My biggest fear is being misunderstood, misinterpreted, and losing my mind. I don't so much care what other people think but if I'm into what I'm doing I'm happy. I just don't want people misconstruing it, regurgitating it, and ruining it. If that makes sense.
At four in the morning I was shaking. At the edge of my bed I was sitting staring through the darkness at the only illumination in the room. The TV spread it's glaring pixilated eyes across the floor. I hadn't been to sleep yet. I wasn't going to be able to either. I was too nervous. I looked down at my unpacked things. Layed out neatly on the floor so I could collect an inventory before I left. Make sure everything I needed was there. I had my toiletries, deodorant, body spray placed into a clear bag. I rolled the money I had left from my savings account into a wad. I placed it into a sock and placed that into my rucksack. I began putting my rolled up tshirts, shorts, socks, sweatshirts, long sleeves, underwear, shoes all into my bag. It fit to the brim. I didn't know what else I could bring other than a few books that I felt were essentials to read while I was away. I was going away. I was leaving for good. I was searching for purpose in a life filled with fear. I was finding home in a van on the road. Maybe that's what I needed. Maybe I just needed to get away and find something more fitting. I knew that if I stayed here I would be constantly reminded of Teddy and I would wind up in the plot next to his. I would have overdosed on pain killers. Slit my wrists in a warm bath that had had the contents of a bottle of bleach emptied into it. I would have hung myself with the sheets on my bed. One side tied to the leg of my bed and the other around my neck. I would have been found waving in the wind like our nations flag. It wouldn't have been pleasant in any event. With no anchor man is meant to drift with the current, to find a home.
The horn outside of my apartment signaled that it was time to leave. My apartment was still filled with all my furniture. All the clothes I didn't want. A bed that left me with a bad back and an ache for comfort. A blanket that was ripped partially and a Television set that had seen better days. Everything of value that I wanted I moved back home for the summer. I had finished my lease and didn't sign a new one, so it couldn't stay there. I just left a note on the door in hopes that the landlord may find it. "Give it to good will," I wrote. Then I left. I locked the doors and slipped the key under the door in an envelope. I placed my things into the trailer and brought my backpack with personal items up front that I would need in case we stopped or in case I needed something immediately and couldn't go back to the trailer. These things were what I called "immediate's." Deodorant, tylenol and advil, ear plugs, hand sanitizer, a few bottles of water, my wallet, cell phone charger, two books, a pad of paper and pen, a CD booklet and some change to do laundry. The things that I couldn't live without.
I popped open the front passenger side door and climbed up into the cockpit of our aviation station. We were clear and ready for lift off. To where we weren't all too sure. The directions to all our destinations sat next to me in a binder. An entire month of basements, elks lodges, parks, vfw's, run down clubs and backyards. I looked over to Jerry who was sitting at the steering wheel smoking a cigarette with big thick aviators gracing his face. He lowered his head to see me over his eye wear and asked, "You ready to go?"
"As ready as I am to die." I replied.
Jerry looked at me and just shot me a shit eating grin, " So you're as ready as the rest of us." He popped the car into drive and we headed for I-195 to take us out of New Jersey and to Maryland for our first show. Baltimore was first on our "hit-list" as we called it. No prisoners, No pain. I looked back and saw that Greg and Tim were sleeping in the back. They had been up all night as I was, nervous for different reasons. They left behind family, close friends, females, love. It was all left at home in hope that it would all work out well. In the pilot seats towards the front was our best friend Darrel who was playing Smitty in some video game for Xbox 360 that they had hooked up onto our small televisions set. Darrel, a self described "cliche punk rocker" was a red headed outsider born in Russia. He moved to New York at a young age and never really got to know his home country so he didn't miss it much. He is however a big fan of Ivan Drago from Rocky IV. Wearing a Black Flag t-shirt and sporting a fiend tattoo, he became our merch man from hell. For the next month he would be the butt of all jokes. He would move equipment, sell merch, handle cash, do sound and get very little credit for his work. But he gets to see the United States. Fair Trade? Maybe.
The drive to Maryland was rather pleasant. We listened to classic rock and Metallica albums the entire way. Deep down inside we were a speed metal band waiting to happen. At least that's the joke. The sun began to sink low in the sky as we pulled into the Ottobar in Baltimore, Maryland. I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the van and saw a small gathering of people waiting outside to get in. Greg checked in with the promoter and we loaded in without incident. I never get nervous before we play, even in front of crowds of people we don't know. I get antsy but I never get nervous. The way I look at it is they're either going to get it or not. I wasn't worried.
Jerry set up his drums and began warming up in his usual fashion. He started by stretching and drinking some water and then loosening his wrists by playing on a rubber pad made for quiet drumming sessions. The rest of the band had been meandering around checking out the people who were there, enjoying the night. The first band that went on was a hardcore band from Maryland called IRON. They played fast aggressive hardcore infused with some metal breakdowns. It was intense, the crowd seemed to be really into. As the night went on and different bands started to play, more kids showed up. About fifty in all. We went on fourth out of five bands and just had fun with what we were doing. We opened up with our usual sermon. Baptism of blood as we called it. "We are no one from nowhere and nothing. We are heartless souls wandering money less through the capitalist system, baptized in the blood of undeveloped nations, we are Hollow Earth." I shouted across the low hum of chattering friends. We caught everyones attention when the first drone of heavy ring out chugs swept through the ear canals of our listeners.
As we played I felt this emptiness inside of me. Something I didn't expect to take hold of me and tear at the lining of my stomach, in the middle of our set I threw up off to the side of the stage. I barely missed the shoes of some poor girl who just looked at me and said, "ewww, are you alright." I looked at her and nodded and went back to what I was doing. Was it Teddy or was it nerves. I don't know but it was hollow. It was me, it was my Kingdom of shit and I had to deal with it.
People came up and talked to me after the show. I answered the usual questions regarding what my musical influences are and listened to someone tell me about how they want to start a band and tour. They asked for my advice and all I could say was, "Find the right people and just do it." It was that simple. You can't create chemistry, it just happens. Find a bunch of people you think you could live in a van with and just pack up shop and leave. Don't worry about life after you're gone just do it. Just make the trip, you won't regret it.
"God I need a shower." The grossness that is me is covered in sweat and praying for a rain cloud to get some relief from the sticky feeling on my skin. The one day I want that rain cloud that follows me everywhere to be there, it's nowhere to be seen. That's how the world works. When you need something, it's not there. It's both a burden and a gift. A burden for obvious reasons but a gift because it allows you to do things for yourself. I soon feel a finger poking me in the back. A tad annoyed, thinking it's one of my band mates, I turn around to find a kid who's no older than 17 who looks at me and says, "I have a place where you can shower and sleep if you want."
"That'd be awesome."
Rule number one of living out of a van. When ever someone tells you they have a place for you to shower and sleep, DO NOT PASS UP THE OPPORTUNITY! After talking with the kid who offered us a warm shower and floor to sleep on, I found out his name was Nick. He was a nice kid. The one thing about people you meet on the road is that they all have stories. Some people find that listening to someone talk about there past is just like listening to complaining on a low volume setting. I myself find it to be interesting. I like knowing where people come from. I like just hearing people's stories. Turns out he was 19 and was the product of a broken home. His mother and father were addicted to Meth. His father would get high and come into his room and make sexual advances on him. One night while he was sixteen he had enough and reached back and packed his fists with every ounce of pure rage and frustration. He grabbed hold of every tear, every drop of boiled blood and began swinging. He felt his fist crush his father's nose as he hit him repeatedly until he came back to life. When he finally realized what he was doing, it was too far gone. His father being out cold and bleeding on his floor, he made a move for the phone and called the police. His mother staggered out of her bedroom and began chasing the love of her loins with a kitchen knife. Luckily the cops made an entrance before anyone else got hurt. A few months later he was legally emancipated by the state. He found a job, worked full time and slowly but surely he put away enough money to get a small studio apartment in Baltimore. Since then he's been pretty normal.
Sitting on the wall outside of the club with our legs curled under us, he began to divulge the ache that was in his heart. "I kind of have to at least put up the front that nothing is wrong, but at times it's hard. Try growing up without a mother or father. I mean they were there, but they really weren't. I never saw love in their eyes, just empty hearts that had long lost their souls. I'm sure if they could they would have sold them already for a quick fix. You can't go through your life being miserable and bitching about what life could be like if you had a better hand dealt to you. I mean life is already out to fuck you, if you give it up you make it too easy. Trust me, I've been fucked enough and I don't want to be anymore." An awkward smile and half hearted laugh followed.
How could he be so open with me? I couldn't quite grasp how someone could really give them self up like that to someone they don't even know. I don't deserve an explanation but yet he let me in on something so personal. Could he feel that deep down I was destroyed just like him. Did he somehow know that I too have had substance abuse ruin the people I loved. I couldn't help but run these questions through my head not knowing that he would answer them all in time.
Staring straight forward into the parking meters and cars on the side of the street he spoke, "I know I'm telling you a lot but I've read your lyrics. I feel like you understand how I'm feeling. I feel like you get it. You guys just get hardcore, you get how the world hurts in so many different ways and I felt like if nothing else you'd understand. Understand why I am the way I am. I'm a black sheep. I'm the outcast that no one has ever loved until I came here. The people here shared their love, their passion, their views, their lives. You share so much in your music, I wanted to share with you. Not to be weird, but just...well I don't know. Just to let you know that we all hurt with you." I smiled the first legitimate smile since the accident. I wanted to reach out to Nick. I wanted to tell him about Teddy. I wanted to tell him about the gun in my mouth. The taste and feel of metal in your mouth, grinding against your teeth. How vulnerable you are, how you don't want to live sometimes, but I didn't tell him that. I didn't want to cause him anymore pain.
The equipment was packed, the promoter had given us our guarantee and we began our trek to Nick's house for a warm shower. His studio apartment was more than sufficient, it was small but he was making it. He was living on his own. Loving on his own. Being on his own. Deciding who he wanted to be on his own. I could not help but be jealous of him and fear for him all at the same time. We passed out, tired from the commotion and awoke the next morning to coffee and bagels courtesy our host. We couldn't stay long and I had so much I wanted to tell Nick. So much I wanted to confide in him. He was just like me. He was an outsider. We all were. I handed Nick my contact information and told him to call me if he ever needed anything. I wish we weren't leaving.
"See you where the sidewalk ends Nick." I uttered softly from the back seat of our van.
"What was that?" asked Greg from the front pilot seat.
"Nothing dude, just going through things in my head."
"Sounds interesting." Greg turned to Tim and said, "Off to more white dashes and solid yellow's." Tim merely scoffed as the rest of the band settled in for another long drive. I just sat there, trapped inside my head thinking that I've never been happier living in an ocean of pavement, finding comfort in white dashes and solid yellow's. Sink or swim, we all either sink or swim. Nick chose to swim.
