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Show 154 linked his stirring with the musician's soul-which was already in evident pain. After the song was over, we downed our drinks in the pause between artists and walked out the door. Pauses: Buying a sandwich at Gondolfo's next to the bank. A speeding ticket. A call to a local radio station. Leaning back the passenger seat as far as it would-go and staring up at the brown, metallic ceiling to think things over until he stopped shaking. A deep breath. Amy and I rode in the back of Steve's track with Tamara up front. I hadn't been in the back of a pickup in a while, and remembered how I loved the feeling of the wind on my face, the way it was a little too loud for conversation and there was nothing to do but feel the air and watch flashes of houses and trees, or the white lines on the road link themselves together with speed. It was dimming when we decided to drive to Antelope Island on Great Salt Lake to start a fire and spend the night, and I didn't even bother to scoop up some clothes off the floor and throw them into a bag. I had a flashlight, a coat, and some basic dinner and S'mores food items. We had three goals: 1) get drank 2) see some of bison that had been imported to the island almost a century earlier and 3) bum Steve's papers and notes from the semester. Spring semester just finished and Steve didn't want to hang onto its remnants. The burning seemed a little dramatic to me lined up with, say, a recycling bin, but then again there wasn't a lot of firewood on the island and we didn't have much in the back of his track. This was late |
