his feet as the bedroom door opened. In its frame stood a smallish, nude Asian woman, confidently fending off blonde-and-black-striped sex hair.

  “No goodbye kiss?” She pursed her lips.

  “Uh, Jeany…we have a guest.”

  “He want one too?”

  Geroge sighed and shook his head, rushing over to give Jence a kiss before pushing Glenn out the door. The two made their way down to the Bards’ van, Geroge taking the helm.

  “Sorry about that. She’s been more than a little needy lately.”

  “Apologies are all m-mine. Sorry to have left her w-wanting.”

  Geroge looked over to Glenn curiously before checking the back to make sure his guitar was present and cased up. He started up the engine.

  “Okay, I know Jeany and I have an unorthodox relationship of sorts, and it’s not exactly a one-man-one-woman kinda deal, but that’s not cool.”

  “T-this seems like a c-conversation you should be having w-with her.”

  Despite his words, Glenn showed little interest and kept his eyes focused on the road outside. Geroge watched him, likely trying to dissect him, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

  “Ohh, I get it. This ain’t about Jeany at all, is it? You’re just pickin’ fights. My bad, man, been kinda defensive lately. Got a lot goin’ on. Don’t worry, your good ole’ pal G’ll take care of ya.”

  Glenn looked back to Geroge, who put the van in gear as they took off out of the parking lot. Watching the roads, they passed the expressway leading to Cris’s house. Geroge continued down a back road for some time until they reached a rundown house with a For Sale sign in the front yard. Glenn recognized it instantly as Geroge parked on the curb.

  “Wh-wh-what’re we doing here?”

  “Chickadee’s been on your mind for a while’s my guess. Guy’s intuition, ya’ know? She ain’t been here that I’ve heard of. Even when her ma died not too long ago.”

  Glenn opened his door, stepping outside. He looked over Alma’s house, seeing the place had been cleared out—probably for some time. Maintaining little interest in a place that was no longer a place he knew, he sat back on the curb, falling into the grass. He inhaled deeply, remembering the last time he had rested there.

  “Meroeeow.”

  Glenn made the sound with his mouth, playing with his lips to form different shapes. He smacked them together, making bubbly popping sounds, and stared off into the ravine of the deep blue sky. He canted his head, trying to change the shape of the scene, but he couldn’t turn a world that was already turning. Instead, he rotated to its rhythm, seeking a synchronicity with the earth mother.

  “Glad you’re having fun over there, buddy, but uh… we gotta get goin’. The lady’s waiting.”

  There was a lady somewhere, true. And in this somewhere she would surely be waiting, if she was not ambitious and self-serving. But the lady, his lady, was not the same as the one the bard mentioned. Or was she? He could never tell.

  Piercing; were there eyes in the ceiling? A malevolent nimbus, circling above. Crackling divine wrath through the heavens; heat bolts, loomed in congress, cowered in the skies above. Storms defined his life; they brought no trepidation. His strength came in assimilating the fury of fallen fears. Glenn shook his head, pulling a pill out of his pocket and swallowing it. He climbed to his feet, and sat once again in the seat of the van.

  Glenn fiddled with Geroge’s mp3 player, hooked into the van’s speakers, as they took off down the road. He scanned through the songs, going back to Blue October, this time playing a more pessimistic track, “The Answer.”

  “Interesting choice,” Geroge commented. “So which is it? Zoloft? Wellbutrin? Flintstones Kids?”

  “W-would you know the difference?”

  “Not a bit. Just makin’ conversation.”

  “Hm.”

  The two men rode on in silence, listening to the rest of the album on their way. Before long, they arrived at the home of Cameron Roberts to retrieve his daughter. They both got out of the van and began their walk to the door. As they neared the steps of the porch, Cris came running out from around the side of the house, bag in hand.

  “Whoa, chica, what’re you—”

  Cris grabbed Geroge’s arm and dragged him back to the van, tossing her bag inside. Glenn, not overly interested in the situation, pivoted back to the van.

  “Hey, jackass.” Emma’s voice caused Glenn to turn, seeing her waiting by the side of the house. “You better take care of her this time, or I’ll do a hell of a lot more than toss your ass off of a couch.”

  “N-noted.”

  Emma disappeared behind the side of the house, leaving Glenn no reason to linger a moment longer. He returned to the van and the three of them took off. Cris leaned in between the two front seats to explain, Bixby climbing out of her lap to perch comfortably on Glenn’s scraggly mess of hair.

  “Sorry about that. Dad wasn’t thrilled about me leaving again, especially after last time. So Emmy and I had to…improvise. I’m eighteen now though, so nothing he can do about it.”

  “Enough dicking around then, let’s get our asses in gear and go find your boy.” Geroge cranked the engine and floored the pedal, peeling out of Cris’s neighborhood. He turned up Franz Ferdinand’s indie rock party song, “Take Me Out,” as they headed out, one last thing to take care of before heading south of the border.