10. Reed

10

REED

“HEAVY EYES” – ZACH brYAN

A n hour later, with about four drinks each coursing through our systems—okay, maybe more—the small dive bar pulses with energy. The air is thick with music and the collective of warm bodies moving and swaying in rhythm. Sweat glistens on our skin as we dance and sing along to an eclectic mix of cover songs. They range from “Beer Never Broke My Heart” to some deep-south country I’ve never heard. “ Real country ,” as Dunn calls it.

At one point in the night, I turn and ask someone what song is playing, and I’m met with a mix of incredulity and amusement.

“Awww, man, you fuckin’ serious? You never heard this song? Y’ain’t from around here, are ya?” the stranger exclaims.

Dunn, catching wind of my unfamiliarity, playfully nudges me, his laughter blending with the beat of the music. “You don’t know this one?”

“Bro, how do you know this one?”

He laughs. “Did you forget I lived in Louisiana while I was training for a while?”

“Oh, shit. That’s right.”

“This is Kenny Rogers, bro!”

As the night unfolds, time slips away on the crowded dance floor. Sweat trickles down my brow and then suddenly, it’s midnight again. So much for one drink . I chuckle. Oh well.

The energy in this little hole in the wall is maddeningly glorious. Girls in cowboy hats and short shorts. In the Peace Corps, I went to some rural hootenannies, but I’m remembering now how lucky I am to live in this great country. American cowgirls get down in a special way.

I go to the bathroom to see if Samantha has messaged me. Still nothing, so I step outside for a moment to call her. She doesn’t answer.

Reed: Hey! Hope you’re having a fun night tonight!

I think about trying to explain how the hell I arrived in Lexington, Kentucky. But that just feels convoluted. I hadn’t told Sam I was coming here, so she’ll be all curious, and I don’t want her to worry.

I peek back inside the club for a moment. Dunn looks like he’s in heaven, screaming the lyrics to “Family Tradition” from Hank Williams Jr. That one I know. Thank you, frat parties in rural Indiana. Give me a little damn credit here.

I step back in to blast my lungs out singing it, but then I need a break from the action, so I go back outside.

“Need a cigarette?” Luna asks. She’s sitting on the stoop as I walk up the steps from the basement club.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Me neither.”

“Better than vaping.” I shrug.

She hands me a cigarette and a lighter. We step away from the entrance and find a picnic table in the alley. I pull out my phone and check. Still nothing.

“How’s your girlfriend?” Luna asks.

“She’s got this thing this weekend. Some business MBA students are coming in from Europe. It’s like an exchange thing.”

“Oh, rad.”

“Right.”

“So you dated while you were in the Peace Corps? Where were you again?”

“Bolivia. And, no, it was more of an open thing during that time.”

“Oh, an open thing. Like an open relationship?”

“Nah, more like we weren’t officially together, but we were just waiting for each other.”

“Seems like you’ve spent a lot of time waiting for each other.”

I nod. “Guess we have.”

“I don’t think I could wait that long for someone. Too much physical distance. And it’s never the same after you get back together.”

“It’s been challenging. I mean, I’m a different person for sure after doing the Peace Corps.”

“Why’d you go to the Peace Corps then? Why didn’t you just move to California with her while she was getting her MBA?”

“I was twenty-three when I signed up. After my cousin died, I needed some change. I was searching for something.”

“Did you find it?” She pulls the cigarette away from her mouth, and I notice a tattoo on the inside of her arm.

A tingle goes down my spine, thinking of Mason’s painting. “Why do you have a blue horse on your arm?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I like long stories.”

“This one’s sad. More or less, I just like blue horses. It’s like, something mythological, you know? Horses are beautiful creatures. But blue horses don’t exist in nature. So it’s the marriage of a myth with something real.”

“Wow. You’re a really intriguing person, you know that? I’m still curious what kind of person goes on a trip like this with two random guys.”

“You two seem like good guys. I get a great vibe.”

“How do you know, though?”

“Because I know what the warning signs are.”

“How so? We didn’t make a great first impression. Dad energy, like your friend said.”

She laughs. “Yeah, max dad energy coming in with a napkin save. But I learned the hard way that you should actually be wary of people who make smooth first impressions.”

“That’s hella deep. Luna—c’mon, what’s your real name? Tell me.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you until I know myself.”

“When will you be ready for rebirth?”

“I’ll know when I know.”

“You really are strange.”

“I know. I’m okay with that.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way. Sorry if it sounded like that.”

She puffs the cigarette one more time, then puts it out in the ashtray on the picnic table. “When you were little, what was your dream?” she asks.

“My dream?”

“Or when you were a little kid, did you tell yourself, ‘I want to work in cybersecurity.’”

“Hell, I didn’t even know what cybersecurity was when I was a little kid. What was yours?”

She smiles and looks up at the moon, which seems as full as it was last night. It’s almost completely round.

“I wanted to be a mom.”

“That’s it?” I blanch. “Shit, that came out rude. I mean, that’s an important job. Obviously. I think that’s great. It’s just, women have fought for rights to be able to do more than that.”

“And I want that, too. I want it all. But I just wanted to be a mom. I loved my dolls. I know that’s the most basic answer ever. But it’s the truth. Well, that and have a huge garden.”

I nod. “A mom with a huge garden. I like that.”

“Thanks. I don’t talk about it a lot. Sometimes I think that one will never happen, either.”

We continue to sit on top of the picnic table, in that random back alley, and a silence falls over us.

I’ve been trying to describe this girl’s “look” to myself, and in a moment of clarity I’m finally able articulate the paradox: She doesn’t look real .

Okay, I know she’s real , but she seems like the child of some distant cousin of Earthlings. She’s strikingly gorgeous, but a little clunky and awkward as well. I could see it in the way she moved on the dance floor, the way she speaks, even the way she smoked.

So no, she’s not unreal in the sense that she looks plastic; she has a very natural look—dark, medium eyebrows; wavy, dark brown hair. Tonight she’s wearing a flannel shirt over a tank with the sleeves rolled up, short shorts, and cowgirl boots.

Almost unconsciously, I reach out and poke her forearm.

“Hey. What’s that for?”

“Oh. Nothing.” Just wanted to make sure you were real. “My dream…” I clear my throat. “…was to be a rock star.”

“Mmm…” She nods. “Tell me more.”

“I’ve always loved music, since I was little. I was drawn to it. I’d sit in my room alone for hours listening to different CDs, making mixes on my iPod to share with my friends. After I got my first guitar, I started playing and singing myself.”

“So why didn’t you do it?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I started a band with my cousin, and then, you know…”

She puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

“My dad always preached the safe path,” I continue after a moment. “Get good grades. Go to a good college. Get a stable job. So I did that instead. But I haven’t given up completely—I still write songs all the time. It’s just relegated to this corner of my soul. I keep the dream alive, though I know I’ll probably never achieve it. I mean, I’m twenty-seven. I don’t have a band. I don’t have anything. But writing keeps me sane. Or maybe makes me more insane.”

“Why would it make you insane?”

“To write songs when I know no one will ever hear them? Isn’t that insane?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know about that. I think that’s the definition of a true artist. You create for the love of creating, and not because you want to make some big show of it. I admire that.”

I’m about to respond when we see something extraordinary. Dunn comes flying out the window of the bar’s ground floor waiting area, and glass shatters everywhere.

“Uh oh,” I yell, standing up.

Now, Dunn is about 5’10”—though he’s larger than life in my mind. And he’s tough as nails. A big, burly, Luke Combs-looking guy with a trucker hat follows Dunn out as I rush over. It’s the same guy who was hassling me about not knowing that Kenny Rogers song.

“Get the hell outta here, Yank!” he yells. “Stop looking at my girl.”

“I wasn’t looking at your girl, bro! Relax!” Dunn shouts, dusting the glass off.

“Yes, you was .” The guy takes a step forward. “I saw you looking at her. You callin’ me a liar? You’re a dead man!”

“I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’t me.”

Luna and I edge closer. “Hey, hey, what’s the commotion?” I ask, attempting to step between the two of them. A few more people have come out of the bar, and a small crowd forms around us.

“That’s the guy!” someone else yells.

“This motherfucker was?—”

“Dunn, were you looking at his girl?” I ask, cutting off Luke Comb’s cousin. Let’s call him CC—Combs’ Cuz.

Dunn shakes his head. “Man, I’m eight shots in. I was sitting at the bar, and this girl comes over and starts chatting me up. I showed her my ring, and she grabbed my thigh.”

“So you’re saying my girl’s a floozy?” the big man grunts, grabbing Dunn’s collar.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” I tell him.

“Oh? And why’s that? Why shouldn’t I kick the spit out of you and your outta-towner friend right now?”

I turn to Dunn, and we exchange a knowing look.

Dunn is a West Point-trained fighter. Despite that, he’s not necessarily physically imposing to the untrained eye. He looks like a typical bro shmo right now, what with his camouflage cap that reads Godspeed , jeans, and a T-shirt. But he’s not. And Dunn doesn’t like to fight, but he has a temper, and if that gets unleashed, we both know it’s not good. Dunn putting some poor sap in the emergency room would not be good mojo for this trip.

Luna puts her hand on the man’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. This is a misunderstanding. We’re all friends. We’re just in town to see Zach Bryan.”

“And the Red Lemons,” I add.

“Zach Bryan.” His eyes take a meandering path up to Dunn’s cap. The dude is shitfaced as hell. “Are you a real fan, or like a fake fan?”

“Bro, I love Zach,” Charlie assures him. “He’s my boy.”

“Really.” The big guy arches an eyebrow. “If you’re so into him, tell me. What’s his best album?”

Sweat glistens on Dunn’s forehead. This feels a little like that bridge of death scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail . Like, if he says the wrong thing, it’s going to be us against this guy and his group of shady-looking friends in an all-out brawl.

Dunn and I lock eyes. “Tell ’em, Dunn. Tell him,” I urge.

Dunn clears his throat. “ American Heartbreak is his best album, in my opinion. His self-titled was good too, but nothing beats the freshness of that one, before he’d actually hit it big. And maybe a few tracks off of Quiet Heavy Dreams , too.”

CC has a puzzled look on his face now. Like he’s realizing the one he wanted to fight might actually be a cool guy. “What are your three favorite songs?” he asks.

Dunn thinks for a moment. “‘Let You Down’ is probably my favorite. ‘Heavy Eyes’ is a close second. Third…maybe… ‘’68 Fastback’.”

The man squints.

“I’m military, man. I got a wife. Kid on the way. If I did look at your girl, I’m…sorry.” Dunn says.

CC frowns harder, and then gradually his face morphs into a giant grin. “Fucking military guy who’s into Zach Bryan’s old shit? Why the fuck didn’t you say so?” He gives Dunn a giant bear hug, which Dunn reluctantly receives. “Where’d you serve?”

“Afghanistan.”

“No shit! I was in Iraq, buddy. You shoot?”

“Pope shit in the woods?” Dunn says. “Shit, I mean, bear shit in the woods? Is the Pope Catholic?”

CC laughs along with us now, a big, Santa Claus-like bellow. “Aww, hell, man. I was thinkin’ to serve you up a knuckle sandwich!”

“Man, I don’t usually drink this much. Sorry if me and your, uh, girlfriend, looked like we were, uh?—”

“Aww, that’s all right. I barely know her anyway. You wanna shoot?”

“Right now?”

“Hell yeah! I got some property about twenty minutes from here.”

Dunn shrugs. “Whadda you working with?”

Luna and I look at each other and slowly back off.

The two of them launch into a guns conversation, of which I comprehend little. Five minutes later, Dunn is jumping into a pickup truck with a bunch of guys.

“Y’all want to come?” he asks us.

“Not really my scene.” Luna shakes her head, then turns to me. “Maybe we could go back and you could play me one of your songs at the hotel?”

Dunn shoots me a knowing look. “I think that’s a great idea. He’s got some good shit.”

I don’t know if Dunn is trying to wingman me or not. He’s full-on hammered as hell at this point, and I’m not sober either, so it’s hard to say for sure. But I know being alone with Luna is probably not a great plan.

“Hell, go play for the chick, pretty boy!” CC yells. He is, thankfully, not in the driver’s seat.

The truck revs, and I move closer to Dunn, who’s riding shotgun. “Hey, man. You good?”

He laughs. “If I’m not back by morning, send a search party. But you kiddin’? I live for this shit. Question is are you ?”

I turn to Luna. “You sure you don’t want to go?”

She shrugs. “I mean I could .”

“There’s still room in the back, pretty boy and pretty girl,” CC notes helpfully.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Luna says after a moment.

I shrug and help her up to the back of the truck bed.

“Beer, for the ride, pretty boy?” CC asks me through the window.

“I don’t usually drink in a car. But as they say, ‘When in Rome…’”

“The fuck you talkin’ bout, man? We ain’t in Rome. We’re in fucking Lexington, Kentucky.”

“Damn straight we are,” I say as I take the beers he hands me and give one to Luna.

CC shoves the driver, and he takes off with us riding in the back. Luna’s wavy hair blows in the wind, illuminated by the moonlight, as we go way too fast down some country roads. “Heavy Eyes” is blasting on the stereo.

From there, things get a bit cloudy. We shoot guns at bottles in the moonlight with some rednecks on some farm in the middle of fucking nowhere. By the end of the night, Dunn and CC have their arms around each other and tears are flowing as they tell hunting stories, remember fallen comrades, and practically blow their lungs out singing “Two Dozen Roses” by Shenandoah.

Toward the end of the night, a live version of some song plays from the janky outdoor speakers, and every single person is belting it out.

“Hey, man, what’s this song?” I ask CC.

“Aw hell, you’re really not a Zach fan, are ya then? Just your friend?”

“Yeah, he kinda dragged me here.”

“Well, now that you’re here, may as well enjoy yourself. You’ve never heard ‘Revival’?” He chuckles and slaps me on the back, grabbing a fifth of Jim Beam. “You’ll learn the words faster if you have one of these, trust me.”

He hands me a shot glass and pours another one for himself.

“Thanks, man.” I take the shot and slam the glass down on the outdoor table, feeling the burn in my throat.

“Aww hell, it’s the least I can do,” CC says. “I feel bad about losing my temper tonight. See, I got my heart broke a couple weeks ago.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, man. Happens to the best of us.”

“No sweat. The whiskey and a night like this with the boys’ll put it right back together. Say, how long have you and your girl been together?” He flicks his chin in Luna’s direction.

“Her? I barely know her,” I say.

“Seriously? Well, you better make moves. Women like her don’t stay single for long. Plus, y’all look like you get on well together.”

“I, uh, have a girlfriend, actually. She lives in California.”

“Oh. You’re from California?”

“No. I’m from Chicago.”

He frowns. “How long has it been like that?”

“For about a year.”

CC’s eyes widen. “Man, shit. I reckon you need another shot if that’s what you got goin’ on.”

He pours me another, and at that point, the night starts to get a little hazy.

But even though the details are a blur, I get the feeling this evening is going to be etched into my memory forever. I haven’t had one like this in ages.

Maybe ever.

And at CC’s insistence, I start to learn the words to “Revival.”

You know what? I’m starting to come around to Zach Bryan’s music.

He’s all right.