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Matchbox Fifteen I just stood in the aisle of the tour bus, holding the telephone receiver to my ear. This had to be a dream. "Brian? You there?" "Yeah," I wiped the sleep out of my eyes. "Rob, where the hell have you been?" "I don't know," Rob's voice trembled. "I don’t know what happened. I just kinda woke up here, and I don't remember... Have, have I been gone for a while?" "Yeah," I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sighed. "For about three days." I could hear cars gliding through rainwater on the other end of the phone. And tapping. Rob's got this nervous habit of thumping his fingers against whatever's handy, and it usually drives me nuts. Not tonight. Rob exhaled into the receiver. "This is weird," he murmured. Clutching the receiver to the side of my face, I asked, "Where are you? We'll come pick you up." "I'm at an Exxon... somewhere. Like out in the middle of nowhere. There's a sign that says Blythewood Road, and a sign for highway 77... shoot, I'm in South Carolina!" His location didn't surprise me; after all, our Rob is a fast hitchhiker. "So you're like right off the highway?" "Yeah..." his voice trailed off. "We'll come get you," I promised him, glancing at Adam, who was still asleep. "We'll be right there. You'll be waiting for us?" "Pookie, where am I going to go?" I heard Rob laugh over the phone lines. "Guess I can't ask that anymore, not for a while!" When we'd hung up, I turned to my sleeping friend. "Hey, Adam!" "Never lick a phonebook," he murmured, arching his back and shifting in his seat. "Can't you guys even squeeze the toothpaste right? This place is a dump." "Adam!" His eyelids flew open as he bolted upright in his chair. "Huh?" "We gotta go!" |