by Rae Kennedy
Checkout is at two in the afternoon. I insist on paying for my room and then we all pile on the bus. Though he was inexplicably absent last night, Dean shows up on the bus, wearing sun glasses and complaining about how “way too fucking bright” it is outside.
Note to self: Dean may actually be a vampire.
He goes straight to his bunk.
Logan and Joey also climb into their beds with half-closed eyes. When they said they sleep all day and stay up all night, they meant it.
Colin sits at the little dinette table, looking intently at a small black book opened in front of him. I feel pretty awake, but I don’t want to disturb him, so I get in my bunk too.
I close my privacy curtain and slide the one covering the window open to let in the light. The bus lurches forward and I watch out the window as we move through the city.
I slide my little pink notebook out from under my pillow and turn to my Fuck-It list. I cross off go to rock concert and smoke a joint. Okay, so I didn’t successfully smoke a joint, but I’m counting it.
I’m about to close my notebook when I flip to the front pages instead. I haven’t read through it in a while. Haven’t actually written in it for much longer. I glance over my words—my scribbles, half-finished poems, little haikus—and I find myself smiling as I read. For the first time in months, an idea bubble rises to the surface. It’s delicate, barely there, but I can feel it.
I get out my pen as fragments of words whisper to me, threatening to blow away and be forgotten in an instant if I don’t write them down.
I step to the edge
And take the leap.
The water is cold—
It awakens my soul
And I feel reborn.
I write down a few more lines, trying to convey the beauty of a lilac sunrise, a haunting voice, and a breathtaking smile. Not happy with any of it yet. I scratch down one line but the rest escapes me.
He is the sun.
* * *
The second show is in a much smaller venue. It has a bar upstairs, and the guys all want to get drinks there after the show. I get let right in with the band and no one cards or questions me.
We end up squeezing around one long table—all twelve of us (as the Boners have acquired female companionship at some point in the night). The drinks don’t stop coming. Colin seems to be nursing the same beer most of the night, but Logan and I take watermelon shots and he orders me a vodka Sprite with his Long Islands. Joey is trying to go shot-for-shot with Jace and some questionable tequila. He’s quickly red in the face, and before we know it he’s offering to give piggy-back rides to everyone, including the older women at the table next to ours and our male bartender.
It’s not long before Joey is quietly moaning and Colin walks him out to go back to the bus and sleep it off.
This leaves vacant chairs that are soon filled by more girls, who the members of Donkey Lips are more than happy to entertain.
Now Dean’s not in his chair and I look around, finding him at the crowded bar. He’s standing close to a man who’s sitting on one of the stools. Dean’s whispering in his ear and the man has his hand on Dean’s forearm and nods with a smile.
They look exceptionally friendly.
“Is Dean gay?” I ask Logan in a hushed tone.
Logan looks at me, straw between his lips as he finishes off his second Long Island, and shrugs. “I don’t think he identifies one way or the other. Dean is just Dean. But does he like fucking dudes? Yeah.”
Hmm. All right.
And with that, it’s just us and the Donkey Lips guys, who are getting rowdier by the second. Logan and I order more shots. He teaches me how to throw darts, which I’m convinced I’d be excellent at if I were sober. At one point, he and I end up on a table singing to a Joan Jett song, and we end up stumbling into the bus giggling at three a.m.
The next day I can easily cross get drunk and have a hangover off my list.
* * *
I stay on the bus when we arrive in Vegas while the guys to go their mic check before the show. I feel like resting and nursing this hangover a bit longer. I have one of my dreaded phone calls with my mom where she makes me feel guilty for not calling her every night and then proceeds to ask questions about how the program is going. I try to keep the conversation vague and as short as possible so I don’t have to lie too much.
Then I text Kyla to let her know I’m still alive and that we’re in Las Vegas. She replies that if I don’t send her a selfie with a bunch of male strippers then it doesn’t count.
I doze and write a little bit. Being out here in the desert is so different from home. Home is green and lush and surrounded by hills—or corn. Also, a lot of corn I’ve felt so trapped and suffocated by those hills the last few years, but here the landscape is vast, expansive. It’s wide open and, in spots, barren, intimidating, dangerous. And in others, beautiful, a limitless canvas for the sun to paint with color. I try to capture what I mean in words. Of course I can’t do it justice.
“Hey.” Joey smiles as he steps onto the bus and holds up a white carry-out bag. “Tacos?”
“Oh my god, yes.”
“Figured you’d be hungry.”
He sits across the small table from me and we eat the most amazing street tacos I’ve ever had. He insists on walking with me to the concert house.
The show is amazing, again. Now that I’ve seen it a few times, I’m starting to remember the songs and catch some of the lyrics, and I appreciate the work and artistry that goes into each one. Even the Donkey Lips’ set is okay.
After the show, Jace and the Boners have already accumulated several female groupies by the time we get backstage. More than one girl per guy, actually, and a few of them keep hanging all over Logan, more than subtly hinting they’d be into a ménage. Another girl, who had been sitting by Jace originally, is now practically glued to Colin’s hip. Smiling coyly at him and giggling at everything and complaining it’s so loud she has to lean in even closer to speak in his ear. Her name is Marnie, and she has curly dark hair and a great figure. She’s wearing a shirt with slits all cut along the sides—so I guess that really is a thing. He isn’t talking to her. And he doesn’t smile at her. Somehow, that makes me feel better. But can’t she see he’s totally not interested in her? He totally isn’t.
“We’ve got the next couple days off and we’re spending them in Vegas, baby!” Jace shouts, a bottle of some sort of clear liquid in his hand. “Party starts at the club and ends in my room. Who’s joining?” He looks over to us.
“Sorry, man. We have plans tonight,” Logan says.
“We do?” I say.
“Yup.” He grins.
“We better get going, actually.” Colin gets up, leaving Marnie alone. She looks comically forlorn, moving back to sit next to Jace.
* * *
We’re on a sidewalk a few streets off the strip and even though it’s the middle of the night, it’s still almost eighty degrees outside.
“You ready?” Logan asks with a wild glint in his eyes.
Oh no. That’s the hey, let’s go skinny dipping look.
“Ready for what?”
He just smirks and then we come up on a shop. The windows are blacked out and a bright neon light glows on the door that says CLOSED.
Colin walks on in anyway. We follow and are greeted by a young woman at a tall counter with maroon hair, black lipstick, thick winged eyeliner, and silver ball piercings in the dimples of her cheeks.
“Hey guys!”
“Leah, babe!” Logan bellows and she comes out to give him a hug.
“Wolfe! My man.” A short guy with a buzzed hair, head tattoos and thick black glasses walks up to us. He and Colin shake hands and clap each other on the backs. “I’m going to go finish setting up. Come on back when you’re ready.”
The shop is small with black walls that make the large framed photos of brightly colored tattoos pop. There are several stations set up with black leather chairs and tables in the back.
“Um...no.” Shit.
“Here, you can look through our book for some ideas.” Leah pulls out a thick three-ring binder and sets it on top of the counter. “There are some cute little flash tats near the front you might like.”
I open the huge binder. There are so many pictures.
“I do piercings and Skillet is here to do ink work for you guys,” Leah adds as I stare hopelessly at the book.
“No, it’s her first one. Tyler’s going to do it,” Colin says flatly from behind me.
I didn’t realize he’d been standing there.
“I thought he was going to work on your back piece?” Leah asks Colin.
“We can work on it after.”
Leah just smiles, her dimples deepening. She and Logan start talking about music while Joey goes off to talk to a large guy with mutton chops—I’m guessing Skillet? Dean is standing next to me as I flip through the pictures.
He leans in. “You don’t have to get one if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to get one.” And not just because of the list, I think. “I just don’t know what I’d want on my body for forever. I mean, what if in a few years I’m totally different and I hate it?”
“That’s the beauty of tattoos.” Colin steps closer to us.
I didn’t think he was close enough to hear.
I swallow to clear my throat. “How so?”
“The fact that we do change but the tattoos don’t. They’re a constant reminder. You can look at a tat you got years ago and remember just where you were, what was going on in your life at that moment. Sometimes the memories are good ones, nostalgic. Sometimes they remind you of when you were being an idiot—but even that lets you know you’ve grown, changed, gotten better.”
Wow. That’s literally the most words I’ve heard Colin string together at once this entire trip.
“Thanks.” I look away from Colin so I don’t get too flustered. Just his closeness, his attention, his scent makes me feel hot and nervous.
I glance to Logan and smirk at him. “So, what does your tramp stamp remind you of when you see it?”
Everyone erupts in laughter. I think even Colin chuckles quietly.
Dean gives me a low-five and says under his breath, “Savage, girl.”
Logan, unperturbed and smiling, says, “It reminds me that I’m a badass who never backs out of a bet.”
If Logan doesn’t even regret a tramp stamp, maybe there is something to Colin’s logic. I think about his words. Something that represents me at this moment. Who am I? What the fuck am I doing? I think about the poems I’ve been writing and why I even ran away in the first place.
“I got it. I know what I’m going to get.”
* * *
Slipping my bra off under my shirt is embarrassing enough. Having it laid out on the table next to me where all the guys are gathered around is even more so. Then lifting my shirt so Tyler can place the stencil on my ribs just behind my right breast makes me blush. He places it, then rubs it onto my skin with a gloved hand. I chose this spot because it will be hidden even in a skimpy bathing suit—not that I need to hide it. I just want it to be private, just for me.
But now, as I stand, looking in the mirror with my shirt held up to approve the placement while trying not to flash the guys too much side boob, I’m realizing I didn’t think this placement through logistically.
“That’s going to be killer,” Dean says.
“Badass and sexy,” Logan agrees.
“How does it look?” Tyler is sitting a few feet away, filling a tiny cup with black ink.
I’m actually doing this. “Good,” I say, walking back to the chair, nervous laughter bubbling up in my throat.
I lie down on my side and raise my arm over my head so Tyler can lift my shirt over the stencil. He’s careful not to expose any more skin than necessary, and I’m grateful for that. He’s being completely professional and I’m only slightly shaking.
The guys are crowded around, loudly discussing what they’re going to have done. Logan wants something with a tiger. Dean wants a new piercing but will apparently need a private room for it. Joey has a piece on his arm that needs a color touch up, and he also wants more tacos.
Tyler turns his machine on. It’s loud, vibrating, buzzing, menacing. I close my eyes.
“Why don’t you guys go talk to Leah and Skillet about what you want? It’s on me tonight,” I hear Tyler say.
The guys excitedly shuffle away, their voices dying down as they go. Now all I can hear is the tattoo gun. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.
“Just relax.” Tyler’s voice is calm, completely cool.
I try to relax. I really do. But my heart is pounding and I feel a cold sweat all over my skin. My hands are balled in fists and I don’t think I’ve taken a breath in a while.
“All right, here we go. The ribs are a sensitive spot, but this won’t take long, okay?”
I nod my head, keeping my eyes clamped shut and willing my body to hold still as I feel Tyler lean over me, his gloved hand on my skin and the tattoo gun louder, closer.
The first touch is a razor blade to my flesh, sharp and burning.
I let out a whimper.
Then a warm hand slips into my cold fist, large fingers gentle but firmly holding on.
“Just breathe,” he says in a deep, quiet tone. His voice a soothing caress.
My eyes shoot open and Colin is sitting right next to me, my hand in both of his, leaned in close, blue eyes locked on me.
He encourages me to take a few deep breaths with him and I do. Colin is freaking holding my hand. And I feel better? Yes. I’m still literally being repeatedly stabbed by a needle right now and it really hurts, but I’m okay.
“It’s not even the pain, really. I just hate needles so much.” I try to smile but tears are starting to well in my eyes. “Dumb, right?”
He shakes his head and I cringe when Tyler hits a spot with absolutely no fleshy cushion, just skin and a rib bone.
“I’m terrified of heights,” Colin says.
All I can do is grimace, so he continues.
“I freak out about flying. It’s not so much the flying, but the falling part that scares me. When I was five, I climbed into a tree to try and save my neighbor’s cat. The cat just scratched the hell out of me and then jumped out of the tree. But I couldn’t climb down. It looked so much higher from up there than it had from the ground. I was so scared I couldn’t move. I stayed in that tree, frozen, for three hours until my dad came home and got me down. I had scrapes on my knees and cuts on my hands from where I was gripping the branch so tightly.” He pauses and looks down, like he’s still affected by the story, and squeezes my hand a little tighter.
“All done,” Tyler says, knocking me out of Colin’s story.
“Really?”
Tyler nods, wiping lotion on my reddened skin, and gives me some after-care instructions.
Colin leans in closer. “You did great,” he whispers, the heat of his lips so close to my ear I can almost feel them.
I can’t force any sound out, so I just mouth the word, “Thanks.”
I get up to see it in the mirror. It’s perfect. On my ribs, in low, dragged-out cursive are the words take the leap.
* * *
Logan and Joey show me around Vegas the following afternoon. I can’t go into the bars or gamble in the casinos, but we do other touristy stuff, like see the fountains at the Bellagio, take our picture in front of the Vegas sign, and eat dinner at In-N-Out Burger.
I send Kyla the picture of us in front of the sign to prove I am, in fact, in Las Vegas. She’s unimpressed by the lack of male nudity in the photo.
“You ready for the game tonight?” Logan stuffs no fewer than five animal-style fries into his mouth.
“Is there a baseball game or something?”
“Oh no. I’ve been slacking on my gamemaster duties so far this tour, and tonight we’re going to
fix that.”
“Another drinking game?” I’ll have to do a better job at pacing myself.
“Nope.” He smirks.
“Will there be more girls than last time?” Joey asks, sauce dripping from his burger down his chin.
“Yeah. Jace says the girls from last night are in and they’re bringing a few more friends.”
More girls? “What are we playing?”
“Spin the bottle.” Logan winks.
* * *
I chug my fuzzy navel while Logan and Dean take shots.
“Okay, I think everyone’s here. Game time,” Logan says.
I sit on the green carpet in the hotel room, my cheeks hot.
“Dean, come sit here.” Logan pats the spot on the floor between him and me. “I can’t sit next to Gracie.”
Dean comes to sit by me, smelling of whiskey.
“Why not?”
“It’s bad luck to sit next to the person you’re hoping to kiss,” he says to me, his dark eyes sparkly.
Oh.
My ears feel hot, and I try to suppress nervous laughter.
Jace, a couple Boners, and four chicks sit on my other side, already drunk and giggly. The girl from last night’s show sits directly next to me on my left.
“I’m Marnie.” She smiles and holds out a manicured hand.
“Gracie.” We shake and even in the poorly lit hotel room, this close, I can see she’s wearing more makeup than I probably own, but there’s no denying she’s pretty. And her eyebrow-shaping skills are amazing. I might have to ask her for pointers later.
“So, Gracie.” She moves in, lowering her voice. “Are you with one of the Wicked Road guys?”
“With? Oh, no.” I let out a strange giggle I’ve never heard before. “No, I’m just friends with them.”
“So...none of them are taken, then?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Perfect!”
I turn back to the circle as Joey squeezes in between two of the groupie girls, apologizing as he bumps them.
“Didn’t think you were joining us,” Logan says loudly, and I turn just as Colin sits down on the other side of him.
He's dressed all in black again, his square jaw tightening as he ignores Logan’s comment.
“Okay, so for the rules—” Logan starts.
