Honestly, the only thing that kept me from doing that was that I still had this stupid desire to be in a band and play shows. I was beginning to realize that this desire was eventually going to destroy the rest of my life.
COREY: what’s good about my password system is that it’s essentially unhackable
ASH: unless you no longer have your phone
COREY: well
ASH:
COREY: well yeah
15.
HOW TO TRADE YOUR REALLY NICE BUT POLICE-SUSPICION-AROUSING CAR FOR AN INFINITELY LESS NICE AND COME TO THINK OF IT PROBABLY ALSO POLICE-SUSPICION-AROUSING CAR IN THREE EASY STEPS
Step One. Get a bunch of money from Citibank
Specifically, five thousand dollars. If you’re not a minor, you can just walk in there and do this. The bank people might put up some resistance, like, sweetie, what do you need the money for, do your parents know about this, etc., but this resistance is easily overcome, especially if the kind but patronizing Citibank manager is made aware that you are part of a family that could remove a bazillion dollars from Citibank tomorrow in response to what feels like unfair, ageist, possibly sexist treatment, an awareness that will make the Citibank manager drop the kindness but also the patronizingness and get all thin-lipped and wounded as the teller silently fills your envelope with five thousand goddamned dollars while you try not to do a fist-pump so triumphant that it blows out your shoulder and then you have to play guitar left-handed.
Note: Step One requires that you already have five thousand dollars and are part of a family with a bazillion dollars.
Step Two. Cruise around neighborhoods where cars seem to be for sale a lot and eventually buy one from a person named “Relph”
In Knoxville, it’s not super hard to stumble onto a neighborhood where every block or two there’s a car with one of those black-and-orange FOR SALE signs taped to the side window. So get in there and start cruising around. Because you don’t have a phone, you’re going to have to knock on some doors, which will excite some dogs and confuse some old people and irritate some strung-out jobless weirdos, and when you do finally find someone who actually does have a car to sell, you will discover that the car is not running right now, and then the next one is running but it only gets six miles per gallon because there is a puncture wound in the gas tank from a knife that will be displayed to you in a frighteningly casual way, and the one after that runs fine except there are no brakes or windshield, and after a while it is going to seem totally hopeless but that is about when you will find a suitable transaction partner. He will be a genial courtly older gentleman named Relph who corrects you with a wheezy giggle when you try to pronounce it “Ralph.” “Nope,” he says. “RELPH.” Okay. Relph’s car makes it all the way around the block, so you agree to buy it for $2,300 cash, no questions asked. It is a boxy little 1998 Honda Accord the color of your dad’s teeth, it smells like menthol cigarettes and a barbecue that happened at least five years ago, and the backseat is patterned with entire stain continents from wine or blood. It is an atlas of stains, and Atlas of Stains will strike one of you, very briefly, as a decent band name, until you say it out loud and only then do you realize your mistake, but it’s too late because already one of your bandmates is shooting it down by comparing it unfavorably with a number of sweaty earnest sexually frustrated Christ-core type bands while you mutter I know I know I know I know I know and maybe try to climb into the trunk to escape except it’s already got the amps in it.
Step Three. Deposit the nice car in long-term parking at Knoxville’s McGhee Tyson Airport
After transferring all of the equipment to the Honda Accord, which already has the Check Engine light on and is making a quiet but piercing hungry-dog whine at all speeds below 20 mph, you can split up and one of you can drive the brand-new SUV into the Knoxville airport’s long-term parking section and park in a random indoor spot and walk away without once looking back, feeling pretty badass, like Vin Diesel walking away from something exploding, except there is no explosion and you actually do look back and the big black SUV is just kind of still there in the parking spot looking enormous and blank like someone else’s dog that has already forgotten everything about you.
You walk over to Departures and stand there waiting for your bandmates to show up in the Accord, imagining the beat-up yellowish car pulling up to the curb, trying to make yourself okay with the idea that they will be furiously making out or, who knows, casually fingering each other, or even just holding hands, which would actually be worst of all, but then when they do show up they’re not even sitting next to each other. Ash is in the backseat wedged in next to some drums with her guitar on her lap, just wordlessly shredding away, and Corey glances at you from behind the wheel and the look on his freckly bucktoothed face says to you, something is happening here, and he has no idea what that is.
16.
WE DRIVE INTO ALABAMA AND ALMOST GET MURDERED IMMEDIATELY
The band tour vehicle experience became dramatically different after Knoxville.
So we were all sweaty, and punchy, and kind of afraid. And yet, as the Accord rattled and whined down the highway in the muggy midafternoon heat, the air roaring through the open windows, with no phone, I found myself in a good mood. Who even knows why. It’s just a good feeling to be in a band even if everything’s going to shit.
The windows had to be down so that we did not all immediately die, and it was hard to hear anything over the noise, but after an hour Ash started yelling at us from the backseat anyway.
ASH: I’M CALLING A BAND MEETING
WES: SOUNDS GOOD LET’S DO IT
COREY: WHAT
WES: ASH SAID SHE WANTS TO HAVE A BAND MEETING
COREY: OH
COREY: AREN’T WE ALWAYS KIND OF HAVING A BAND MEETING
ASH: WHAT
WES: COREY SAYS AREN’T WE ALWAYS KIND OF HAVING A BAND MEETING
ASH: WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN
COREY: WHAT
WES: SHE WANTS TO KNOW WHAT DO YOU MEAN
COREY: WE’RE JUST ALWAYS TOGETHER AND TALKING AND STUFF SO ISN’T THAT ONE NONSTOP BAND MEETING THAT’S HAPPENING ALL THE TIME
ASH: I CAN’T HEAR WHAT HE’S SAYING
WES: CAN WE DRIVE SLOWER OR CLOSE THE WINDOWS BECAUSE THIS IS GETTING ANNOYING
Corey didn’t want to get off the highway. So instead we closed the windows. Immediately everyone’s Sweat Levels shot up about 20,000 percent.
COREY: what i’m saying is right now our entire life is a band meeting so when you’re like let’s call a band meeting, how is that diff
ASH: item one: band philosophy
WES:
COREY:
ASH: i think it’s going to help us if everything we do comes from a central unifying philosophy
COREY: you mean like buddhism
ASH: no
COREY:
ASH: i mean what would that mean? that we’re all suddenly buddhists?
COREY: wes’s parents are buddhists so maybe we c
WES: OW FUCK
COREY: JESUS WHAT
WES: THIS SEAT STABBED THE SHIT OUT OF ME
COREY: oh
WES: it literally feels like this seat is full of angry scorpions
ASH: i mean more just like a philosophy about the music itself, like something really simple like an attitude or a mantra or something
COREY: you mean like “work hard play hard”
ASH: well definitely not that
COREY:
ASH: “work hard play hard” is the philosophy of being a relatively high-functioning alcoholic
COREY: i mean i’m not saying, uhh, but i guess yeah that is what that essentially means
I was starting to realize that one reason I was feeling good was, Ash was not behaving like Corey was the love of her life. She was behaving like he was a lab partner who was spilling acid all over her stuff.
Meanwhile, we were stuck behind a semi that had more than thirty bumper stickers on it:
Driver Carries No Cash (He’s Married)
This Truck Is Responsible for “Global Warming”
Made with Wrenches, Not Chopsticks
WES: what about “if it sounds good, it is good”
ASH: if it sounds good, it is good
COREY: nope that’s terrible
ASH: no actually that’s not bad. did you just come up with it?
WES: uh yup
COREY: what? no he didn’t. duke ellington said that
WES: mmmm corey i don’t think duke ellington said it
COREY: wes it’s like the most famous duke ellington quote of all time
WES, falsetto: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
COREY:
WES: mmmmmmmmmmmmmyou’re thinking of “it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing”
ASH, rustily: heh
COREY: okay if the rest of the band meeting is just gonna be wes being a herb i propose we adjourn
We were still stuck in the right lane behind the heavily bumper-stickered 18-wheeler. In the left lane, a Jeep with tinted windows was blocking us from getting over.
COREY: ugh come on
ASH: i like “if it sounds good, it is good”
WES: sure just an idea
ASH: but it sort of means don’t make anything that’s going to be an acquired taste
WES: hmmm
COREY, gesturing: come on! let me over
ASH: like anything difficult that doesn’t sound good right away that you have to give a chance, this philosophy is like don’t make that thing. instead make the shiny easy-to-like thing
WES: right
ASH: i’m not sold either way but I’m glad we’re thinking about this shit
COREY, rhythmically honking the horn: stupid tinted window mother fucker
WES: i had a teacher who used to say “the best artist is the best thief”
ASH: mmmmm
WES: like you take ideas from everywhere and you do cool like unexpected things with them and aaaeeeeeeeeehhhhhh.
COREY: UM
WES: this is not good
ASH: huh
COREY: WHAT IS HAPPENING
What was happening was, suddenly there was a laser show in our car. It was big, and it was everywhere. It consisted of all these green sci-fi-type characters and glyphs and designs rapidly blinking and rotating on the steering wheel and the dashboard and our laps and bodies and everything. The vibe of it was, basically, Evil Alien Spaceship Control Panel, like from Halo or something.
It didn’t take long to figure out that the laser show was being projected from the Jeep next to us. We could see the projection in miniature on the Jeep’s tinted passenger-side window. But we could not see anything else. So, for example, we could not see if they had a bunch of guns. But you would have to assume that maybe they did.
The Jeep’s creepy opaque windows, combined with the fact that they were not letting us over, and just aggressively keeping pace with us and trapping us behind a semi, caused two of us to lose our shit.
COREY: NO NO NO. NO NO NO NO NO
WES: COREY STOP FREAKING OUT
COREY: YOU’RE FREAKING OUT
ASH: guys
WES: I GET TO FREAK OUT BUT YOU DON’T BECAUSE YOU CAN’T SHOW THEM ANY FEAR
COREY: ASH IF YOU STICK SOME MONEY OUT OF THE WINDOW MAYBE THEY’LL TAKE IT AND LEAVE US ALONE
We probably wouldn’t have been as freaked out if it were possible to look into the Jeep. But it wasn’t. It was just this big, black, faceless object, gliding alongside us, broadcasting this nerve-racking thing onto us like a tractor beam.
ASH: guys they’re just fucking with us
WES: yeah but fucking with us is not good
COREY: no no no i would say it is not good at all
WES: should we pull over maybe
COREY: yup. yup yup yup
And so Corey hit the brakes, swerved into the shoulder, and we came to a loud, rattly, shuddery halt.
But the Jeep also pulled over. It glided into the shoulder in front of us and came to a stop, too, about a hundred feet away.
Its brake lights winked out.
We sat in silence and stared at it.
It also just sat there in silence.
We were somewhere in Alabama at that point.
Corey was the first to speak.
COREY: so
ASH:
WES:
COREY: now what
WES: maybe if we suddenly pull away and really floor it
COREY: no
WES: we can outrun them long enough to get to an exit and lose them maybe
COREY: we’re not outrunning anyone. we can barely do sixty-five
WES: well maybe if we jump the median
COREY: nope
WES: and go the other way maybe they’re not crazy enough to follow us
COREY: this car is not jumping any medians. it would beach itself like a whale
WES: also they probably are that crazy
COREY: yeah they’re fucking psychos. look at them sitting there
WES: maybe if we just wait here for long enough they’ll leave?
COREY: wes what if they try ramming us
WES: fuck
COREY: or start shooting or something
WES: fuck fuck fuck
COREY: i think we should try to drive into the forest
WES: yeah maybe
ASH: guys.
As soon as she spoke, it was clear again that we were us, and she was her, and those were two separate things.
“They don’t have guns,” she said. “They don’t have shit. They’re just fucking with us.”
She waited a moment and then said, “So let’s fuck with them.” She said it in the tone of voice you might use to order the ice cream that you always get at the ice cream place you always go to.
She opened the door.
“Ash, wait,” I said, but she ignored me completely.
“Pop the trunk,” she told Corey.
He didn’t do anything.
“Do it,” she said, and he did, and she got out and walked around back and we heard her rummaging around in the trunk.
No shots were fired from the Jeep. No one got out of the Jeep. The Jeep continued to do nothing at all, and I found myself thinking, what if there is no one in the Jeep.
“Fucking come on,” we heard Ash whisper, audibly rooting around under the amps.
No. That was crazy and stupid. There were definitely people in the Jeep. And they were definitely hostile. And they had definitely decided that they were not done with us.
Maybe they were on meth. Or acid. Or in a cult. Probably all of those. Because why else would you behave in this psychotic and terrible way.
We heard Ash give a kind of grunt of satisfaction. The trunk slammed. She walked around to my side. She rapped on the window. I rolled it down. She was holding a lug wrench.
“Wes,” she said.
I stared at her.
“Come on,” she said.
I didn’t move.
“Corey stays in case he has to move the car. But you have to come with me.”
I nodded. But I still didn’t move.
“Corey, leave the engine running,” she said, and she started walking, and I managed to shut up my own thoughts long enough to open the door and jump out of the car and start walking.
It wasn’t quite as hot out on the shoulder. But the air was still thick and sticky on your skin. The Jeep somehow looked farther away. The ground was generously littered with food wrappers and plastic bags and empty cigarette packs and soda cans and broken beer bottles.
“Pick up one of those broken beer bottles,” said Ash.
I nodded and tried to walk over to the closest beer bottle like this was a thing I did all the time. I picked it up. It was a Budweiser and it was wet to the touch.
“No,” said Ash. “Like broken broken. Like that one.”
She nodded to another Budweiser bottle that was missing the bottom part, and I picked it
up by the neck, and squeezed it, and we started walking toward the Jeep.
Pretty soon it became clear to me that the part I was squeezing was also broken, and there was a jagged edge cutting into the fat part of my hand. But it was too late to say anything or do anything about it.
It was a long walk toward that Jeep. It was like you could feel the sun breathing on you. Ash spun the lug wrench a couple of times in her hand like a tennis racquet.
“What is this bottle for exactly,” I said.
“Slashing their tires,” she said.
“Oh,” I said.
“I mean for self-defense, too,” she said.
There was not a part of my body that wasn’t slick with sweat. But the wetness on the inside of my hand felt stickier somehow. That is just blood, my brain tried to reassure me. There is nothing to worry about. That is just the blood that is leaking out of a wound in your hand.
We were about halfway to the Jeep at that point. It was clean and undented. It had no bumper stickers anywhere. The license plate was 5KAK924. It continued to be impossible to tell who was in the Jeep.
Then its brake lights turned on.
We heard the engine start, and we saw it begin to roll away from us. I yelled something involuntarily. We broke into a run. The Jeep picked up speed. I was screaming. Trucks were whooshing past us. A ridiculous number of them like the same one on loop. Somewhere behind us Corey was honking the horn. I was sprinting and roaring my lungs out. I was outrunning Ash and almost keeping pace with the Jeep, and I could feel a little train of blood crawling up my arm, and I squeezed the bottle a little harder and felt nothing at all and took a couple of skip steps and hurled the bottle as hard as I could. The bottle was in the air for not a long time and it was clear that it wasn’t going to make it all the way. It landed in the grass next to the shoulder about ten feet short of the Jeep with a distant little thump. The Jeep bucked and hit a higher gear and slid out onto the highway, and I thought, it doesn’t matter, I’ll just keep running, and sooner or later I’ll catch it, and then they’re fucked.
Back in the Accord, my hand was bleeding a lot, so we tied one of the washcloths around it and decided to get off the highway and look for a town with a CVS. Also somewhere to play a show. We were feeling like we were more equipped than ever to play a dominant and masterful show. We knew this made us idiots. But we didn’t care.