I want to tell LeighAnn God loves her. That He will leave His flock of ninety-nine sheep to search for the one that has gone astray. When it’s found, He’ll rejoice more of that sheep than the ninety-nine. I want to tell her that more than anything, but I don’t know if I believe that anymore, Holly.
“That wasn’t right of them,” I say, and at least I know it’s the truth. “They shouldn’t have treated you like that.”
“Thanks.”
“So … what’s your favorite gospel song?”
LeighAnn shrugs, flicking her cigarette butt into the yard. “‘Uncloudy Day’ is good. ‘Down by the Riverside.’ My mom loves Dolly Parton, so ‘Coat of Many Colors’ was, like, the first song I ever learned to sing.”
She’s grinning now. I ask, “Think you can teach me one?”
LeighAnn lights another cigarette, letting it bob in the corner of her mouth. She strums the first few chords of “Down by the Riverside,” correcting herself, making sure she’s got it right in her head. Then she says, “All right, so you already know the G chord, so you start off with that. Then D seven, then back to G, then a regular D chord. See how it’s different from D seven? You have to move all your fingers, but see how that D is the only note that changes in the chord?”
Just then, Tyler raps on the sliding glass door and motions for LeighAnn. She hands the guitar back to me. “Back to practice,” she says with a tired sigh.
Alone again, I try to play the new tune. My fingertips start bleeding again, and my knuckles have started to swell. But even though the song is slow and unsteady and full of leaden notes, if I listen close, I can just sense the mojo underneath.
Sixteen
I sleep with my hand wrapped in a hot towel. It’s supposed to ease some of the stiffness, but the aching still wakes me up several times during the night. It doesn’t help that bruises still cover my arm from where you touched me, Holly.
Dawn breaks. After Stratofortress leaves for work, me and Tyler return to the river, waiting for you. Standing inside our circle of chalk and lime, I stuff my hands into my pockets without thinking, then yelp as another blister tears. My finger starts bleeding and oozing clear liquid. I want to wash it off in the lake, but I’m afraid. I can imagine a soft clay hand grabbing my wrist while I do. Instead, I rinse it with a little water from the bottle I brought. I let it bleed on my shirt and keep watch while Tyler plays “The Drowned Forest.”
He plays the same song, over and over. Sometimes I pray, too, the words scattered through the brambles by the wind. There’s still no swallows, and I don’t see the plants growing like before.
We have to get to the Bandito Burrito early, for a sound check before the gig, so after a while Tyler says, “We might as well go. I don’t think she’s coming today.”
We leave, but we’ll be back tomorrow, Holly. We aren’t giving up. Please, please, you can’t give up on us either.
Tyler is nervous about the show, even though he won’t say it. When we get back to Stratofortress’s house, Against the Dawn’s CD, Rooster, is playing so loud I can hear it before stepping through the front gate. Tyler, Max, and Ultimate Steve are loading gear into the Florence Utilities van. LeighAnn pulls me into the bathroom for my first haircut in weeks.
Sitting on the edge of the tub with a towel around my neck, I say, “Make them wispy, not, like, raggedy-looking.”
“Don’t worry.” LeighAnn’s cigarette flares in one corner of her mouth; smoke jets out her nostrils. She snips at my bangs, hair falling to the pink tile. “This is going to look great. Wispy bangs look so good with a rectangular face like yours.”
“I just don’t want people to think I’m deranged or anything. I mean, it’s bad enough I’ve worn the same shirt for three days.”
“Are you kidding?” LeighAnn snorts. “Going to a show in clothes you’ve worn for days? That’s rock ’n’ roll. You’re just a poser until you’ve crashed on at least a few couches and smell like an old lady’s foot.”
“I don’t smell like—”
“Shh … don’t move.” LeighAnn makes a few more snips, then pulls the towel off my shoulders. “Okay, have a look.”
I look in the mirror. Behind me, LeighAnn purses her lips. “Maybe we should thin them out a tiny—”
“No, they’re perfect. Just like they are. Perfect.” They really are, longish and side-swept.
“Ahhh!” Grabbing my shoulders, LeighAnn shakes me hard. “Your first real rock show! Are you excited?”
“Yes, yes.” I wiggle out of her grip. Part of me is excited, practically straining through my skin to jump around and be loud. Another part of me feels guilty about the first part—enjoying myself while you’re still lost under the water. But I think it’s important to support Stratofortress after they’ve helped me so much.
Brushing stray hairs off my shoulders, LeighAnn says, “Now, all through the show, you’ve just got to be on top of it. Holler, bang on the table, flop around a little. Make it like every song we play is better than sex in a Mustang.”
“Gross.”
“Or holding a bake sale or reading to blind orphans, whatever. But you have to show the rest of the audience how great the band is. If the cute girl thinks they’re great, everybody else will, too.”
“Got it.”
With all the equipment in the van, there’s barely any room left for people. I ride sitting on top of an amp. With the window slid open, I can feel the cool dry air on my face. I can taste the pine trees on the wind. Night presses downtown, squeezing every light into a diamond.
The Bandito Burrito stands in that crummy shopping center near UNA. Greasy yellow light oozes across the parking lot, and the air inside smells like burnt flour, but some college kids survive on their two-dollar vegetarian burritos and nightly gumbo of music acts.
“Jessie! Hey!”
On the little stage, Against the Dawn gobbles enchiladas while doing their sound check. Jessie wears green plaid board shorts and a black T-shirt. Hopping down to give LeighAnn a hug, she says, “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming through for us.”
“No problem. How’s the tour so far?”
“Pretty good. Birmingham was hell, but other than that, pretty good.”
“This is Tyler, our new rhythm guitar. And this is Jane. She ran away from Sesame Street and lives with us now.”
“O … kay. Hey.”
“Hi,” I say.
“So, I’m getting a drink,” LeighAnn says. “But you’re still staying with us, right?”
“Yes. You don’t know what I’d do for a shower right now.”
I follow LeighAnn to the bar, where she spots somebody else she knows. “Landon, you made it! All right, man.” She hugs a curly haired guy with John Lennon glasses. The girl he’s with scowls, but LeighAnn doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
Landon says, “Thanks for emailing me. I couldn’t believe it when you said Jessie already has an album out and everything.”
“I know. Isn’t it awesome?” LeighAnn turns to the waitress and says, “Give me a Naked Pig and Mountain Dew for her.” While she’s catching up with Landon, the waitress opens a bottle of Naked Pig Pale Ale for her, then hands me a fizzing Mountain Dew.
“So what are you up to?” Landon asks.
“Uh … still at the bank.” When she says it, LeighAnn glances everywhere except into Landon’s eyes. You can tell she hates saying that.
“Oh. Well, how’s the band? What is it, Secret Fortress?”
“Stratofortress.”
“Right, right. Well, how’s it going?”
“Okay. We lost our rhythm guitar. We’ve just got a fill-in for tonight.”
“Oh. Where’d Patterson go?”
They talk for a while, then spot more people they know. I see Britney standing by herself and drift over to her. “Hey.”