Something was coming. A van. It was damaged extensively on the side. It was them and they were loud.

I waited in the park by the river for them. I was in charge of meeting them. And also showing them the location of where to set up their equipments.

The van pulled over two diagonal parking locations. The largest music I ever heard in my life was shaking out of the van's speakers when the driver tried to cut the engine. He wore cop glasses but had no mustache at all. His curly red hair was very exciting. The music stopped. Then the van stopped a couple more times. Dieseling. These guys didn't care about anything.

They all exited through the driver's door. I figured out that it was probably the only door that worked. As each guy jumped out of the van they started clapping their hands and singing and saying "woo" a lot. One of them had a harmonica. They sang a song about how they were going to rock this gazebo tonight. They felt a lot of excitement, and that made me feel very contagious. They wore very tiny leather jackets and had hair that was very greasy, like the hair of a person who just didn't give a fuck.

They were singing and clapping like that time I went to church with this guy named Shorty from Chattanooga. Shorty went to a church that met in a bar-b-que place and had a band play through the whole thing. I think, I remember, the music was like Charlie Daniels Band but more unreasonable. I was only there for the bar-b-que. I was told there would be bar-b-que.

The two skinniest guys in the van looked like twins. They had the tiniest jackets and the greasiest hairs. One of them pulled out a gallon-sized zip-lock freezer bag full of pills and other one lifted up a jug of wine.

"Want some wine? Pills? Pills? Wine?"

"We're gonna rock this gazebo. We're gonna fuckin' rock this gazebo 'til the fuckin' cops come, man."

They seemed like they knew what they were doing.

"What are these pills?" I asked while reaching into the bag.

"I don't know, a bunch of shit. Muscle relaxers and NoDoz. It's all there, man, dig in."

"Thank you," I said.

I helped them move their amplificators to the municipal gazebo near the river. They seemed to have more amplificators then guys to utilize them. I was cool about it through. I introduced them the electrical outlet and the extension cords.

We hung out awhile. The driver let me try his harmonica, but nobody was clapping, so that made it harder to play.

They wondered if I might know anyone who might possibly have a little pot they could smoke before the show. I told them I had some at my house but it was too far away.

That's when Mike Johnson showed up with the public-address system. Mike Johnson was acting very important, like he was the only person in Little Rock who knew about things. I guess he was the one who told the guys about the gazebo, so I guess that makes him something.

"What are you doing here?" he drilled.

"I was put in charge of meeting the band," I informed him. "Gina asked me to do it. As a favor." I knew that would bug him.

"Did this guy meet you guys?"

"Yeah, he was standing by that tree," proclaimed the driver of the van.

Damn straight I met them. Vindicated. I loved it. It felt like pride and revenge all wrapped up in inclusiveness. These guys liked me hard. And Mike Johnson had to stand there and take it.

"Yeah, this dude met the shit out of us. Like a boxer at a casino."

Mike Johnson laughed. "Yeah, that's good."

This was the kind of scenario that I had been playing in my head for years. I was cool about it though. I drank from the jug of wine while the other guys unwrapped their cords and set up Mike Johnson's mic stands.

When they played their instruments, it was so loud that it hurt my face. I was cool about it though. I think those guys really liked me. Hard.
 
 

I had stood in my kitchen holding the telephone before, but this was different. The feeling of dread had gone missing. Replaced by something carbonated. Something right under my sternum. I wouldn't say that I was comfortable. But I might say that I was happy, in a very powerful and vengeful way.

"Hey Gina what's up? I didn't see you after the show. I'm just hanging out at my house with Thee Black Tornadoes and I was just wondering-"

"Is this Billy?" she blurted out with something I can only call enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it's me. I just thought you'd want to know-"

"What are they doing at your place? I thought they were staying with Mike."

Sweet vindication. "Yeah, Mike had to drive to Lafayette early in the morning so I volunteered. I mean, I am a member of the community."

"Don't do anything. I'm coming over. You did the right thing by calling me."

I hung up the phone, and spun around on the heel of my boot. Gina's was coming over. That's the kind of thing that can really make you an important part of the community. The stakes were getting high. I have to remember to think about everything I say at least three times. I have to make sure nothing goes bad.

The stakes weren't the only things getting high. Thee Black Tornadoes were burning through my stash methodically, like a welding iron, like real professionals. These guys didn't care about anything.

"Look out," I casually warned the drummer, "that cat's got bloody butt."

He looked at me with his mouth kinda open. He must have been really stoned.

I stood in the doorway. Calculating my next move. The driver sat in my main chair and watched a videocassette from my movie library. A mediocre film about a futuristic women's prison. He had bought a 12-pack of beer at the gas station on the way out to the house. He'd pop one, drink it. Then pop the next as he placed the previous can on a pile of empties underneath my end table. I was cool about it though. He seemed to be concentrating very hard. On his beers and on his movie. He had constructed his own world. He seemed like the dad of the group. Quiet. But very friendly. Friendly in a quiet way. Not snobby, just preoccupied. I guess that happens with your creative types.

The twins were camped out in the corner by the other electrical outlet. Apparently they'd been traveling with an electric blanket which they had plugged in and gotten under.

"This sucks," gasped one of the twins. His face looked long and horrified. He looked bad like he was incredible of something. "We have to take this blanket back. It sucks. They lied to us at that store."

"That store was in Oklahoma, we're not going back," muttered the other twin.

What to say. What to say. It's gotta be good.

"Is there any heat in this place?"

One of the twins was talking. He was starting a conversation. The ball was on the roll. This was my chance. It's gotta be good.

"I can make a fire."

"You don't have a fireplace."

"Outside. In the pit."

"Fuck yeah," moaned one of the twins. "Let's start a fire."

I figured out that they probably don't have access to a lot of real fires in the city where they're from. I'll have to check into that if I come to visit them. And stay in their apartment.

It wasn't hard to start the fire. The twins were really getting into it. They had the harmonica out and I was clapping with them and saying "woo" all over the place. We were improvising.

Suddenly the driver staggered out of the house. He dragged one of my chairs behind him with one hand. He stumbled up to the pit and whipped the chair up over his head. The twins went nuts, clapping and hooting, as the driver swung the chair at the ground, breaking it into several pieces.

"Fuck yeah," explained one of the twins.

They picked up the pieces and threw them on the fire. They were very excited. I was less so. Now I only had two chairs. Just seconds ago, there where three. Everything was changing so fast. I was cool about it though. It takes more than a busted chair to make me cry.

That's when everything got one hundred percent better. I heard Gina's Jetta turn off the gravel road and bounce down the dirt path. One thing led to another and her perky compact popped through the tree branches that stretched across the driveway. Wait 'til she sees the fire.

"I'm so sorry you guys got stuck all the way out here," she announced as she stepped away from her car and chirped her alarm. "I just assumed you guys were staying with Mike."

Sorry sweetheart. Mike Johnson is shit out of luck.

She hugged each Black Tornado. The driver whispered something in her ear. He must be very drunk by now.

"Billy?"

"Yes, Gina."

"Do you have more beers?"

"Sure." I couldn't believe what was happening. I was getting a beer for Gina. She was standing, right out there, in my yard. Next thing you know, she'll be in the kitchen and that's just two doors away from- Chirp!

I ran for the front door. I got outside in just enough time to see Gina's only taillight disappear through the tree branches. Thee Black Tornadoes were gone.

I opened Gina's beer. I took a big whiff of it before taking the first sip. I walked back into the house. The drummer was still asleep alongside of the wall. I turned my chair (the main one) and sat down. I watched the drummer snore. His feet smelled real bad. I was cool about it though.
 
 

The next morning, I met up with Thee Black Tornadoes at Waffle House. They needed me to drop off their drummer. He was quiet. I bet he was still stoned.

Thee Black Tornadoes were crammed into a Waffle House booth. Gina sat on the driverís lap with her arm around his neck. The booth was full. I just stood next to the booth while they drank their coffees and ate their waffles. I just stood next to them. I didn't try to fit into the booth. I didn't what to cause anyone discomfort.

Marissa was waiting tables. We went to junior high together. As Marissa cleared the table, the twins started clapping and hooting. They were getting ready to make a move of some kind. It made me feel pride for Marissa to see how tight Iíd become with Thee Black Tornadoes.

The twins got up to the counter. The main one picked up an oval basket full of lollipops. "How much you want for aaaalllll these lollipops, baby?" He spoke his words like he was preaching a sermon. The other twin clapped his hands and hooted before extracting the harmonica from his tiny leather jacket.

Marissa stood motionless at the register trying to ignore them. Then she informed them that, "there is to be no 'performing' at Waffle House." She obviously didn't realize that this was a special circumstance and she should make an exception.

"Come on, Marissa everything's different now." It just spilled out of me. I couldn't stop myself.

"Don't make me call the constable, Billy. You know you've been banned from Waffle House." She was trying to embarrass me but I was impenetrable. "The suckers are 25 cents each, sir."

"No, no, baby, I'm talking about the whoooooooole basket. We need aaaaaaaaalllllllll these lollipops!"

Marissa began to very carefully count out each sucker. She charged them thirteen dollars and 25 cents. Exactly.

Out in the parking lot, all the Tornadoes climbed through the driver-side door of the van. Gina was talking a lot. I just stood by the van politely. The engine started again. The Tornadoes roared. They were driving all the way to Chicago, which is a city I plan on visiting in the future.

"Thanks, Bobby," said the driver.

I was cool about it. I think those guys really liked me.
 
 

David Bucci
Copyright 2003
 

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